Page 136 of Ice Darling
“Okay, Daddy.” Gordie skips away.
I close the door with a click.
“You can come out now,” I announce, reaching for the shirt that I took to the bathroom with me. Thankfully, it’s now dry.
Cordelia crashes out of my closet, avoiding my gaze.
I smile at her self-conscious expression. “About earlier?—”
“We don’t need to talk about it.” Cordelia fiddles with her shirt, and I can tell that she’s bracing for me to push the point.
It would be fair to, wouldn’t it?
We were going to kiss.
That, at least, warrants a conversation, but I don’t want to make her uncomfortable—which she clearly is.
I step back. “Either way…you’re welcome.”
“What?” She looks up with fear in her eyes.
“You snuck into my room, but I didn’t rat you out to Gordie.”
The tension leaves her shoulders, and her eyes widen. “I didn’t sneak in!”
“You sure?” I slip into my shirt and pull it down over my stomach, noticing the way her eyes linger on my abs. “You looked extremely guilty when I caught you. Like you were looking at somethingyou shouldn’t be.”
The color is high on her cheeks, but her eyes glint with the fierceness I know so well. “Honestly”—she stares pointedly at my stomach—“I was a little disappointed.”
I narrow my gaze. “Disappointed?”
“I thought you’d have a dad bod.”
Her words register, and I bark out a laugh.
She grins at me.
“I’ll try my hardest to get one if that’s what you like.”
The moment the words leave my lips, I immediately want to face-palm. What kind of flirting is this? The kids on the team would say I have “no rizz.” Which isn’t surprising. I haven’t flirted with a woman since my divorce, and it shows.
Thankfully, Cordelia isn’t running and screaming for the hills. I watch a smile stretch on her mouth.
But it fades too quickly, and she gets awkward again. “Gordie will start worrying if I don’t head out now.”
I open the door and gesture for her to walk ahead of me.
Eyes wide, Cordelia slams the door shut. “Are you crazy?” she hisses. “We can’t go out there at the same time.”
“Why not?”
“Because…” Her voice trembles with uncertainty. “Because we can’t. It’ll give the wrong impression.”
“To who?” I fold my arms over my chest.
“To people you’re better suited for,” she mumbles.
Those words send my eyebrows skyrocketing. “What is that supposed to?—”
