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It’s like she’s asking if I knew Elvis.
“I did. And Grant Bowie was a year ahead of us, and Piper was a few years behind, but yes.”
Another woman with similar features but darker hair glides in, introducing herself with a smile. “Stormy Diesel, the nosey one’s sister.”
I nod, going off balance again, and they both laugh, hooking their arms through mine.
“Thank you,” I gasp, trying not to be too obvious about pinning their arms in place. “Nice to meet you both.”
Misty bites her lip, searching the crowd. “I can’t even imagine him as a kid.”
Stormy leans in conspiratorially. “He was the guy hooking up with all the hot teachers, wasn’t he?” I open my mouth to tell them no, that Ben was actually as far from promiscuous as a guy could get. But just then, two steel bands clamp across my middle, plucking me from the safety of Misty and Stormy’s bracketed arm lock.
“Ben!” I shriek, flying, my skates inches above the ice as he holds me firm against his chest. “Put me down… but safely… against the wall.”
Preferably by one of the exits so I don’t have to skate too far for my escape.
“The boards,” he says, his voice low and warm, tinged with humor. He’s holding me so close his mouth is level with my ear. And, yeah. That fluttery business in my belly I will absolutely be blaming on the way he is effortlessly whisking me around the ice… and not the feel of his breath against the sensitive skin beneath my ear.
When we reach the far end, it’s mostly empty. He sets me close to the boards but not close enough. I look at them with longing, and he laughs, taking my hands in his.
“The girls pumping you for information?” he asks, pulling me in and then doing something with his skates that propels him slowly backward.
“You know they were.” I watch him move, trying not to give in to the lure of his denim-clad thighs. Failing.
“Tell ’em how you corrupted me?”
I cough, my eyes flashing to his. “Come again?”
“Yeah, pretty sure that was the gist of it.” He draws me in, drifts back. “‘More, Ben… Again, Ben… Make me co?—’”
Laughing, I pull my hand free of his, pushing my fingers across his mouth as his eyes dance with mischief.
“If memory serves,” I whisper, ignoring that back-of-the-brain warning that this is territory better left unacknowledged. “It didn’t take much arm-twisting. And if anyone was begging—” I glance around, making sure no one is close enough to hear. “It was you.”
He nips at my fingers, but when I pull my hand away, he catches it again.
“One hundred percent,” he concedes with a scorching grin.
And that might have been that, a throwaway reference to times gone by… if our eyes weren’t still locked in a hold I couldn’t pull away from if I wanted to. And suddenly the memory is there.
His lips at my ear, his perfect body working into me. Deep and deeper. His voice rough, panting… “Give it to me, Elle. Need to feel you come for me one more time. Please.”
I blink, my breath catching on a sound I definitely don’t mean to make.
And when I look back at Ben, that playful smirk is nowhere to be found. The way he’s looking at me now— eyes dark, nostrils flaring —I stop breathing altogether.
We draw together.
Drift apart.
Draw together. His eyes move to my mouth.
Come to a stop, mere inches separating us.
Inches that suggest it’s not too late to stop what’s happening.
Inches that seem to evaporate with my next heartbeat. I don’t know if it’s me pulling him closer or if it’s him pulling me, but the air between us feels different. It’s crackling with something hot and electric and as compelling as gravity.
