Page 107 of You're The One
“I’m fine,” I tell Ryan, and cut Dom a look he doesn’t catch. He’s too busy checking me, holding my hands and rotating my wrists.
Ryan isn’t nearly as concerned. He nods once and extends a hand. “Here. Let me help you up.”
I try to pull free, but Dom stands and scoops me up before I can react. “I got her,” he says, already skating toward the bench, carrying me bridal style.
Over his shoulder, I catch Ryan trailing behind us, his expression somewhere between amused and uncomfortable.
What did they talk about this morning?
Did Dom tell him the truth about us? His truth or mine?
Did Ryan approve? Did he forbid it? Give him an ultimatum? Threaten him? I can’t see Ryan doing that, but what if he said something that made Dom reconsider?
No. He wasn’t exactly subtle this morning when he greeted me—smiling like he didn’t care who saw.
I look up at Dom, lowering my voice. “How did it go this morning? The talk aboutus.”
A slow smile spreads across his face. “I like that.Us.”
He reaches the exit, his skates clomping against the rubber floor. “It was good.”
Well, that leaves lots of room for interpretation, but at least it sounds vaguely promising.
Dom sets me on the bench and crouches to unlace my skates, but before he can say anything else, Ryan steps up behind him.
I press my lips together, the questions still clawing at my throat.
“Dude, what are you doing?” Ryan asks. “Do you think she broke her ankle? I’m pretty sure she’s good.”
Dom blinks. Once. Twice. Then, finally, he looks up at Ryan, chuckles, and rises to his full height.
“Do we have to put you on injured reserve?” Ryan jokes.
“No, I’m good.” I stand and immediately wobble. One skate’s still loose, thanks to the overprotective man hovering nearby, looking a little lost.
Okay, so we haven’t exactly mastered the whole nonverbal communication thing.
“I’ll lace that back up.” Dom kneels again and pats his thigh.
I prop up my foot, and he tightens the laces so much that by the time he’s done, my other skate feels loose by comparison.
I switch feet, and he raises a brow.
“This one feels loose now,” I explain.
We share a smile before a pointed throat-clearing cuts through the moment.
Dom taps my now-tight skate and stands.
“We’ll meet you out there,” Ryan tells him.
I give Dom a subtle nod, and he skates back onto the ice. The game carries on without us.
Apparently, it’s my turn in the hot seat.
What’s the tactic that always works on those crime shows Hannah watches? Plead insanity? I could probably make a solid case. Evade? That seems like the safer bet.
“What’s going on between you guys?” Ryan drops onto the bench beside me.
