I have a feeling I’ll feel the same way about her when this night is over.
CHAPTER
FOUR
Liam
Wollman Rink glows like a Norman Rockwell painting with its white ice, soft golden lights strung around the perimeter, and the dark silhouettes of the city rising behind the trees. The night is crisp, the kind of cold that nips at your nose, but doesn’t bite.
But none of it touches the heat that hits me when I look at her. She stands there in that red coat, cheeks flushed from skating and laughter, breath puffing in small clouds. The lights catch in her hair, turning her into something warm and bright against the winter night. And, yeah … even if it were below freezing, that sight alone could thaw any man straight through.
She’s skating circles around me, and it’s not that it’s hard to do since my skating skills are not top-tier. Sure, I can throw a football for seventy yards and work my way around three-hundred-pound linemen, but I cannot for the life of me find my balance on these skates. In my defense, the skates we rented aren’t the best. The blades are dull and well past needing to be replaced. But I’m letting this little Vixen pull my ass around, looking like an idiot.
“You’re doing so good. I think you’re ready to go on your own now, don’t you?” She tries to let go of my hand, but I squeeze hers tighter.
“I’m not so sure I’m ready for that yet. You can’t leave me.” There might be a slight panic to my tone, but I don’t even care. I brace my legs and stand stock-still.
She belts out a laugh, dropping her head back. Once she catches her breath, she looks at me. “You got this. You’re an athlete. I have faith in you, Blitzen.”
“I don’t know. I feel pretty unsteady—” What she just said stops me. “Wait. You know I’m an athlete?”
She opens her mouth, then closes it. Her gaze meets mine, and a slow smile forms on her lips. “I mean, you have all that”—she gestures to my body—“going on. And I can’t even see the whole thing under the jacket.”
“Uh huh.” I slide myself closer to her and, with a confidence in my balance that I don’t quite have, I reach out and slide my hand around her neck.
“And you don’t look hot-girl fit.”
“What the hell is hot-girl fit?”
“A body that looks good but lacks cardiovascular endurance.” She lifts a brow. “Aesthetic only. No stamina.”
I bark out a laugh. “Zero stamina? That’s what you think of me?”
“I don’t know,” she says, pretending to inspect me like I’m a questionable produce item. “Youlooklike you could run a mile, but you also give off strongneeds an inhaler after climbing stairsenergy.”
“Oh, that’s rude.” I tighten my hand at the back of her neck just enough to draw her a fraction closer. “Very rude, Vixen.”
“Truthful,” she counters, but her voice dips, betraying her.
“And what energy doyougive off?” I ask.
She pretends to think. “Hot-girl fit with exceptional emotional intelligence.”
I snort. “That’s not a category.”
“It is if I say it is.”
“You realize,” I say, leaning in until my forehead almost touches hers, “you’re talking a lot of smack for someone who’s currently one slip away from landing in my lap.”
Her gaze flicks down, just for a second. “Please. If I wanted to be in your lap, I’d already be there.”
My pulse stutters. “Is that right?”
She shrugs, all faux innocence. “I mean … you’re the one holding my neck like you’re about to make a move.”
Oh, I am. Very much.
But before I can deliver a clever comeback—or actually act on the gravitational pull between us—her skate slides just a hair.
