Page 28 of At the Edge with You

I glance over my shoulder, and his eyes move to mine, longing in his brown gaze. He doesn’t smile, though, that furrow between his brows tormenting me. “Thanks.”

“Living up to that pretty boy name,” I tease, and his lips quirk.

“I don’t think it’s pretty boy anymore—more so grumpy ass.”

I bring my brows together. “Why?”

He shrugs. “Comes with age, I guess. Just don’t have time for bullshit. Got a business to run.”

I roll my lips and nod as I continue to look around. Unable to resist, I move to his bed and run my fingers along his sheets. They’re so soft, so silky, and I want to nuzzle them. Especially since I know they smell just like him.

“Still obsessed with blankets?”

I smile shyly but don’t look at him. “Yeah.”

“Still got that Goofy one?”

I feel my eyes widen, my lips spreading in a grin that takes up my whole face. “I do.” His chuckle hits me square in the gut, and needing to ignore it, I ask, “You live here alone?”

“I do.”

“Don’t you get lonely here?”

“No, not at all.”

I shrug. “It’s nice, I guess.”

He doesn’t comment, but I feel his gaze on me. I move to a bookshelf that has a photo of us at Salt Lake, and his gold medal is in a holder beside it. Unlike the photo on the banner outside, this one is of when he kissed my nose. For months, almost years, not a moment went by when I didn’t still feel his soft lips on the tip of my nose. I thought of that moment over and over, trying to analyze it and figure out what it meant. His mouth never came as close to mine as that, and when it did, I froze instead of doing what I really wanted.

I run my finger along the glass of the photo. “I heard you got hurt.”

He doesn’t answer right away, and when he does, I realize that he’s closer than I thought. “Yeah, my junior year. I shattered my knee. It took four surgeries to fix it.”

I don’t take my eyes off the photo of us, my mind reliving every moment of that skate. The feel of his fingers in mine. His hands on my body. How he caught me with ease and held me so reverently. The way our bodies moved in sync for our series of jumps and twists. I didn’t have to see the video to know we were right in time with each other. Hell, we were probably breathing at the same cadence. Was his heart beating as out of control as mine was? Did he feel the shift?

Or was it all in my head?

“Did you get your degree?”

“I did, but in Knoxville,” he answers, his voice somewhat sad. I want to look back at him, but I don’t dare do so.

“That’s good,” I say softly.

Just close your eyes. It’s only you and me.

I find myself closing my eyes as I mutter, “I’m glad it all worked out for you.”

He doesn’t answer, and the silence has me looking over my shoulder to find his eyes on me. Is that pain in his gaze? Regret? Surely not. What does he have to regret? He went for his dreams, and while they didn’t work out the way he wanted, he still went for them. His shoulders move with each breath he takes, and I swear he wants to say something.

But what?

We stare at each other, our chests rising and falling a lot faster than they need to. We’re standing still, but I feel like I’m skating in circles.

With him.

Unable to handle the silence, I force a chuckle before I joke, “The only thing you’re missing is a copy ofTheCutting Edge.”

His face breaks, and he shakes his head. “I have it.”

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