Chapter 16 #2
“Now, the next few steps you take, you’re going to keep your lifted foot in the air for an extra second. And then do the same thing with the other foot so you start to glide.”
Without breaking step, he does as I ask, leaving his right foot in the air a little longer, allowing his left to move smoothly over the ice. Then he does the same thing with the opposite foot, starting to move at a little quicker pace.
I smile, unable to stop myself. “I know you’re gonna hate hearing this, but you’re a natural.”
“Genetics, I guess,” he mutters under his breath. There’s a hint of a smile on his lips through the annoyance, though, before he schools his features again. “Okay, what’s next?”
“Instead of just lifting, we’re gonna start pushing with your back foot so you can go a little faster.
The trick is to use the inside edge of the blade, not the tip of it.
” I demonstrate what I want him to do a couple times, skating a good eight feet away with a gentle push.
Then I do the same thing back toward him, and stop at his side.
“Make sense, or do you want me to do it again?”
“I think I’m good.”
I nod. “Okay. Then you just repeat that process to keep going.”
Surprisingly, he does relatively well with the first attempt, pushing with his right foot, then his left. Granted, his hand is still skimming along the top of the rink wall, offering him the illusion of balance, but it’s a start.
We skate around the entire rink like that, and once we pass the rink entrance, I decide it’s time we put his new skating abilities to the test.
“Okay, time to take off the training wheels.”
Logan grabs the wall to stop and looks at me, frowning. “That’s a really poor analogy when I have blades on my feet, not wheels.”
“Well, poor analogy or not, you’re letting go of the wall.”
“Already?”
I nod. “Yeah. Hence the training wheels comment.”
His gaze shifts, moving past me to look out at the rink, and all the color drains from his face. I visibly watch him have a mental crash out, trying to find a way to talk himself up—or maybe even out of this—before his focus moves back to me.
“Camden, I don’t—”
“Do you trust me?” I ask, cutting him off before he can ask to call it quits.
Not that I’d let him when we’ve already come this far. All that’s left is to put it to the test, and even if he’s not confident, I have enough faith for both of us.
Aware that he hasn’t answered, I hold out my hand, and gently ask him the question again. His eyes dance between mine, as if he’s searching for a way to tell me no, and I’d try not to be offended if that’s the case.
But, thankfully, he nods briskly instead before whispering a soft “yes.”
My chest swells with pride as I say, “Then let go of the wall and take my hand.”
Despite his hesitation, he releases the wall and places his palm into mine. I’m hyperaware of the connection, and it takes everything in me to focus on Logan beside me, watching his form and giving small critiques, instead of his skin heating mine through his glove again.
“See, you’re doing great,” I encourage when we’re a quarter of the way across the rink.
Of course, the second the words leave my mouth, Logan becomes unsteady and shaky on his skates. Instinctively, I grab for his opposite elbow to give him some stability, and his fingers on his other hand wrap tightly around my bicep.
“You jinxed me,” he grumbles, glaring at me.
“Or you’re just learning,” I offer with a laugh. “You can’t expect to be perfect at it from the jump.”
He rolls his eyes. “If it’s genetics, then I should be. Oakley was doing this when he was in Kindergarten. So were you.”
“Yeah, but it’s easier to learn when you’re little. Lower center of gravity, or whatever physics is involved.”
A little huff leaves him, and he mumbles something under his breath that I can’t quite hear. I do think I catch the words “coming from a six-foot-three behemoth” in there, but I can’t be certain.
“You just have to keep going. It only gets easier from here,” I promise before releasing him.
I still keep his hand in mine, though, letting him set the pace as we skate closer to center ice.
By the time we’re three-quarters across, most of the tension and anxiety seems to have left his body, a fantastic improvement from even five minutes ago.
Unfortunately, mine is now chock full, thanks to my increased awareness of the other people on the ice as we pass by them—the other couples skating around and holding hands and being disgustingly cute.
Not because they’re doing anything wrong or I’m worried Logan might collide with one of them; it’s because I’m jealous as hell. It’s because I want what they have.
It doesn’t matter that Logan and I look like all of them from the outside; I still know the truth.
We’re nothing like them. Because we aren’t real.
But, fuck, how I desperately wish we were.
My jaw aches from clenching it—same with my free hand I keep balling into a fist—and I shove the thoughts away. We might be selling a fantasy to everyone else, but I have to remember to live in reality.
This is just a lesson. Nothing more.
“So what comes next?” Logan asks once we reach the other side of the rink.
For the most part, he’s remained steady, not even needing my hand for support—not in the physical sense at least. It’s been more for confidence than anything. But nothing builds confidence like flying solo for the first time, so…
“What’s next is me letting go.”
His jaw tenses as he looks over at me, his fingers tightening around my hand as well. But instead of fighting me on the idea or refusing, he just nods.
So after turning him around, I release his hand, letting him glide beside me completely on his own, back toward the center of the rink.
He looks damn good, moving at a steady speed that’s just quick enough to have his scarf flapping slightly behind him. Compared to where he was when he stepped foot on the ice earlier, he may as well be a completely different person.
The only issue comes when a little girl skates up out of nowhere, not paying attention to where she’s going, and he realizes he doesn’t know how to stop—a rather large oversight on my part.
Fortunately, I’m already there, grabbing his hand and pulling him in another direction before he can collide with the girl.
“You good?” I ask as I turn on my skates to face him.
I place both my hands on his shoulders, my gaze traveling over his face, looking for any physical evidence of a collision, despite knowing there wasn’t one.
“I’m sorry. I should have taught you to stop before I let you go solo, but you looked ready and—”
“I’m good.”
My lips part, and I’m about to start rambling on with another apology when the craziest thing happens.
A massive grin breaks out across his face, his eyes almost squinting with how far up his cheeks are being pulled, and he starts laughing.
It’s a sight and sound so rich with genuine happiness, one impossible to fake, and I can’t help but join him.
Partly because it’s so infectious, but also because I realize this is the first time I’ve ever seen him like this.
For the briefest second, he’s not my grumpy roommate with a chip on his shoulder. He’s not the black sheep who hates skating or hockey. He’s not my fake boyfriend who, up until recently, couldn’t stand to be in the same room as me.
He’s just a guy, living in the moment.
But like all moments, they’re fleeting at best, and so is his smile.
It slowly fades as our gazes stay locked, little puffs of winter air floating between them.
But then my attention drops to the source, finding his lips parted ever so slightly, and I know I’m fighting a losing battle with my willpower.
Because seeing him that carefree and happy makes it damn near impossible to not kiss him. To not bridge the gap and—
“You fake it a little too well when you look at me like that,” he whispers, breaking through my thoughts and dragging my focus back to his face.
“Like what?”
His gaze darts away. “Like you wanna kiss me.”
Five words have never made me feel more transparent in my entire life. But the strange part is the way they also seem to embolden me. It’s the only explanation for the words that leave my mouth next.
“Would it be such a bad thing if I do?”
I meant it when I told him I’d never initiate when it comes to any kind of physical affection without his permission—and apart from bear-hugging him after passing that stupid philosophy class, I’ve kept my promise.
Out of respect for him, of course, but I’d be a liar if I said it wasn’t also a little bit out of fear too.
Fear of pushing past his boundaries, of challenging the status quo, only to be rejected.
Of finally admitting, with every passing day of this fake relationship, he’s become nearly impossible to resist.
Logan’s eyes find mine again, tracing over my face while his brows knit together.
I’m not sure if it’s confusion, annoyance, or something else he’s feeling, but regardless, it’s not the expression of someone open to the idea.
Rejection isn’t something I’m well versed in myself, but I know that much.
Fuck.
I feel my face twist into some mixture of a smile and grimace, and I shake my head. “Look, I’m sorry. If that’s—”
The explanation dies on my lips the second Logan’s mouth seals over them, effectively shutting me up.
His sudden onslaught leaves him a little off-balance, but I quickly rectify that by wrapping one arm around his lower back and hauling him against me.
The other slides up to cup his jaw in my palm, the tips of my fingers teasing the beanie on his head.
And then I kiss him like my life depends on it.
I devour him in every sense of the word, because I refuse to believe this kiss is anything like the others that came before. Even at the banquet, it was different. There was a reason for it. But right now, there are no reporters or friends or family members watching, waiting, assessing us.
Right now, the only possible reason is because he wants it just as much as I do.
Emboldened further by this realization, my tongue teases along the seam of his lips, seeking entrance.
He readily gives permission, parting and allowing me to dip inside to find his own.
A rush of heat slams into my stomach the moment they make contact, igniting an inferno inside me I have little control over.
His fingers tighten around my biceps, clutching my jacket as I kiss him the way I’ve wanted to the past couple weeks.
And he kisses me back. God, does he kiss me back, taking as much as he gives.
Consuming all the gratitude and desire I feel for him as it pours from my body into his—and giving me his in return.
And I never want it to end.
It’s only when someone lets out a wolf whistle that he pulls back, breaking the kiss. I wish he wouldn’t. I’d take no issue with making out with him in this spot for hours, public display be damned.
Logan’s hazelnut irises are glassy, overcome with that post-kiss haze, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything sexier.
It makes me want to do it again. Makes me want to kiss him breathless right here and now.
I settle for running my thumb over the flush in his cheeks instead, watching his soft little breaths cloud the miniscule amount of space between us.
We stay like that for I don’t know long, staring at each other, breathing each other’s air, and with every passing second, I wish I knew what he was thinking. Wish I could worm my way into his mind like an alien probe and dissect every one of his thoughts as he looks at me.
“We should probably get going,” he says eventually, shifting his gaze away as he speaks. “Our reservation time has to be close to over, and I’m sure my parents will be looking for us soon.”
A little laugh leaves me as my tongue skims over my bottom lip. It’s still a little wet from where his were just pressed against it, and that just depresses the hell out of me. Because I don’t need to wish I knew what he was thinking after all.
From the way he just shut down after that kiss, it’s obvious he regrets it.