Page 119 of Wild Then Wed
Sawyer considers that for a second, and I can already see the gears turning.
“Come with me,” I say. “Just try it. One lap around the rink. You don’t even have to let go of the wall if you don’t want to.”
He gives me a look. “You think I’m going to be clinging to a wall?”
“I know you are.”
He laughs, the sound low and warm in the cold. “You’re kind of a menace.”
I smile.
He pauses, then nods slowly. “Alright. I’ll come.”
I glance back at him. “Wait, seriously?”
“Seriously. I’ll probably make a complete ass of myself, but yeah. I’m in.”
I grin. “Oh, youdefinitelywill.”
Sawyer’s eyes glint, his voice dropping to that low, rough timbre that licks through me like a struck match. “Yeah, well, at least I’ll be an ass onaccident.Unlike some people who just come by it so naturally.”
I swat at his arm, but he catches my wrist, his grip warm even through my sleeve. And I don’t know why that settles something in me, but it does. The way his thumb brushes absently over the inside of my wrist. The way he’s looking at me like he’s already planning his revenge for whatever humiliation awaits him on that rink.
Maybe this won’t be the worst fake marriage ever after all.
* * *
“This was a terrible idea.”
Sawyer is staring down at his skates like they’ve personally betrayed him.
I’m still lacing mine up on the bench, my gloves wedged under my thigh to keep them warm. “It’s not terrible,” I say, yanking the laces tight. “Entertaining? Absolutely. But not terrible.”
He doesn’t answer, just scowls at his feet as if his legs have forgotten how to function.
The rink is packed tonight. Kids flying past at full speed with no sense of personal space, couples skating in slow circles holding hands, the speakers playing “Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree” just loud enough to get stuck in your head. Lights are strung around the outer railing, glowing soft and golden, and snowflakes drift down, catching in Sawyer’s light hair before melting against his scruff.
I kneel in front of him once my skates are secure and eye his sad excuse for lacing. “Jesus. These are a disaster.”
His brows lift. “What’re you doing?”
“Saving your ankles.” I yank the first lace loose.
“They’re fine.”
“They’renotfine. You’ll snap your ankle in half if you go out like this.”
He watches as I untie the lace and start again. “You want the boot to feel like it’s hugging your ankle. Otherwise, you’ve got no control. You’ll end up doing the splits or breaking something. Or both.”
His eyes gleam with amusement. “You’ve given this speech before.”
“To Sage. Every damn year.”
“Should I be scared?”
I finish the second lace and sit back on my heels, grinning. “Terrified.”
He barks out a laugh, and I push to my feet, brushing snow off my knees. I stride toward the rink, then glance back when I realize he hasn’t moved. “Come on, let’s get it moving. Time to face your doom.”
