I bend down to his level.
“Hey, buddy. You’re skating really well out there.”
“Compliments later, Harper. We need to talk. Step into my office.”
“Shoot,” I say, trying to hold in my laughter as I shuffle to the bench he’s claimed as his workspace.
“Do you not like your girlfriend?” he asks without missing a beat.
I blink. “What?”
“She’s clearly never skated before. You’re a hockey player. Why haven’t you taught her how to skate?” he asks.
“She’s not my girlfriend, Parker,” I grumble.
“Well, do you like her?” he pushes.
I pin him with a pointed brow.
“My advice?” he says casually, as if he’s some dating expert guru. “Teach her how to skate before she breaks a leg and can’t walk. Angelo says girls love going for long walks.”
“We’re just friends, Parker,” I say, even though every part of me wants us to be more.
“Then teach yourfriendhow to skate. Like you taught me.”
When I look up, Erin is on her stomach being helped up by Rufus. He holds on to her as he helps her off the ice. Her tiny hand reaches out for me when she’s at the boards, and the way her eyes lock onto mine sends a shock wave straight through me.
Only one word occupies my mind right now.
Mine.
Erin leans forwardin her seat, and her eyes cut to the house that’s in her view. Gravel crunches underneath Byrdie as I pump the brakes.
“Where are we?” Erin asks, her brows pulling together. “I thought we were getting coffee?”
I unbuckle myself from the seat, twist, and throw my arm over her headrest.
“Was today the first time you’ve been on ice?”
She grimaces and a whisper falls out of her mouth. “Yeah.”
“Why’d you get on a rink full of hockey players if you’ve never skated before?”
She blows out a raspberry and shrugs.
“I thought it would be fun to try, and I thought if I told you I couldn’t skate… with your injuries, I didn’t want you to risk hurting yourself for some silly little project.”
Shame and guilt slam into me at full force. She wants to protect me from injuries I’m pretending to still have.
We get closer every time we see each other, and each day, I lean in the direction of telling her the truth a little more. I don’t want to keep this charade up any longer, but I’m afraid the minute I tell her, things between us will change because of my lack of honesty. I don’t want to lose her.
“Erin…” I start, unsure of how I’m going to word my apology.
“Are you mad?” Her voice is barely audible as she lowers her head.
I use my index finger to tilt her chin up.
“No, Bookworm. I’m not mad. But I need you to listen to me. It’s important. I don’t want you to ever feel like you can’t talk to me because you’re worried about what I might say or how I’ll react, okay? I’ll never be mad at you for wanting to communicate with me,” I say, trying to steer my mind away from the hypocrisy of my words. I’m asking her to be honest and communicate with me, and yet, I can’t bring myself to do the same.
