“Are you having sex with your coach?”
“Ew.” I wrinkled my nose. “He’s like 58.”
“Good to know you have standards.”
“Very high standards.” I took another sip, then added, because I couldn’t help myself, “Good boys don’t give it up to just anybody.”
Derek’s face went pink, which was deeply satisfying.
“We’re leaving for Colorado tomorrow,” he said, clearly deciding to ignore my comment. “Can you come over tonight?”
I hesitated.
I’d told myself I was going to do things differently this time. Not fall into the same patterns that had wrecked my life in Toronto. And I still hadn’t told Avery about us—which meant coming up with some excuse for why I wasn’t coming home tonight and lying to my brother felt like exactly the kind of thing I was supposed to be avoiding.
But Derek was looking at me with those warm brown eyes and I thought about his big comfortable bed and his stupidbergamot bodywash and the way he held me like I was something worth holding.
Fuck it.
“What time?”
So much for doing things differently.
“Dinnertime? Around seven?” He was trying to sound casual but I could see the hopeful tension in his shoulders. It was almost endearing. “I can order something. Or cook. I make a mean stir fry.”
“High praise from a man who considers protein shakes a food group.”
“Well, they haven’t failed me yet.”
“I can’t disagree.” I bit back a smile and handed him the water bottle. Our fingers brushed and neither of us pulled away immediately. “I’ll come overandI’ll make you dinner.”
“You want to do that?”
“Yes,” I bit my lip before confessing, “I like to take care of you.”
“Take care of me?” Something softened in his expression. “You worry about me?”
“Don’t let it go to your head, daddy.”
“You can’t just—” He lowered his voice. “You can’t just say thathere.”
“Say what?” I widened my eyes innocently. “I was talking about Aspen. You’re his daddy. It’s a fact.”
“You really are a brat.”
“Never denied that.” I pushed off from the boards, skating backward. “Seven o’clock. Don’t be late.”
I spun and launched into a triple toe loop, landing clean. The ice sprayed beneath my blade, cold and familiar, and when I glanced back, Derek was still watching me, a helpless smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
Maybe this was a horrible idea. Maybe I was setting us both up for disaster.
But for the first time in a long time, I didn’t want to run.
29. Derek
I came home to the mouthwatering scent of chicken roasting and garlic.
The weather was finally starting to turn—that first crisp edge of autumn creeping into the Chicago air—and Théo was wearing a loose fitting black sweater that made his pale skin glow. The sleeves were long enough to cover his hands, just the tips of his fingers visible as he moved around the kitchen.
