They’re harmless. Alyssa’s words ring out in my head, urging me to settle. Holland Thorne and I have been interacting for going on two years at this point at an acquaintance level, and he’s probably trying to cross the threshold into friendly. It’s not like I have to marry the guy, but it wouldn’t kill me to dial down the brain drama a click or two.
“Yeah,” I reply, skating toward him but stopping a few feet short, the wall still between us. “Pretty sure this is the eighty-fourth hour and counting.”
He’s still smiling as he pushes off the glass. “I had a feeling I’d find you here.”
“You came here looking forme?”
He shakes his head, rounding the wall to the opening and leaning into the side of it. “Well, technically, I just finished up a workout on the ice about forty minutes ago. Practice.” He shrugs and grins.
I guess they changed up their practice schedule.
“But I thought maybe you’d show up here to work out, so I hung around. I wanted to let you know about this private event thing I’m going to later this week.”
“Private event?” I question, taking in the way he’s dressed with sharp eyes. Suit. Tie. Perfectly groomed hair.He must’ve showered after his practice.
“Yeah. The firm I work at is having a private event on Friday night. Drinks. Dancing. Food. It’s more of a networking thing, but there will be a lot of people there who like to invest in…talent. I thought maybe you’d be interested, so I wanted to invite you.”
I don’t know what kind of firm Holland works at, but my brows knit over the casual way he’s inviting me on…a date? I don’t know if that’s what he’s getting at, but for the life of me, I can’t think of any other reason he’d be inviting me to some kind of work event for talent scouting.
“Talent?” I repeat. “What exactly does that have to do with me?”
I’m no Hollywood actress or model or singer. I’m a junior accountant who skates as a hobby.
“You skate beautifully, Kylie,” he says, like it’s a fact, not a compliment. “There are a lot of avenues where you could turn that talent into something else. Lots of people who’d love to utilize you. You’ve never thought about breaking away from the accounting gig?”
My responding laugh is quick and edged with strain. “Oh yeah. Only every tax season or so, when taking a bath with my toaster starts to sound reasonable. But not, like, seriously. For the most part, I like what I do.”
His smile is easy and patient. “No pressure. Totally your call. Just figured it might be something worthy of your time. And, well, I’d be there. So, yeah.” He winks. “It’d be fun too. We could hang out.”
Okay, yep. There’s the date part I was wondering about.
Which I’m absolutely not interested in. Holland seems nice, but he’s not even remotely my type.
Though, I’ve never thought about finding a way to turn my love and passion for ice skating into some kind of career. And turning down the opportunity to explore that just because I don’t want to lead him on feels a little hasty…
“That’s really…nice of you,” I answer, my voice hesitant with each word as I attempt to toe the thin line precariously placed between the two parts of me. “Can…I …uh…think about it?”
“Of course,” he replies, stepping aside without protest and offering another little wink in my direction. “If you want to go, you know where to find me.”
I push off again, starting up another lap to get back into a rhythm, but I only make it halfway around before meeting another observer.
Jiminy Cricket. So much for the rink being empty.
I slide to an agitated stop in front of Rook, who’s leaning against the bleachers. He, too, isn’t wearing skates or gear, but jeans and boots instead, and his eyes bore into the back of the retreating man in the suit at the other end of the arena like he can turn him to dust with his mind.
It’s oddly protective in a way I don’t understand and makes the hair on my forearms stand straight up.
Ialmostgo back to skating, but something inside me just says,fuck it.
“Can I help you?” I ask, finding my voice and doing it with challenge.
Instantly, Rook’s eyes jump to mine, but that’s where the concessions on his aggressive posture stop. He swallows hard before shoving off the bleachers, charging down the back wall, and leaving the rink, out the door and into the parking lot through the same door Holland took without a word.
I’m left standing there with my mouth agape and my senses tingling like a fucking idiot.
What iswiththis guy?
Suddenly, the peace and respite I felt from the ice fifteen minutes ago is gone, and the desperate need for a shower cry and the comfort of my bed has taken its place.
