“I think you’re hoping I’ll stop messing around and get to the point.”
I remember to keep my breathing even, but my chest feels tight, anticipation curling around my ribs. He wouldn’t have brought me here just to skate around and flex his hockey muscles if there wasn’t a reason. This must be it.
His fingers skim over mine again; then—slowly—he lifts his free hand and runs it along the curve of my jaw.
Oh.
Oh.
We’re standing so close. So, so close, my breath catches, and my thoughts screech to a halt. This isn’t—he isn’t—
“Yes,” I whisper, unable to stand it any longer. “The answer is yes!”
Easton freezes. His brows pull together, confusion flickering in his eyes as he searches my face.
“What?” he asks roughly.
Oh no.
No, no, no.Did I ruin the moment because I have a big mouth and zero chill?
Heat shoots up my neck, my entire body flushing with the realization that I might have just given an answer to a question thatdid not exist.
Easton stares, close enough that I can see the way his pupils are blown wide, the sharp set of his jaw as he exhales slowly, his perfect lips parted.
“Were you going to kiss me?” I whisper, confused.
Instead of stepping back, he leans in. Closer. His fingers ghost over my wrist, featherlight, like he’s testing my reaction—like he’s daring himself to do something as so bold as to kiss me in the center of the ice.
One inch closer—maybe less—and we won’t be talking anymore.
He licks his lips and my eyes follow. “I don’t know. Should I?”
Should he?
Yes! Yes, because he isright here in front of me, the warmth of his breath passing over my lips more tempting than I would have ever guessed. Yes, becauseI knowhis mouth would be soft, warm, everything I shouldn’t be thinking about!
No.
No because this is Easton. Because I can’t just let my body win not knowing how he feels about me. Does he like me or not?My heart is an unpredictable thing, already tripping over itself, already slipping dangerously toward something unstoppable.
He leans forward and whispers, “Tell me to fuck off.”
I can’t. My heart is stuttering and my hands are trembling. My brain? It’s screaming at me to say something! Anything!Be rational, Harper!Demand some sort of clarity before you let him kiss you again!
But my body? Oh…she’s weak. WEAK, I SAY! Already leaning in. Already betraying me. Fingers already curling into front of his navy blue sweatshirt.
He’sgoingto kiss me.
And I’mgoingto let him.
I’m going to—
“Westermann!”
We jolt apart, shoving each other away like we’ve been caught committinganothercrime, when a voice cracks through our moment like a spark.
“Yes, Coach?”
