Page 97 of The Hearts We Fumble
A comfortable silence stretches between us until I finally ask, “Have you heard anything from your coach yet?”
Zane exhales, his breath visible in the cold air. “Not yet, but I’m sure I will soon.” His voice is flat, but I catch the tension behind it. “I’m bracing myself for the worst. If he benches me, that means I’ll be out for the conference championship.”
I slow slightly, turning to meet his gaze. “And if that happens…”
His jaw clenches. “The last game could be my last at Braysen.”
The weight of those words settles between us, thick and heavy.
This isn’t how he wanted his college career to end. Not like this.
“There’s still a chance,” he adds, forcing a shrug. “Even if I sit out, we could make the playoffs, but… it’s not how I wanted to go out, you know?”
I squeeze his hand again. “One game at a time, right?”
Zane nods, but something more lurks behind his eyes. A thought he isn’t ready to voice yet. I don’t press him. I know him well enough to understand he needs time to work through things on his own.
Before he can say anything else, a kid no older than ten zips past us, his arms flailing wildly. He clips Zane’s side, sending him off balance.
Zane swears under his breath as he stumbles—then, to my absolute delight, he goes down hard, landing straight on his ass.
I slap a hand over my mouth to muffle my laughter, but my shaking shoulders give me away.
“Oh, you think this is funny?” Zane grumbles, scowling up at me.
I nod, still struggling to hold back a laugh. “A little bit.”
His eyes narrow. “You better skate fast, firecracker, because the second I get up, you’re going down with me.”
Challenge accepted.
I push off before he can grab me, laughing as I put some distance between us. Zane clambers to his feet, shaking his head, but the grin tugging at his lips tells me everything I need to know.
For a little while, at least, he’s not thinking about suspensions or headlines.
And that’s exactly what he needed.
Zane mutters, “Little jerk,” under his breath just as his skate catches on an uneven patch of ice. His body tilts sideways, and before he can steady himself, he grabs me—dragging me down with him.
“Oh shit,” he grits out right before we crash.
Well, to be clear, Zane crashes onto the ice. I land right on top of him.
“Smooth.” I snicker, wiggling slightly to push myself up.
The movement sends a sharp friction between us, my core pressing against his, and Zane’s body stiffens beneath me. A low growl rumbles in his throat, his breath hot against my ear.
“Careful, firecracker,” he murmurs, his fingers tightening around my hips. “I wouldn’t mind flipping you onto your back and fucking you right here.”
A soft gasp slips from my lips, and he chuckles darkly.
“Then again,” he muses, his voice a low tease, “I never took you to be into voyeurism.” He flicks a pointed glance at the dozens of people gliding across the ice, oblivious to us. “But maybe I was wrong.”
Heat burns through me, a stark contrast to the chill of the rink.
Zane lifts a gloved hand to my cheek, his thumb grazing the flushed skin. “I’ll never get over watching all the ways you blush for me, baby,” he murmurs, his voice full of promise.
With effort, I push off him, standing on shaky legs before offering him a hand. He takes it, letting me pull him up, but even once we’re steady on our skates, he doesn’t let go. His hand lingers on my waist, his touch possessive.
