Page 22 of My Rival for Christmas

She’d shout profanities, cursing me five hundred ways to Sunday like she is now, but there would always be an ease to her features after—her stress gone. Even if for a few subsequent minutes, she had a break from the pressures she put on herself.

I wonder if she remembers any of those times. If they’re playing through her head right now like they are mine.

I steal a glance over my shoulder as I loop around a curve. Her jaw is locked, eyes sharp with a keen focus—dead set on me.

Eh, probably not. She’s too busy plotting all the ways to choke me.

I’m okay with that option, though.

“When you catch me,” I call out, “make sure to ask for my safe word before you start choking me.”

“You’re not going to need a safe word,” she promises, “because I’m not going to be stopping.”

I groan. “At least wait until we can properly act on these promises before you get kinky with me, Montgomery. It’s not fair to my delicate emotions.”

“The only delicate thing about you is your ego, Ford.” She sounds closer than she did a moment ago, and I speed up.

“Au contraire, mon amie. My ego is very robust, thanks to all you put it through.”

“Then I’m not trying hard enough,” she mumbles, and I think I’m not meant to hear it. But because I do, I flash her the smile I know she loves to hate.

She makes a sound deep in her throat, annoyed.

Just like I know what smiles of mine get under her skin, I know Paige’s habits.

Her schedule, even if she’s somehow convinced her mind she’s taking a vacation. She’s a creature of deeply ingrained habits. That doesn’t change if you take a break, so I knew I’d be able to find her at the rink early this morning.

Whether that was from her getting permission from the resort or sneaking onto the ice by herself, skating with only the light of her phone’s flashlight, I knew she’d be here.

Just like I know as a skating addict, Paige would a hundred percent break the law if it meant she’d get some ice time.

I just wasn’t sure when. So every hour since two a.m., British Columbia time, I’ve come out here, freezing my balls off to see if she’d show.

After my last time checking, seeing once again an empty rink, I meandered into town to the bakery, charming the owner Mrs. Jenkins into making me two drinks before they even opened.

By the time I came back, Paige was already here, looking all cute in her fuzzy sweater and leg warmers, even if she is dressed completely wrong for skating outside.

Watching her stand in front of me, shivering and teeth chattering, practically killed me, knowing she’d bite any part of my body that came near her if I tried to help her stop. I wanted to yank my hoodie off and throw it over her taut form. But the most I could do was offer her a piping hot cup of cocoa.

And even that was a struggle.

Stubborn, gorgeous girl.

At least I don’t have to worry about her freezing now. A thin layer of sweat covers my skin, which means Paige is probably burning up thanks to both the physical exertionandher vitriol for me on her side.

“Nate, look! Boobs!” Paige calls, and I instantly spin around, skating backwards to face her.

But I’m not greeted with boobs.

Just her shirt firmly in placeoverher chest.

“Liar.” I pout.

Her already red from exertion cheeks flush deeper, a look of death cloaking her delicate features. “Notmine,you fucking goon.”

“Who shouts ‘look, boobs’ if they’re not the one showing them?” Still skating backwards, I take a curve around the edge of the rink, and Paige’s nostrils flare.

Whether from my words or my movement—which was pretty freaking smooth, might I say—I don’t know, but I’m going to pretend she’s impressed by me.

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