Page 34 of Faking with Three

“So,” I say, sitting up straighter and glancing around the room, “let’s start planning the next episode. Charlie Green wants a fight? She’s going to get one.”

My eyes dart back to Ethan for a split second, catching the ghost of a smile still lingering on his face. That jolt I felt earlier? It hasn’t gone away. If anything, it’s only grown stronger.

CHAPTER 11

JAX

The local skatingrink smells like a combination of stale popcorn, rubber, and the faint metallic tang of icy air. It’s not fancy—just a modest arena with scuffed walls, disco lights flickering overhead, and an ancient sound system blasting classic rock. A low wooden barrier surrounds the rink floor, and kids with red faces and wobbly knees cling to it like their lives depend on it. A few couples glide gracefully in the center, showing off. The whole place practically hums, skates scraping against ice, and the occasional thud of someone hitting the ground.

I lean against the railing, watching Marcus fiddle with the tripod while Ethan checks the mic levels we’ll need for the episode. They’re focused and intent on making this episode a success after the restaurant fiasco. Ethan mutters something about lighting, Marcus rolls his eyes, and I glance over at Olivia.

I spot Olivia sitting on a bench near the edge of the rink, bent over as she ties her skates. Her hair falls into her face, but I know it’s her. The way she’s angled away from me, the tension in her shoulders—yeah, she’s avoiding me. Again.

I’m not going to let her get away with it this time.

I stride over, leaning against the barrier as I watch her fumble with her laces. Her fingers are moving like she’s trying to pull a grenade pin, quick and jerky. There’s a sharp twist in my chest when I think about how things have been between us since that night.

It was the best sex I’ve ever had, and she’s acting like it didn’t happen. That stings. Hell, ithurts. My ego’s taken a hit, sure, but it’s more than that. I can’t stop thinking about her—her laugh, the freckles on her shoulders, the way she looked at me like I wasn’t just some cocky guy throwing lines. Now? Now she won’t even look at me.

“You can’t avoid me forever,” I say, my voice low as I crouch down in front of her. Without waiting for an invitation, I take over, tying the laces she’s fumbling with. My fingers brush hers, and I can feel her tense up.

Her green eyes dart to mine, and for a moment, the world around us blurs. A flash of that night burns in my memory—her skin warm under my hands, the way her soft moans filled the air, her freckles scattered across her alabaster skin like constellations. My chest tightens, heat pooling low in my stomach. Damn it. I need to get a grip.

She pulls her foot back slightly, breaking the spell. “I’m not avoiding you,” she mutters, her tone dripping with sarcasm. “You just have an overinflated sense of self-importance.”

“Yeah?” I smirk, tying the other shoe. “Then why’s it been nothing but radio silence since?—?”

Her glare cuts me off. “Don’t finish that sentence, Jax.”

I bite back a grin. She’s flustered, but there’s something else in her expression—nerves? I pause, studying her. This isn’t just about me, is it?

“What’s really going on, Olivia?” I press, keeping my voice soft. “You look like you’d rather be anywhere else but here.”

She exhales sharply, her hands fidgeting in her lap. “It’s stupid,” she says finally.

“Try me.”

She glances around the rink, avoiding my eyes. “I broke my tooth here once,” she admits, her voice barely above a whisper. “I was twelve, and I thought I could skate backward like some Olympic champion. Spoiler alert: I couldn’t. Face-planted right into the ice.”

I chuckle before I can stop myself, earning a glare. “Sorry, I’m not laughing at you,” I say quickly, holding my hands up. “It’s just… well, I promise today’s not going to be a repeat of that. Besides, you’ve got me. I’m a pro.”

“Right,” she says dryly, though I catch a flicker of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

Before I can say more, a movement catches my eye. A kid, maybe eight years old, is sitting a few feet away, struggling with his skates. His small hands are shaking as he fumbles with the laces, his head down like he doesn’t want anyone to notice him.

“Hey, buddy,” I say, leaning over. The kid looks up, startled, his wide eyes darting between me and Olivia. “Need some help with those?”

He hesitates, then gives a small nod. I slide over and start tying his laces, keeping my tone light. “First time skating?”

He shakes his head. “No, but I’m not very good.”

“Neither is Olivia,” I say, jerking my thumb toward her. She gasps, smacking my shoulder, and the kid cracks a shy smile. “Hey!” she protests. “I’m not the one who called himself a pro.”

“True, but you’re the one who broke a tooth skating backward,” I shoot back, grinning.

The kid lets out a quiet laugh, and I feel a small swell of pride. “There we go,” I say, finishing his laces. “All set. You’re going to crush it out there.”

“Thanks,” the kid murmurs before scooting off, still shy but visibly more at ease.

---