Page 55 of Put a Rink on It

Nero pauses in the doorway, his expression reflective. “Hmm. Valid point.” He pauses again, studying me. “Is this your way of trying to get into my bed, Ships?”

“Busted. My nefarious plan to share your bed.”

He lightly hip checks me. “It’s not like we haven’t shared a bed before.”

“Those situations were…different.”

“Afraid I’m gonna try and get in your pj’s?” A chuckle releases as he changes course and heads down the hallway to a door on the right. “My bedroom, which you’re free to share with me.”

His room is enormous. Even with a king-sized platform bed, a chest of drawers, and a longer dresser, there’s a lot of space to walk around. A rug covers the floor under the bed, but the rest of the hardwood is bare. An open door reveals a walk-in closet, while another door must lead to the en suite bathroom, a luxury I’ve never had.

“Do you ever wonder if we could have been more? If I hadn’t left Centennial. If we hadn’t agreed to be friends.”

“Marina.” My name is a warning. When I glance over at him, he grinds his teeth.

“Oh my god, you should see your face. I’m totally kidding.”

Being in his space, coupled with the events of today—hell, the past seventy-two hours—has me confused. I’ve been to his house in Minnesota plenty of times, shared hotel rooms with him—not the bed—and once slept off a drunken night in the same bed without issue. Suddenly, the stakes are higher for unknown reasons.

Besides the fake aspect, there’s been a shift in our relationship, one I can’t put my finger on how to explain. There’s more here, and we keep putting ourselves in situations of more weirdness. It’s wreaking havoc on every part of me. Eventually, something will give, something will explode. I wish I could predict the consequences, the fallout, how my heart will weather the storm.

“What if I told you I thought we could be more? Would it freak you out?”

His words hit like an arrow, yet his expression is unchanged, a mix of grit and confusion.

I want to laugh his comment away like I did mine, but it’s harder this time. Something in his tone suggests he’s not kidding.

“If I had stayed, you mean.”

“Maybe.” With one step, he eliminates some of the space between us. “Maybe there’s a reason I subconsciously said your name.”

Nerves flood my abdomen and chest at what he could mean. “What are you saying, Nero?”

“What if we’re both still single because we’re supposed to be together? What if this is a way to have a second chance? To see what could have been.”

“It’s an extreme way. Crazy. Maniacal.” Right? There’s no basis for his theory. Because it’s just that—a theory.

One shoulder lifts as his feet move forward. “It could be all of those, but it could be great. We had a connection back then.”

“A few weeks of sex as college freshmen hardly constitutes a connection.” I roll my eyes at the absurdity.

More space disappears. Expectation swirls in his eyes. “Care to put it to a challenge?”

“A ch-challenge?” I stutter. “How would that work?”

“Two weeks of us being together. In the bedroom.”

“I’m not looking for a bestie with benefits,” I bark.

Except, what would be so bad about that? As he pointed out, we were compatible in the bedroom. Those weeks were some of the best of my life, but a lot has changed since then. We’re both more experienced now, and maybe the chemistry we had then has dissipated.

There’s only one way to find out.

I lick my lips, considering how best to agree. “Maybe this time it’s exclusive.” He steps closer. “Maybe it’s more than sex.” One more step. “Maybe it’s⁠—”

He cuts off my last comment by crashing his lips to mine and yanking my body to him. I should have anticipated he’d make a move. The signs were there. But I was too busy debating his suggestion, I missed all of them.

His tongue infiltrates my mouth when the doorbell chimes.