My breath hitches at the words staring at me, taunting me. I can practically hear him saying those words in that gruff and husky voice of his. Is he…is he flirting with me? No, that can’t be. Right?
Why does the fact that he just might excite me?
No, Kaeli. We don’t like him.
Why not?My brain supplies.
Deciding against analyzing the words I type, I press send before I change my mind.
Me: Are you free?
Ezra: Why?
My fingers hover over the keyboard, chewing on my bottom lip before finally going through with it. It’s not like I’ve got anything better to do.
Me: I was wondering if we could maybe meet at the arena sinceit’ll be empty.
Me: For shooting some content, of course.
I impatiently wait for his reply, biting my nail as I burrow myself in the softness of the couch. God! He’ll think that I’ve gone crazy.
What was I thinking?! I can imagine him mocking me. Why would he want to be anywhere near me?
Ezra: Of course…
Ezra: What time?
I do a double-take when my phone pings with his message. Rubbing my eyes, I re-read it, unable to believe that he agreed.
I squeal like a pig at the prospect of not being alone all day, even if it’s his company that I’ll have to endure. It’s definitely better than being locked inside and staring holes in my walls.
Me: Now?
Ezra: Now, it is. Meet in 20, Stalker.
I gasp at the name, but the smile on my face doesn’t slip. He’d flip if he saw how maniacal I look with a grin plastered over my face.
* * *
Removing an invisible piece of lint from my shirt and running a hand down my jeans, I walk inside the arena.
The cold air wafts over me, a shudder rolling down my body. I should’ve worn a hoodie, but in my haste to be here and out of my house on time, it slipped my mind. Never mind, I’ll make do.
I find Ezra already there, skating backwards leisurely on the ice. Walking in through the players tunnel, I stop by the bench and take in how effortlessly he glides over the ice. Like he learned to skate before he ever walked. His long limbs perfectly in control as he floats. It shouldbe impossible for a man so tall and broad to skate as he does.
I’ve seen him at his easiest and in his element when he’s surrounded by the frozen and cold floor beneath his skates.
He’s not in his uniform, just wearing a hoodie and a pair of gray sweatpants, because of course he is.
God, that ass was sculpted to wear those sweats. The soft fabric clinging just enough to hint at the muscles underneath. Casual, careless — but dangerously distracting.
The muscles I had a first row seat to when I woke up in his bed.
The gray sweats do nothing to hide the way his body moves, every shift and stretch a quiet show of strength.
It’s like I’ve become obsessed with how toned he looks. I can’t help but want to touch, touchhim.
Being near him alters my brain chemistry. It makes me wanna break some rules and do some very bad things to him.
