Chapter 18
Eighteen
Oakley
January
Five past noon on New Year’s Day, two hands cover my eyes, blocking my view of Millennium Park and scaring the absolute fucking shit outta me. But the second I hear the smooth cadence of Quinton’s laugh, the fear turns quickly into…irritation.
“Why are you like this?” I snap, yanking at his wrists so I can see again.
When I turn around to face him, I become even more irritated to find he looks fucking edible in a beanie, jeans, and long black jacket. A sexy-as-hell look he can pull off any day of the week, but even more so today with his glasses on.
He smirks in his signature way, a dimple popping in one cheek. “You’re gonna have to be a little more specific. Why am I so ruggedly handsome? Why am I always late? Why—”
“Why do you get off on being such a gigantic pain in my ass?” I finish, pointing a glare at him.
“You’d know a lot about what gets me off, wouldn’t you?”
Oh, I do. But it’s not something I need to be thinking about in public. Around children, no less.
“Unbelievable,” I mutter under my breath.
He laughs, a sound that used to grate on my nerves, but now I want to hear it more. “You make it so easy sometimes.”
Both dimples make their appearance now. They seem to do more and more around me lately, and every time I see them, it does this weird thing to my chest. A sort of…fluttering.
“I’m already regretting asking you to hang out.”
“Wouldn’t be you if you didn’t,” he points out, crossing his arms. “Truth be told, I was more surprised you did in the first place.”
“Like I said, it was purely out of charity. I didn’t want you to suffer any more than you already were.”
A grin the Cheshire Cat would be envious of spreads over his face. “Except I’ve been back at my apartment on campus since the day after Christmas.”
“What?”
“I only told you I was busy to see how long you could hold out without begging me to move things around. Props to you, by the way. I thought for sure you’d cave before now.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to keep the expletives from spilling free around all these impressionable ears. Mostly because he’s right. I almost caved plenty of times, hoping to find a way to see him before today.
But there’s no fucking way I’m letting it slip now.
Why does he have to ruin everything?
“Not at all. Like I said, I just wanted to get you out of the house. But now that I know you’re perfectly fine and also a liar, I’m leaving.”
I move to walk away, but he grabs my arm and pulls me back. Right into his chest, with our mouths only inches apart.
“You’re not going anywhere anytime soon,” he murmurs. The heat of his breath sends shivers down my spine and goosebumps breaking out across my skin. “Because I know you missed me.”
“Only in your dreams.”
Another sinful, dimpled smile curves his lips. “There’s plenty of things we do in my dreams, but that’s not one of them.”
The filthy, seductive tone of his voice sets my blood to a boil. Not in anger, but with desire. And paired with the way he’s holding me against him, the proximity of his lips to mine, makes it all the harder to resist him.
“There are kids around,” I hiss, already trying to tamp down my cock thickening against his thigh. Something he’s all too aware of from the way he discreetly presses against it.
“And here I thought you were a master of self-control.” Another shift of his thigh sends a zap of lust straight to my balls. “Better get a grip on that libido, Reed.”
The sexual tension zapping between us is palpable, though he seems unaffected. But that won’t do for me. I want—no, I need—him just as hot and bothered as I am right now. So I do what makes sense when it comes to a showdown with Quinton de Haas.
I fight fire with fire.
“I hope you know how much you’re going to regret this the next time I get you in bed.”
His nostrils flare, the heat in his gaze magnified in intensity as he stares at me through his lenses. Enough to make me think I’ve won this little battle of wills he’s started.
But then he takes it a step further, letting his lips brush against mine as he speaks. “Oh, believe me. I’m counting on it.”
My teeth sink into my lower lip to keep from biting into his, and I step away. “You win this round, de Haas.”
A shit-eating grin spreads across his face, almost breaking it in two.
“A fantastic way to start the day.” He claps his hands together, child-like giddiness and excitement radiating off him. “Now what do you have planned for us?”
A quick five-minute walk from where I met Quinton brings us to Maggie Daley Park, home of the Ice Skating Ribbon.
One of my favorite Reed family holiday pastimes as a kid was to come skating either here or at the one directly below the Bean.
We’d come almost every year if Dad wasn’t gone on a stint of away games.
Well, until Logan threw a fit about hating it and we stopped some time in my late middle school years.
I haven’t been back since, but I figured there’s no time like the present.
“I’m pretty sure this is the first time I’ve ever put skates on for something other than hockey,” Quinton says as he laces up the pair of rentals we got from the stand beside the rink.
My head snaps up from where I was tying my own skates to look at him. “You’re telling me you’ve never gone ice skating before? Just for the hell of it?”
Still working on his laces, Quinton shakes his head. “Nope. Never had anyone take me. First time I ever put skates on was the day my dad took me to my first youth league practice when I was eight. And the only reason he even took me was because he wanted me to shut the hell up about it.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously,” he replies before rising to his full height. “I’m sure he thought I’d suck at it immediately and quit within the first couple weeks. But much to his displeasure, I picked it up really quick…and it’s been the bane of his existence ever since.”
Understanding floods me as we make our way over to the rink and step out onto the smooth surface. The moment we do, like nothing else exists. Sure, there are people milling about—though not as many as I’d expect during winter break—but I don’t even notice them.
It’s just us, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Side by side, we take a slow lap around the amoeba-shaped rink, gliding over the ice like the seasoned pros we’ve worked hard to become. Silence lingers between us, but it feels comfortable, not stifling or awkward the way it would have a couple months ago.
Hell, a couple months ago, I would have laughed at the idea of us spending any time together. Yet here we are, two sworn enemies, ice skating together on New Year’s Day like some kind of…couple.
The realization makes my stomach churn in a weird, unexpected way.
Shoving the feeling down, I recall something he said earlier, letting my mind take hold of that thought instead. “When you say you picked it up quick, how quick are we talking? Like a couple months?”
“I mean…” He skates out ahead of me and spins around, skating backward in front of me. “I was comfortable enough to skate with a stick in my hand by the end of the second day. But obviously I wasn’t doing a whole lot with it at that point. Just…skating.”
I roll my eyes. “Show off.”
I knew I was right when I told him he had natural talent. It even took me a few months to become a master at skating without a stick. Meanwhile Quinton just said he went and did both together in the first week of ever being on the ice.
Granted, he started playing a few years after me when he probably had a lot more stability and balance, but still.
He bites back a smile, teeth sinking into his lower lip. Like he knows exactly what I’m thinking.
“I think you like it when I’m a show-off.”
My brow kicks up. “Oh, really?”
“Yeah. I think it turns you on, being around someone just as good as you. Someone who might actually be…better.”
The arrogance of this man astounds me. But he’s right about one thing.
The quiet air of confidence surrounding him on the ice when he’s zoned in is beyond sexy.
He knows he’s good—yeah, maybe even better than me—but it’s proven by the way he performs. It’s when he starts showboating that he pisses me off.
“You’re a lot of things, de Haas. But better than me isn’t one of them.”
“Care to put your money where your mouth is?”
This time, I’m the one to smirk. “I think I’ve more than done that already. The socks you got me prove it.”
Heat flares in his eyes. “We’re talking about things happening on the ice, Reed. Not between the sheets.”
I’m not one to back down from a challenge, and certainly not one coming from Quinton. He’s still my rival, even if we’ve become this weird friends-adjacent thing since we started following through on his superstition theory.
“What were you thinking?”
“A race. First one to complete a lap around the rink wins.”
I glance around, noting there’s far too many people and not nearly enough room for us to get as competitive as we are. We could easily turn a corner and plow a little kid over, and that’s the last thing I want to start the new year with.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”
His brow raises. “You scared to lose?”
“No, I—”
“Oh, you definitely are,” he says, continuing to taunt me.
“There’s too many people, and I’m not looking to ruin anyone else’s time by being some psychotic—”
“God, you’re such a stick in the mud sometimes,” he cuts in, humor dancing in those ice blue eyes. “Live a little. Smile. Laugh. The world isn’t gonna end if you do, I promise.”
I know it won’t. That’s half the problem, though.
Because Quinton has this air about him, making it almost impossible to not smile or laugh in his presence.
He’s like…fucking sunshine sometimes. Or whatever other bullshit people wax poetic about.
Which is hilarious considering he looks like every father’s worst nightmare with the ink and the leather and the I don’t give a fuck attitude he usually has plastered around him like a shield.