Page 53 of Hot Ice, Tennessee

“When you sent me that text earlier, I was in the locker room,” he said. “I didn’t have time to reply, but… I was going to tell youno.”

I sucked in a breath. “I understand.”

His eyes were so soulful and soprettyI wanted to die right about now.

I wanted him so fucking badly.

But I’d missed my chance, and now he was pulling back. I respected it, even if I wanted to kick myself.

His voice was low. “I think we both know the reasons why we shouldn’t do anything physical together—”

I nodded fast, looking down. “Right. Yep. Can’t blame me for trying, though.”

“—but then I fucking changed my mind.”

I felt each beat of my heart when I glanced back up at him. He sucked his lower lip into his mouth, then let it go.

“God, you are going to ruin me,” I said, my breath a low whisper.

“Come with me.”

His hand clasped around mine. My heart was still pounding like a drum inside me as he took my hand and gave it a tug, leading me down the row of seats.

Holy mother of God.

The same sinking feeling that had flooded me the other night—when I was loopy on allergy meds, making a fool of myself in front of him—rushed back into me now.

Not sinking. More likefalling.

Like I was being swept along in Jesse’s current, and I wanted to surrender to it.

To let him take that control.

As we walked down the hall between sets of seats, a few straggling groups of people were still standing and chatting in the wings. He waved and nodded at a few people as he walked with me, even stopping for selfies with a few of them. Afterward he went right back to grabbing my hand, with no shame in his game, and certainly not trying to hide that he was holding my hand.

“So you liked watching me?” he asked.

He was asking me if I liked the goddamn hockey game?

Now?

I practically couldn’t think straight with my hand in his, and I didn’t know where he was taking me, but at this point I’d follow him into moving traffic if it meant getting a chance at having him touch me just once.

“I don’t know how you do it,” I told him. “The puck is basically microscopic, and it’s sliding all over the ice at a million miles an hour. You skate like you’re all graceful one moment,then you’re up in a guy’s face the next. My jaw was on the floor, Jesse.”

“You actually liked it,” he said, sounding amazed. A satisfied expression landed on his face for the first time since leaving the locker room. “You enjoyed watching hockey?”

“I enjoyed watchingyou.”

He led me down a short hallway and opened a door, leading me inside.

It was a small supply closet, with one shaded window at the back and racks of rink maintenance supplies along one wall. The air was quiet and still, and faintly smelled like a fresh lemon-scented cleaner.

He did a quick check of the room, looking it over it like he was making sure nobody else was inside before reaching behind me and shoving a giant box in front of the door.

“No lock. This’ll have to do.”

“Holy fuck,” I whispered.

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