Page 62 of Icebound Hearts

“Try to look less miserable,” Aiden murmurs, leaning over as he lazily spins a pen between his fingers. I glare at him.

“I wouldn’t be miserable if I didn’t have to sit next to you.” Aiden grins, leaning in just enough that I can smell his cologne.

“Liar. You love sitting next to me.” I scoff, turning back to

my notebook. “I tolerate sitting next to you.” He chuckles.

“Tolerate? Is that what you call it when you cuddle me in your sleep?” My hand tightens around my pen.

“I do not cuddle you.”

“You do,” he says with a grin, like he’s enjoying this too much. “It’s adorable, really. You even nuzzle—” I whip my head around, whispering harshly,

“If you finish that sentence, I will stab you with my pen.” Aiden laughs, completely unfazed.

“Kinky.” I slam my pen down and pinch the bridge of my nose, inhaling deeply. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” I open my mouth to fire back, but our professor clears her throat, cutting me off. I don’t miss the victorious look Aiden shoots me. Smug bastard. Somehow, despite my best efforts, I end up back in his room. One second, we’re watchinga movie on his couch, and the next— His fingers are tangled in my hair, his lips on mine, his body pressing me down into the mattress, his weight everywhere on me.

“Aiden,” I gasp, as his mouth trails down my jaw, his hands sliding under the hem of my hoodie— His hoodie. Aiden groans, dragging his lips back to mine, kissing me so intensely my head spins. I should stop this. But I don’t. Because his hands feel too good, his body feels too right, and when he pulls away just enough to whisper,

“You drive me insane, Angel Face,” my heart nearly shatters. Because I believe him.

His room is too small. Or maybe it just feels that way because he’s here. Aiden stretches out on his bed, propped up against the headboard, his long legs

sprawled out comfortably. I’m curled up at the other end of the bed, pretending to be invested in the movie playing on his TV. I’m not. Because all I can think about is him. The way his forearms flex when he runs a hand through his hair. The way his jaw tightens when a scene annoys him. The way his fingers drum absently against his stomach, make my gaze drop lower than it should.

I shift, tucking my legs under me. I should have left an hour ago, I have a test to study for. But I don’t move. And now, in the quiet hum of his room, it feels like it’s going to snap. Aiden exhales slowly. I glance up at him just as he turns his head, his dark eyes locking onto mine.

Something shifts in the air. Heavy. Charged.

I swallow hard, gripping the edge of his blanket like it might ground me.

“You’re not even watching,” he says, his voice rough, low,

something deeper laced beneath it. I lick my lips. “Neither are you.”

Aiden tilts his head slightly, eyes dropping to my mouth for

half a second before flicking back up. “You keep looking at me,” he murmurs.

My heart slams against my ribs. “You keep looking at me

first.”

His lips twitch, but there’s no amusement in his expression. Only heat.

The kind that steals the air from my lungs, makes my skin

burn beneath his gaze.

I should say something sharp, something to break this tension, to remind him that I still haven’t forgiven him. That I’m still mad at him for walking away, for pulling back when I wanted him to stay. But the words get stuck.

Because he’s watching me like that again, like he’s trying to decide if he should touch me.

Like he wants to, but knows it’ll ruin everything. I turn away, pretending to adjust the blanket over my lap. “You want me to leave?”

“No,” Aiden says finally, voice rough. “I don’t.” That admission is dangerous, because I don’t want to leave either. I shift again, stretching my legs out so that my foot accidentally brushes his thigh. He stills, and so do I.

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