“Oh, please. There’s enough drama on that show as it is. I’m not even on it anymore.”
He says the last part so casually, I nearly miss it. He’s not on the show? When did that happen?
Before I can ask, he continues, “But yeah… these were just sitting in the back of her closet. You’re the same size, so I figured you could use them.”
He dangles the skates in front of me, the blades catching the rink lights.
“How’d you know my shoe size?”
He doesn’t answer right away, forcing me to look up at his pinked cheeks.
He visibly swallows. “I, uh… still have your broken shoe.”
“Y-you do?”
“Yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I, uh, thought I could give it back to you eventually.”
“Wow. You were optimistic.”
His mouth twitches. “I’ve always been when it comes to you.”
Why? Why couldn't Scotty be an asshole when I need him to be? Why does he have to be so freakingniceall the damn time?
“Can I help put them on you?”
I raise my brow, and he points at my current skates.
“If I let you tie them, you're no doubt going to break your ankle and blame me.”
“I wouldn't—” I shake my head. Not bothering to finish that sentence. He’s right. I probably would blame him. “Fine,” I say with exasperation.
He shifts in front of me, lowering his body down until he's kneeling in front of me. He pulls his gloves off and then he gives me a dimple-popping smile.
“Can I?” he asks softly, his fingers hovering near my left foot.
I lift it before I can think better of it. His big hands close around my calf and pull off the rental skate.
The pad of his thumb brushes the arch of my foot as he adjusts the laces, and a shiver runs up my thigh and straight to my core.
Shit. I should not be getting turned on from the tiniest of touches.
He unties the skates and holds my ankle as he slides it on.
He checks my reaction, holding it all in place for just a second as his eyes connect with mine.
“Does it fit?” he asks.
I gulp.
Fuck, this is far sexier than I thought it would be in a damp ice rink.
“Yeah,” I rasp out. “It fits.”
“Good.”
I watch as he starts to tie up my lace, taking in his nimble fingers. I shiver at the memory of his thumbs skirting across my breasts while we were on Lyss’s porch swing.
It felt so good and—
