Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 100612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100612 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 503(@200wpm)___ 402(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
“Oh, stop.” I smile, like no big deal. “Like riding a bike.”
“Exactly like riding a bike.” He nods, gaze locking on mine.
The corners of his mouth tip up into a smile, and there’s something about the way he’s looking at me…it has me shivering, a full-body shiver that’s a mix of nerves and the cold and excitement. His eyes narrow slightly, catching the movement, and he tilts his head to study me.
“Are you cold?” he asks, his voice softening as he slows to a stop in front of me. “You want to go back? Warm up?”
“No!” I shake my head quickly. “No—I’m good.”
It’s a lie. I am cold—but that’s not the reason I shivered.
It’s him.
The way his thumb is lightly brushing the back of my palm. The way his eyes linger on mine. The way he looks like he has something he wants to say.
“What?” I ask softly, my voice barely above a whisper. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
His gaze drops to where our hands are joined before flicking back up to meet mine. There’s a hesitation in his expression now, something nervous and deliberate—like he’s gearing up for something big.
Oh my god.
Is this it? Is he about to ask me to prom?
IS THAT THE SOMETHING BIG?
My heart pounds so loudly I swear can hear it drumming in my ears.
This has to be the moment. The dreamy gaze. The quiet tension. The fact that we’re holding hands in the middle of an empty rink like some kind of romantic comedy cliché.
Even though it’s not the public promposal I wanted, this is literally so perfect!
I hold my breath, pulse racing as I breathlessly wait for him to say those seven words: WILL YOU GO TO PROM WITH ME?
“Why are you looking at me that way?” I ask again, my voice tentative, the anticipation making my knees wobble.
He blinks, his grin faltering. “How am I looking at you?”
“Oh—you know how you’re looking at me.” Like you have something you’re dying to ask and you waited until Macy was in the car so you could do it privately!
SO ROMANTIC. I practically squeal in delight.
“Why are you being weird?” Easton raises an eyebrow, hand still holding mine as we glide across the ice. “Do you think I’m up to something?”
I nudge him as we slowly skate along. “Well…are you?”
I keep my tone light—flirty—giving him the perfect opening for a grand gesture: the setting, the mood, the way he’s holding my hand like we’re on an actual date.
He cocks his head, giving me a sidelong glance, his grin widening as he moves, stopping in front of me. Oh god, oh god, oh god! This is it!
“Harper.” The teasing edge is gone. “You’re terrible at hiding what you’re thinking, you know that?”
“Pfft.” My pulse quickens, and I swallow hard. “You know what I’m thinking about?” How could he possibly?
“I think you’re hoping I’ll stop messing around and get to the point.”
I remember to keep my breathing even, but my chest feels tight, anticipation curling around my ribs. He wouldn’t have brought me here just to skate around and flex his hockey muscles if there wasn’t a reason. This must be it.
His fingers skim over mine again; then—slowly—he lifts his free hand and runs it along the curve of my jaw.
Oh.
Oh.
We’re standing so close. So, so close, my breath catches, and my thoughts screech to a halt. This isn’t—he isn’t—
“Yes,” I whisper, unable to stand it any longer. “The answer is yes!”
Easton freezes. His brows pull together, confusion flickering in his eyes as he searches my face.
“What?” he asks roughly.
Oh no.
No, no, no. Did I ruin the moment because I have a big mouth and zero chill?
Heat shoots up my neck, my entire body flushing with the realization that I might have just given an answer to a question that did not exist.
Easton stares, close enough that I can see the way his pupils are blown wide, the sharp set of his jaw as he exhales slowly, his perfect lips parted.
“Were you going to kiss me?” I whisper, confused.
Instead of stepping back, he leans in. Closer. His fingers ghost over my wrist, featherlight, like he’s testing my reaction—like he’s daring himself to do something as so bold as to kiss me in the center of the ice.
One inch closer—maybe less—and we won’t be talking anymore.
He licks his lips and my eyes follow. “I don’t know. Should I?”
Should he?
Yes! Yes, because he is right here in front of me, the warmth of his breath passing over my lips more tempting than I would have ever guessed. Yes, because I know his mouth would be soft, warm, everything I shouldn’t be thinking about!
No.
No because this is Easton. Because I can’t just let my body win not knowing how he feels about me. Does he like me or not? My heart is an unpredictable thing, already tripping over itself, already slipping dangerously toward something unstoppable.