“Only because you make it that way.”
He reaches for me, but I step back.
“No. Don’t touch me unless you’re gonna be honest. Don’t kiss me unless you mean it. And don’t you dare look at me like you want me unless you’re gonna do something about it.”
He shakes his head. “I can’t.”
“Then we’re done here.”
I push past him and grab the door handle, but his voice stops me.
“You don’t understand what you’re asking.”
“I’m just asking for the truth. I’m asking for honesty. I’m asking for you to stop treating me like I can’t handle whatever’s really going on with you.”
“It’s not about weakness.”
I slowly turn, his pained look making my heart clench. “Then what’s it about?”
“It’s about me not being the kind of person you think I am.”
“What does that even mean?”
“It means you should walk away before you find out. I’m hoping you’re smart enough to realize this is a bad idea.”
“Right. More mysterious bullshit.” I twist the door handle and pull open the door. “When you’re ready to tell me what’s really going on, you know where to find me. Until then, stay the fuck away from me.”
I walk out without looking back, my heart pounding and my lips still tingling from his kiss.
Because whatever game he’s playing, whatever lies he’s telling, that kiss was real.
FOURTEEN
zane
The arena’ssupposed to be empty at ten-thirty on a Tuesday night.
It’s not.
The sound of skate blades slashing through ice echoes from the main rink as I swipe through the staff entrance. My pulse hammers hard. I shouldn’t be here. Should have gone back to my hotel, should have let Tate walk away and stayed the fuck out of his life.
But I couldn’t. Because the look on his face when he accused me of playing him is burned into my brain.
The arena’s security lights cast shadows as I head toward the rink.
The doors to the main rink are propped open. My breath hitches when I see him through the glass. Tate is skating hard, working through a drill that involves sharp cuts and aggressive stops. He’s not wearing any gear except for skates. Just jeans and a hoodie.
He looks like he’s trying to outrun something.
I stand in the doorway for a minute, just watching him. This is his space, his sanctuary. And I’m about to invade it because I can’t handle the thought of him hating me.
Because I can’t handle the thought of never touching him again.
His eyes meet mine when he comes around the far turn, his stride wavering for just a second before he recovers. But he doesn’t stop skating. Doesn’t acknowledge that I’m here. Just keeps skating like I don’t exist.
“Tate.” My voice echoes in the empty arena.
He does another lap before stopping at center ice, chest heaving, hair damp with sweat, face flushed from the cold and the workout. But his eyes glitter with anger.
