Chapter 7 #2
I looked up at her. She was watching me intently, her chin resting on her hand.
"Hockey was the only place where the noise stopped," I explained. "On the ice, when the helmet goes on... you can't hear the speeches. You can't hear the polling numbers. You just hear the blades cutting the ice. It’s pure physics. Action and reaction. It made sense."
"Control," she whispered.
"Yeah. Control. If I train hard enough, I win. If I skate fast enough, I stop the goal. It’s a meritocracy. My dad couldn't vote me into a win."
"Until he tried to buy your spot," she said gently.
My jaw tightened. "Yeah. Until that."
"He's afraid," she said.
"He's a narcissist."
"Maybe. But he's also afraid that you don't need him. Parents like ours... they use money and influence as a leash. If you succeed on your own, the leash snaps. And they're left holding nothing."
I stared at her. It was a profound insight, delivered over a plate of greasy fries.
"You think your dad is afraid?" I asked.
"Terrified," she nodded. "If I make it as a dancer, without his money? I'm gone. I'm free. He hates that. That's why he cut me off. He wants me to crawl back."
She took a sip of her milkshake. "But I won't. I'd rather starve."
"You won't starve," I said firmly. I reached across the table and took her hand. It was an instinctive move. "I won't let you."
She squeezed my fingers. "I know. Because you're feeding me dinosaur nuggets."
"Exactly. High-quality protein."
The waitress, an older woman named Barb with hair the color of steel wool, came by to refill my coffee. She looked at our joined hands on the table.
"You two are cute," Barb rasped, pouring the coffee. "Been together long?"
I froze.
Ivy froze.
The correct answer was: We aren't together. We are roommates. This is a fake arrangement.
But looking at Ivy, with my beanie on her head and my hand in hers, the lie wouldn't come out.
"Not long," I heard myself say. My voice was calm. Steady.
Ivy’s eyes widened. She looked at me, shocked.
"Well, keep him around, honey," Barb winked at Ivy. "He looks at you like you're the last slice of pie in the case."
Barb walked away.
Ivy stared at me. "The last slice of pie?"
"It's a metaphor," I grumbled, picking up my coffee cup to hide my face.
"You told her we were together."
"It was easier than explaining the complex socio-economic-cohabitation treaty we have signed."
"Treaty?" Ivy laughed softly. She rubbed her thumb over my knuckles. "Is that what this is? A treaty?"
"Something like that."
"Ben?"
"Yeah?"
"I don't think I'm faking it anymore."
The admission hung in the air between us. It was quiet. Dangerous.
I set my cup down. I looked at her. Really looked at her.
"Eat your burger, Ivy," I said roughly. "Before I drag you out of here and kiss you in the parking lot."
She smiled. A slow, sultry, knowing smile.
"Is that a threat, Captain?"
"It's a promise."
The drive home was heavy.
The playful banter was gone, replaced by a thick, suffocating heat. The interior of the Jeep was dark, illuminated only by the dashboard lights and the passing streetlamps.
My hand wasn't on the gear shift. It was on her thigh.
I couldn't help it. I needed the contact. I needed to know she was there. Her jeans were soft under my palm. Her leg was warm. Every time I shifted gears, my knuckles brushed the inside of her knee, and I felt her breath hitch.
We pulled into the driveway of the Ice Box. The house was dark. It was late.
I cut the engine. The silence rushed in, amplified by the snow.
I didn't open my door. I turned in my seat to face her.
"Ivy."
"Ben."
We moved at the same time.
I unbuckled my seatbelt. She leaned across the console.
My hands found her face. Her hands tangled in the hair at the nape of my neck.
We crashed together.
The kiss wasn't gentle. It wasn't the tentative, teaching kiss from the other night. It was hungry. It was possessive. It was pent-up frustration and terror and adoration all mixed together.
I groaned, tilting her head back, deepening the angle. I tasted the vanilla of her milkshake. I tasted her.
She climbed. She literally tried to climb over the center console into my lap. Her knee knocked against the gear shift.
"Wait," I gasped, breaking the kiss but keeping my forehead pressed to hers. "Wait. Not here."
"Why not?" she panted, nipping at my lower lip. "The windows are tinted."
"Because," I ran my hands down her arms, gripping her waist to hold her still. "Because you're hurt. Your ankle. You can't be climbing over gear shifts."
"Screw my ankle," she whispered. "I want you."
"I know." God, I knew. I was hard enough to cut diamonds. "I want you too. More than I should. More than makes sense."
I pulled back, looking into her eyes in the gloom.
"But we have a deal," I reminded her, my voice ragged. "I fix you. I don't break you. And doing this... in a Jeep... that's not how I want your first time to be."
She blinked. "My first time?"
"Yeah." I brushed a thumb over her cheek. "When we do this... when we finally cross that line... it’s going to be in a bed. It’s going to be slow. And it’s going to be perfect. Because you deserve perfect."
Ivy looked at me like I had just given her the moon. Her eyes welled up with tears.
"You really are a romantic," she whispered. "Underneath all that grump."
"Don't tell anyone," I warned. "It'll ruin my street cred."
"Your secret is safe with me."
She kissed me one last time—soft, sweet, lingering.
"Okay," she said, sitting back in her seat. "Let's go inside. Before we freeze."
We got out of the car. I grabbed the grocery bags. She grabbed her purse.
As we walked up the porch steps, she slipped her hand into the pocket of my jacket.
I didn't pull away. I kept my hand in there with hers, our fingers interlaced.
We walked into the house together. A united front.
And for the first time in my life, the silence of the house didn't feel lonely. It felt... complete.
I was in trouble. I was in deep, catastrophic trouble.
And I didn't care. I would burn the world down before I let anyone take this away from me.
Even if the one person who could take it away was me.