Page 82 of Skate the Line

My hands move before my head even realizes what’s happening. My reflexes are quick from years of hockey.

One arm wraps around her waist, and the other cups the side of her cheek. “Breathe, Sunshine. It’s just me. Ellie’s fine.” I skate my attention all over her worried face.

Her eyelashes flutter. I suck in my own sharp breath when her hand winds around my sturdy wrist, gripping onto it for dear life. The rising and falling of her chest is indicative of panic, but I can’t help but focus on how her breasts are brushing against me.

A warm, heavy breath flows from her mouth, and my nostrils flare. She smells sweet, like buttery popcorn and something that makes my mouth water.

“Oh, jeez.” She closes her eyes and releases my wrist. “I’m so sorry. You startled me. I?—”

There’s no need for her to explain. I understand why she’s on edge sometimes.

I move to let go of her, but she sways, so I quickly reach for her again. This time, I put my hands around her waist to steadyher. I glance down to make sure her feet are stable on the floor, and my mouth runs dry.

Where the hell are her pants?

Fuck.

I gulp, and it’s loud enough for her to hear.

“You’re still wearing my jersey,” I state.

Her silky hair falls and brushes my arm with the dip of her head. “Ohgod,”she groans. “I fell asleep. I didn’t mean for you to…find me like this.”

I’m not sure I like the sound of her wobbling voice. I bet if I were to move my fingers to her wrist, her pulse would be flying a mile a minute.

“Sit.” With my hands on her waist, I guide her backward and push her to collapse on the couch. When she’s settled, I remove my traitorous hands and take a step away. I plead with myself to keep my eyes on her face and not her bare legs. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m fine,” she argues.

There she goes again, acting all determined and independent. “You just scared me. I?—”

I make a noise that escapes from deep within my chest when she tries to stand. She pauses, peers up at me with flushed cheeks, and then slowly sits back down.

Khoroshaya devochka.

I freeze at the explicit vision that fills my head.

Did I just call her “good girl” in Russian?

I cough from shock and end up muttering, “Good choice.”

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Her lips purse, and I look away.

I sit beside her, putting enough distance between us to where we aren’t touching, and clear my thoughts. If this were a few weeks ago, I’d leave her to calm herself down from being startled awake. But now that I know she’s skittish for certain reasons, I decide to stay.

Sesame Streetplays on the TV in front of us. I look at her and hate that my gaze falls to her bare legs for a brief second. They shouldn’t catch my attention, but they do.

I lift my leg and tug on the blanket I sat on. I hold it out to her, and she quickly snatches it, resting it over her bare thighs.Thank god.

I reach for anything that will pull my thoughts in a different direction and flick my chin at the flatscreen. “Interesting choice.”

A dimple appears on her cheek. “There’s a reason behind it.”

I give her my attention, and she’s smiling coyly. Her hands are in her lap, over the blanket…and why is she so pretty? Her dimple deepens, and there’s that warm feeling again.

“Do I dare ask?” My tone is full of boredom, yet I’m anything but bored.

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