Unfortunately, he’s faster and rounds in front of me, stopping me again.
I skate back to get some distance, but he doesn’t take the hint.
He follows me, picking up the pace.
“Leave me alone, Scotty.”
He answers with a deep chuckle. “Don’t you see what’s happening?”
Outrageous. He’s really not going to let this go until I’ve admitted I still like him.
“Scotty,” I grumble, quickly glancing over my shoulder, knowing there’s not much farther for me to go.
“Princess.” He drawls out my nickname and I’m about ready to throttle him. Only, when our eyes connect, he says, “You’re doing it. You’re doing the backward crossovers.”
Am I?
I glance down, and shit, I am.
Thud!
I’ve hit the boards, and now there’s nowhere for me to go.
“See, I told you. You can do anything, Laure. You’ve just got to believe in yourself.”
He plants his hands on either side of my head, caging me against the boards.
“Scotty—”
His name slips out, almost involuntarily as his body grazes mine. My knees go a little weak, my breath hitches because suddenly, he’s everywhere, crowding me until I can’t think about anything but him.
He’s staring down at me, those blue eyes so sharp it feels like they cut straight through me.
Does he know what I’m thinking?
His head leans forward, just enough that our foreheads nearly touch.
“Do you know how exhausting this is?” he says on a sigh, his face inches from mine now. “Watching you?Wantingyou? Knowing you feel the same way, but you won't—you won't—”
He stops the thought.
I don’t want him to.
“Won't what?” I'm breathing heavily, my heart beating so wildly against my ribs, I can hear it.
His eyes burn into me, searching, deciding, and I see the exact moment it all snaps.
“Fuck it.”
He closes the space and his mouth is on mine.
It’s not gentle. It’s weeks of frustration and late-night practices and every unsaid thing crashing together in one hungry drag of his mouth. His hands slide to the back of my neck, holding me still as his lips part mine. Heat rushes through me so fast, my knees buckle and my skates slip out from under me.
Scotty catches me, though. He always does.
Still kissing me, he cups my face as the other hand wraps around my hip and he presses me harder against the boards.
He pulls back just enough to whisper against my mouth, “Tell me to stop.”
