Chapter 9 Darius
DARIUS
The cold air hits me as I step out of the car, biting at my skin.
It’s mid-March, but winter’s not ready to let go yet—there’s still a thick blanket of snow on the ground, and the icy wind cuts through my jacket like it’s got a personal vendetta against me.
The outdoor rink run by the parks division isn’t too crowded, though, which I guess makes sense for a Thursday night.
A few people glide along the edges, but it’s mostly empty.
I glance over at Harry, who’s still in the passenger seat, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else but at a skating rink. We had such a delightful time at Rudy’s, and I’m determined to carry that over here.
He looks at me with wide eyes. “You know I don’t skate, right?” he asks, his voice tinged with uncertainty. “As in, I don’t skate because I don’t know how.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “Yeah, I know. But I do. I’m gonna teach you.”
He looks less than convinced but nods, grabbing his jacket and stepping out into the chilly night.
I pop open the trunk, the freezing air making my breath puff out in little clouds.
Inside, there are two pairs of skates—one that I’ve had for years and one that’s a bit newer.
I hold them up, giving them a quick once-over.
“Think these’ll fit?” I ask, tossing them over to him. “I wasn’t sure about your shoe size, but based on . . . Warwick, I guessed we’re almost the same size.”
He misses them, the poor skates landing on the ground with a clank.
“I told you. Zero athletic ability.” He picks them up, looks them over, and then glances at his shoes. “Were you checking out my feet in Rhode Island?”
“Yes, Harry. I was checking out every inch of you.”
My tone may be sarcastic, but indeed I was.
“Well, let’s see if they fit.” He scrubs his hands over his face and sighs, but he doesn’t back out.
We sit on one of the benches around the rink’s perimeter. I take a deep breath, excited despite the cold, and start lacing up my skates. A small part of me hopes Harry falls a hundred times tonight—he’ll need catching.
“So?” I ask, watching him adjusting his foot inside the first skate.
“Like a glove.”
He smiles up at me, and damn if my heart doesn't melt.
Turns out we do wear almost the same size shoe.
I’m taking that as another sign from the universe about us.
As we head toward the rink, Harry has that baby-deer-learning-to-walk vibe as he tries to balance on the skates.
I can’t wipe the giant grin off my face as I watch him wobble. He’s so damn cute it hurts.
I can’t think of a more fun activity for an actual first date with Harry Peterson than skating.
A lightness swarms my chest when Harry staggers and grabs onto my arm for balance.
I’ve taught hundreds of kids to skate, so I’m fairly confident I can get him up and going.
I can already imagine his expression when he gets it—shaky at first and then finally confident.
There’s something about skating together that feels . . . almost perfect.
“All right,” I say, turning back to him as we get to the edge of the rink. “First things first, use your arms for balance. Then just let yourself glide. No sudden movements, okay? You’ve gotta trust the ice.”
Harry raises an eyebrow. “Trust the ice? I barely trust myself.”
“Well,” I grin, offering him my hand, “that’s why I’m here. You stay next to me, all right? I’ll catch you if you fall.”
He hesitates for a second then grabs my hand.
His grip’s a little tense, but that’s fine.
I’m used to teaching children who have surprisingly powerful grips.
I guide him out onto the ice, my skates cutting through the surface with ease.
Harry’s stiff, like he’s afraid of toppling already, and I can’t help but chuckle as he teeters along behind me.
“Come on,” I tease, slowing down so he can catch up. “You’ve got this. It’s just like walking but on ice.”
He shoots me a look, clearly not convinced. “If walking was this hard, I’d never leave my house.”
I laugh again, shaking my head. “God, you’re adorable.”
He squeezes my hand, and I keep prodding him along. “You’re doing fine. Just try to glide, no need to rush. Think of it as pushing off with each step.”
Eventually, after a few more tries, he starts to get the hang of it. His legs aren’t shaking as much, and he’s leaning into it a little more.
Then, just as he’s finding a rhythm, his face softening and smile creeping in, he sways, arms out, and tumbles backward. But I’m right there to grab him, jutting my arms under his as I take on the entirety of his weight.
“See?” I say, smiling over him. “Told you I’d catch you.”
Harry rolls his eyes but grins back. “Yeah, yeah. You’re my hero. Just . . . don’t expect me to be as good as you any time soon.”
“Stop being so charming, Harry.”
He smirks, but keeping a hold of my hand, he tries again.
We keep going like that—him unsteady, me teasing him a little, but all in good fun.
And by the time the night starts winding down, I can tell he’s actually enjoying himself.
He might not admit it yet, but I can see it in the way his smile’s a little brighter, how he’s becoming more confident on the ice.
“This was a good idea,” he says as we take a break, sitting on the side of the rink, our skates off and resting against the snowbanks.
I grin. “Yeah, I figured it’d be fun. You know, a little adventure in the middle of a cold, boring week. Plus, this will earn you points with the Sharks.”
“Not if they see how terrible I am.” He glances over at me, his expression soft.
As if Mother Nature wants to add a little magic to our evening, a soft snowfall begins to float around us.
“I had a good time, Darius. Even if I’m pretty sure I’ll be sore tomorrow.”
“That’s the price of learning,” I say, nudging him with my shoulder. “But hey, you did great. You’ll be an expert in no time.”
“Yeah, right.” He laughs.
And in this moment, with the snow gently falling around us and the rink quiet except for our laughter, I know in my heart, this is one of those nights that’s gonna stick with me for a while.
The engine's hum fills the silence between us. Streetlights blur past as I drive, the steady rhythm of the tires on the road almost too soothing, like it’s trying to lull me into forgetting what’s on my mind.
Harry’s sitting right next to me, quiet for once, his eyes focused outside.
I keep stealing glances at him, wondering if he feels the same tension that’s been building since we left the rink.
God, I keep thinking about last weekend—how close we were, the way he looked at me just before we pulled away. It’s like that moment is still alive between us, in the way he’s sitting next to me now, his hand close enough for me to touch.
We’re almost at his place, and I lick my lips to moisten my dry mouth with little success. I grab for the mints in the center console, and the rattling in the plastic container pulls Harry’s focus.
“Mint?”
He raises his eyebrows, and fuck, I wasn’t trying to be presumptuous.
“Sure.” He holds his hand out, and I shake three into his palm.
After popping a few in my mouth, the coolness helping me produce some saliva, my mind races as we approach his apartment.
What if he invites me up? It’s late, and we have school tomorrow, but maybe .
. . between dinner and skating, the way I caught him and he held my hand .
. . maybe he wants to keep the night going, right?
I can’t shake the thought, the way his hand rests casually on the seat, just inches away from mine.
Maybe we could talk some more. Maybe he’d want me to stay over.
Or maybe I’m overthinking it.
I glance at him, and he catches my eye, giving me that half smile that’s so damn distracting. He leans back in the seat, stretching out a little, and I wonder if he’s thinking the same things.
“Hey,” I say, voice a little rougher than I mean. “I had a lot of fun. It was a good night, don’t you think?”
He nods, his lips curling into a small smile. “Yeah. It really was.”
The words feel loaded, like something unspoken hangs between us, something too delicate to name. I shift my gaze back to the road, focusing on the lights ahead, my mind still reeling.
I pull up to his place, the soft glow of his building lighting up the curb, and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
Harry unbuckles his seatbelt slowly, his hand hovering for just a second over the door handle. The weight of the moment looms over me, and Maynor’s voice echoes in my head: keep showing up.
He looks over at me again, and this time, his smile’s a little softer.
“I . . . I should probably head in,” he says, his voice quieter now. “It’s late.”
I nod, trying to keep my cool, though my mind’s racing. “Sure. We both have to get up early tomorrow.”
“Yes, but it’s not that.”
There’s a fluttering in my stomach, hoping I haven’t messed up . . . again.
“Tonight was really . . . special, you know?” He takes my hand, removes my glove, and laces his fingers with mine.
My damn heart nearly leaps out of my chest.
“And even though . . .”
“Rhode Island,” I say.
“Exactly. Let’s just enjoy the night for what it was.”
“And what’s that, Harry?”
“A wonderful first date.”
For a moment, I think he’s going to say more. The thought is there, just on the edge of everything, but instead, he looks at me like he’s trying to say goodbye without actually saying the words.
I lean toward him because I don’t know how to thank him. We’re so close, but I don’t want to make the wrong move.
“Would it be okay if I gave you a kiss goodnight?”
“Such a gentleman,” he says. “I’d like that.”
His eyes flicker down to my mouth, and I get that weird tunnel-vision thing for just a second, like when I’ve skated too hard without eating enough beforehand. Then, without thinking, I close the space between us.
His kiss is soft at first, tentative. Even though it’s not our first kiss, it’s our first kiss after our first date. A soft moan escapes my lips because, after all this time, I’ve finally been on an actual date with Harry Peterson.
And then, maybe spurred on by the noises I can’t seem to stop, it deepens, and I forget about everything except the feel of his lips on mine, the warmth of his breath against my cheek.
His tongue dances with mine, and at some point, he nibbles my upper lip.
It hurts, but in a way that feels amazing.
“Fuck, Peterson.”
He’s back, kissing, biting, licking the inside of my mouth, and I’m so grateful I sucked on those mints. For a moment, I consider moving my hands from his chest to his groin, but then I remember what he said about it being the perfect night and wanting to preserve that memory as it is, so I don’t.
When we pull apart, there’s nothing left to say, just the quiet of the night outside my Saab.
He looks at me, his eyes soft and full of something I can’t quite name.
“Goodnight, Darius,” he says, a little breathless.
Leaning over, Harry plants the softest, sweetest kiss on my lips. Fuck, I could get used to this.
“See you in the morning.” He runs his thumb down my jawline and then moves to open the door.
I nod, my hand resting on the gearshift, as I try to recover from kissing him. “Good night, Harry.”