Page 31 of Perfectly Complicated
He stands. “Ready?”
“You go first. I’llwatch.” I slide on my mittens.
“Come on, Bennett.” He extends his hand. “I thought this was couples’ day. Which means you can’t let me skate alone.”
I stare at his outstretched hand like it might be a trap. Taking it feels risky.
“I promise I don’t bite,” he says with a smirk, suggesting he absolutely would, under the right circumstances.
I reluctantly slide my hand into his, but he immediately shakes his head.
“Mittens off.”
“But my hands will freeze.”
“I can’t get a good grip otherwise.” His fingers find the hem of my left mitten. “This needs to go.”
What happens next should be simple—removing winter gear for the sake of practicality. But nothing with Rourke is ever that straightforward. He peels the mitten off like he’s unwrapping a present—slowly, intentionally, and with an absurd amount of eye contact.
The wool slides away from my fingers easily. When he tosses it onto my lap, a small smirk plays at his lips.
“Other hand.” He waves his fingers.
I hold it out, muttering, “I feel like I should be tipping you for this level of customer service.”
“Well, I aim to please,” he says with a smirk, stripping off the mitten before tossing it onto the growing pile of wool casualties.
“There.” But he doesn’t let go of my hand. He brings my palms to his lips and blows hot air over them.
It’s the kind of move that would be totally normal if we were, say,dating. Or an actual couple. But since we are neither of those things, my brain doesn’t know what to make of this.
Not only are my hands warm, but my entire body has basically turned into a toasted marshmallow.
“Tell me”—I lift an eyebrow—“do you always undress your dates like this, one mitten at a time?”
His lips hitch into a grin that should be illegal. “Only whenthey’re being stubborn.” He pulls me to my feet so I’m suddenly inches from him. “And only when it matters.”
“For what?”
He leans in just enough to make me sweat. “For keeping you safe. That’s my job now, Bennett. Don’t forget it.”
My heart does a swoop that feels wildly inappropriate for a man I officially do not trust.
He’s just being helpful. There’s nothing between us.
Even though we’re at a Christmas festival. With twinkle lights and falling snow. And I’m pretty sure Nat King Cole is crooning in the background.
But nope, definitely not romantic.I am immune.
Then I step onto the ice, and my skates immediately betray me, making me flail like a cartoon character on banana peels. I launch myself at the wall like a wobbly baby giraffe. Graceful. Elegant. Everything men find irresistible.
Rourke glides past me, turning to skate backward with an effortlessness that makes me irate. This is his world and it’s honestly obscene how good he looks doing it.
“You need help?” he asks, amusement in his voice.
“I’m fine,” I lie, releasing the wall just long enough to wobble dangerously before grabbing it again. “Just getting my bearings.”
He stops directly in front of me, close enough that I can see the brown flecks in his dark eyes. “Janie. You have to let go of the wall.”
