“I’m just glad you’re not here with some—” I stop myself from sayingsome other girl, saying instead,“—one else.”
“Well, technically I’m on a hot date with my housemates, but that’s not what you mean, is it?” I shrug, afraid to answer his question. Afraid my tone will give me away. He studies my face, brow creasing as he reads the words I’m too chicken to say. The words I worry I don’t have a right to utter. “And that would upset you?” he prompts. “If I was here with someone else?”
“Of course it would,” I blurt, the words rushing out before I can stop them.
His eyes turn a little bit sad, and the shift in his emotion is like a knife to my heart. “Honestly, I wasn’t sure.”
I look down at my knees, feeling guilty now for making him question my feelings for him. “I’m sorry, Wes. I’m so sorry.”
“Ivy,” he says softly, and I peek up at him. “It’s okay. We’re both figuring this out as we go along, and that’s fine. No one’s at fault here.”
I don’t really believe him—if anyone’s at fault it’s me—but I nod anyway, telling myself not to dwell on regret. He squeezes my hand, scooting closer to me on the bench, and my body warms from the inside out at his proximity.
“So, do you know how to skate?” he asks, thankfully changing the subject.
I laugh at the question. “Not in the slightest. Do you?”
“Eh, not really.”
I nudge his shoulder. “You liar. I saw you skating circles around those people out there. I half expected you to whip out a triple lutz.”
He snickers. “I played hockey in middle school.”
At this point, I’m not even surprised. “Of course you did.”
“Wanna give it a shot?” he asks, nodding at the ice. “You can use me for balance if you want.”
I hesitate, trying and failing not to conjure up mental images of myself falling flat on my ass. “You’re sure?”
He grins, already pulling me to my feet. “Absolutely. I won’t let you fall. Not ever.”
My feet wobble as we step out onto the ice, and I clutch his arm in a death grip, too freaked to care that my nails are digging into his skin. We begin skating, joining the circling crowd of students. Truthfully, I’m not so much skating as I am shuffling, but after a few laps, my ankles manage to stabilize. I graduate from gripping Wes’s arm for balance to simply holding his hand and finally start to relax and enjoy the moment.
As we skate around and around, Wes never once drops my hand or allows the crowd to separate us. And when he drags us into the center of the loop and spins us in circles until I’m laughing so hard my ribs ache, I don’t care about the dirty looks or whispers from some of the girls on the ice, too caught up in this perfect moment with Wes.
“I think I need a break,” I call to him over the music, only once my ankles start screaming in protest. He nods, and together, we make for the exit.
“You’re a natural out there,” he tells me as we step off the ice.
I snort. “I think you need to look up the term ‘natural’ in the dictionary. I’m like a baby giraffe learning to walk for the first time. On ice.”
He laughs at that, slinging an arm over my shoulder. “You really don’t see yourself clearly, Ives, but that’s okay. That’s what I’m here for.”
I smile at him but fear I may grow addicted to seeing myself through his eyes. I’m not convinced his vision’s more accurate, but it’s so much kinder than my own.
We never make it back onto the ice, but we hang at the rink for a while longer, ordering food and drinks from the concession stand. We meet up with Quinn and Remy, who have also had their fill of ankle pain and crowd claustrophobia.
“I was starting to feel like a hamster on a wheel,” Quinn says. “There’s only so many times I can skate in a circle before my vertigo kicks in.”
“I’m just proud of myself for staying upright,” I tell her at the same moment a couple girls pass by our table, making obvious eyes at the man next to me.
“Hey, Doc,” one of them giggles, and my shoulders tense. Wes gives her a tight smile and throws an arm around my back, tucking me into his side. Her eyes narrow on me, but her friend pulls her away before she can cause a scene.
Quinn snorts. “Man, Ivy. I’m glad some bitch didn’t pull a Tonya Harding on your ass out there.”
“I would never let that happen,” says Wes, his arm flexing around me. He plants a kiss on my temple, and my face warms at the public display.
Quinn sighs. “You two are sickeningly adorable. Aren’t they, Remy?”
