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He takes off, more than ready to join the fun, but right before I take a step to follow him, something—or should I say someone—catches my eye.

I knew there was a very high chance that he would be here. I was prepared for that. Or at least, I thought I was.

My heart slams against my ribs as images from the night we had together—or almost had —flood my mind.

I think of him laid out on my stairs naked for me, how quickly he came when I touched him. The way he crawled onto the bed the second the command left my lips. The way he flipped over and waited patiently for me. Fuck. I wanted to sink inside him so fucking badly. And I would have, if Hux hadn’t called.

Time seems to stand still as our eye contact holds across the rink. I can’t help but wonder if he’s also thinking about that night.

It’s been two weeks, and I haven’t heard anything from him. Not that I was really expecting to. He could hardly start asking people for my number without it getting suspicious, and if he’s tried looking me up on social media, he’ll have failed. I might have accounts, but I don’t use them. The less of my life that’s online, the better, as far as I’m concerned.

People skate between us, all blissfully unaware of what’s happening. I guess I should be grateful that they haven’t noticed. The thought of them doing so is like someone throwing an ice-cold bucket of water over me. I wrench my eyes away and focus on where I need to go. Although I can’t help but feel like going out there where he is, is a really bad idea.

The only reason you’re here is because you thought he might be, a little voice pipes up unhelpfully.

Okay, so maybe I did a little bit more than wonder if he was going to be here…

With my head down, I trudge toward the dressing room to grab my skates.

“Did you get lost or something?” Rovvy asks as he pushes from the bench, his skates already tied up and ready to go.

“Or something,” I mutter.

This is dangerous. I shouldn’t be here. And yet, instead of abandoning the whole event, I find myself grabbing my skates and lacing them up.

It’ll be fine.

We can share an ice rink together without everyone skating on it knowing we’ve got unfinished business.

We’re both adults who can control themselves.

What can possibly go wrong?

The second I step out onto the ice, a very familiar little hockey player makes a beeline for me.

“Rivers,” I greet.

“Nash,” she counters. “I bet I can skate faster than you.”

A smirk kicks up the corner of my mouth.

“Nah, I doubt that,” I say, watching as her eyes light up with challenge.

It’s weird. I expected her to hate me and stay as far away as possible.

I mean, maybe she does hate me, and showing me up in front of everyone is her way of proving that I’m not one of them. Although I must admit that seems a little far-fetched for a nine-year-old.

“Okay, here’s the plan. Two laps of the ice. First one back to the bench is the winner.”

“What about all the people? And dogs,” I add.

“You gotta go round them. And you can’t knock anyone over. You take anyone out, it doesn’t matter how many legs they got, you lose.”

Sensing that someone is watching me, I glance over to find Kodie and Casey on the other side of the rink.

Kodie looks like he wants to throw down, his face pulled tight, and I’m sure if I were to skate closer, I’d find that vein in his neck pulsating the way it always has when he’s pissed. It’s clear that the hand Casey has on his forearm is holding him back from racing over here and dragging me away from his daughter.

I guess it was okay when we all played together. He was a part of it then. But right now, we’re on the other side of the rink, and he has no idea what we’re talking about.