Page 132 of Callan

I find the idea so hilarious that I lift my hand and gesture dismissively.

“Never mind. I was just joking.”

“We can do that,” he says in the voice of a man about to offer me the world on a silver platter.

“No, we can’t,” I argue, although entertained. “The ice rink is closed.”

He checks the time on his watch.

“Let’s see if it is,” he says, picking up the pace and forcing me to rush.

We arrive five minutes before the closing time.

He tears his hand away from mine.

“Wait here,” he says, going straight to the people managing the place.

“He’s crazy…” I say to myself, watching him negotiate with the staff. “No one wants to stay late for us. They probably can’t wait to get home.”

My heart soars when the man he’s talking to nods in agreement and shakes hands with him.

He did it.

He fucking did it.

There’s no one here besides us, and the man he’s talked to goes inside. Soon after, the lights dim while Callan heads my way.

My heart is like a sparrow in my chest. The closer he gets, the harder it throbs.

I would think we would need a bit more time.

A few words exchanged between us, riding an undercurrent of lust. Another lingering gaze and the fingers of emotions over my face.

But no.

He pulls up in front of me, threads his fingers through my hair, and turns my world upside down.

The surroundings painted in white and silver, the buildings with muted lights, the big eye of ice peering at the sky, the marshmallow clouds, and the sparkling moon peeking from betweenthem makes everything look surreal.

My hand curls around his wrist, my arm looping around his waist as he pulls me into him and locks my lips.

Pivoting with me, he nudges me into the ice rink wall.

His hands rest on either side of me, his body pressing into mine while l want him with everything I have.

His lips break away before trailing down my neck.

Steamy breaths roll off our lips when he lifts his chin and searches my eyes.

“I want you…” I say in response to his questioning stare.

“I know,” he says curtly, with just a tiny, tiny speck of uncertainty in his voice.

It’s not enough to make me stall, but it’s enough to make me notice it.

“Is there something wrong?” I ask, my fingers splayed over his face.

He takes my hand, kisses my fingertips, and tenderly squeezes my hand.

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