Page 4 of My Rival for Christmas

“The judges won’t like them, either,” she whispers after what feels like an eternity, but has really just been a few seconds. Her hand falls away.

My body already misses her touch.

“I wear long sleeves, they’ll never know,” I assure her, knowing that no matter how much Paige the person is hypnotized by my tattoos, Paige the skater just sees them as a hindrance to the very traditional, classical rules that are embedded in our sport.

Rules that only make me want to rebel.

Paige never asks about the tattoos I started getting at seventeen. After I showed her the wolf I got on my thigh, when she gave me a deep, disapproving frown, I never made a big deal about them, but I want her to ask about the mountain scene she just left her touch all over.

Maybe if she does, I’ll actually find the courage to ask her to go home with me like I’ve wanted to every year since I found out her and her brother don’t celebrate Christmas. At least, not the way my dad and I do.

I want to give her that happiness.

I want to give her so much.

If only she’d let me.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you still haven’t promised me yet.” She stabs me in the chest with a polished finger.

“Who, me?” I grin down at her, my attention straying to the speckle of freckles that dance across her nose, stretching beyond her cheeks. “I’d never.”

Before she can argue with how untrue that is, I push her away, rotating her hips as I do.

The brief flicker of surprise quickly turns into a grin of her own as she throws herself into the motion, going around and around until she’s nothing but a blur of red hair and black athletic gear.

She comes out of the spin with all the grace and flourish that makes her the envy of so many. Like it’s as effortless as breathing, as beautiful as being.

I skate over to her, but frown a second before I feel it.

My skate catches on something, throwing off my balance. I lurch forward the same time Paige reaches for me. As if her elegant arms are strong enough to catch me.

Instead, we collide with a hard crash, and her knees buckle under the force.

I curse, tightening my hold on her, and roll our bodies so my back takes the brunt of the impact as we go down hard on the ice. The breath gets knocked out of me, but I’m not sure if it’s from the force of my back hitting the unforgiving ground or if it’s because Paige is splayed out on top of me.

Her lips are a hairsbreadth away from mine. Close enough to see the freckles dotted around them.

One shift and our lips would connect.

One shift, and that’s all it would take to know if she tastes like the sweetest heaven or cruelest hell.

One. Little. Shift.

It takes all my strength, all my discipline as an athlete to not find out.

Instead, I stay as still as possible, moving nothing but my chest as it rises and falls in laborious rhythm.

It’s all I can do—to focus on my breathing or else I’ll notice the way Paige’s chest moves in tune with mine or how her every exhale dances across my skin or that she smells like warm vanilla and toasted marshmallow.

“Promise me, Nate,” she rasps, almost desperately.

As if she can see the indecision straining my face, she rushes to add, “It can be your Christmas gift to me this year.”

We don’t do gifts, going back to the whole Paige doesn’t celebrate the holiday thing, but I think of the box tucked away in my gym bag. The one I stayed up way too late wrapping, going through an entire roll of candy cane paper until I finally was happy with the result. Until it looked perfectly presentable.Bow and all. Although, the bow was a sticker. I’m not a miracle worker here.

I did, however, find a present I couldn’t resist getting her.

One I’ve been waiting to see her open.

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