Chapter 12
twelve
RYAN
“So we have the next few days off?” I ask Rich, who’s currently jotting notes into his phone.
He doesn’t look up. Just nods. “Yup. Two days off for everybody to mellow out. I suggest you go somewhere you won’t be bothered by anyone. At least, that’s what I’m gonna do. I book a hotel room, get some room service, and put the do-not-disturb sign on the door. It’s heaven.”
“Sounds lonely,” I tell him.
That finally gets his attention. He looks up. “It’s not. It’s actually very relaxing. I get a massage and everything.”
“All right. Well, if you don’t need me…”
He waves a hand. “We’re back on call Monday morning. I don’t expect to hear from anyone until then.”
I stand up in the production office and make my way out toward the house set. Rich’s idea does appeal to me, but there’s something more important right now.
Wren pops into my head. The way she looked at me after I kissed her the other night… That image is burned into my brain. This whole show is going to drive me insane.
I’ll never stop remembering the way her lips curved up as she challenged me. “You think I’m the only one who enjoys this?”
I shudder. Wren avoided me all day yesterday. During the horseback riding excursion, she was radio silent. We had a group movie night in the common room and she sat behind a couch on the floor. When I called her name, she flinched.
What I did to deserve that? I don’t know. Okay, yeah, I teased her about being a virgin. But I didn’t know I was crossing a line. It was just a joke. I didn’t mean to hit a nerve, but apparently I did.
It was a joke. A dumb, careless joke. I didn’t know it would hit like that. I didn’t know it would hollow her out from the inside. Now I can’t stop replaying Wren’s face as she walked away.
Maybe I could ignore it. Pretend I don’t care. Let her stew in it.
That’s what I’ve always done. Shut the door before someone else can slam it first. But she didn’t even slam the door. She disappeared through it like I didn’t matter. Like I didn’t exist.
She wouldn’t even look at me at the catered early dinner The Last Kiss hosted. I tried to talk to her. She set down a plate she’d been piling with salad and walked off the set.
Yikes.
Now she’s stuck in my head in a way that’s not even fun anymore. It’s just distracting, I guess. I don’t mind being the villain in her story, but not even appearing on the page? That’s unacceptable.
I spend a few minutes scrolling on my phone before I hit on exactly what I need.
A local event on the other side of Atlanta.
A little rinky-dink ice skating rink that pairs nighttime skating with overhead projections of constellations.
It just so happens that tonight is “Stargazer Night.” Constellations and mythology and all that.
I don’t think she’s into skating, but stars? Maybe.
I remember her rambling once about some Greek myth, eyes lit up like she was casting spells. I didn’t listen closely back then. I wish now that I would have.
I hope this little excursion is enough to act as an apology for what I said to make it weird between us.
When I knock on the door to the room she’s staying in, I find her alone. She’s stacking some books beside a backpack, so I assume she’s packing to head home. When I interrupt her, Wren looks up, then flushes.
“What do you want?” she asks. Not angry this time. Just flat. Without tone. “Haven’t you gotten your kicks out of tormenting me for the week?”
“What are you doing right now?” I ask instead of answering her question.
I glance around the room and purse my lips, thinking how it kind of sucks that the women are all bunking together like this.
“What am I doing?” she repeats. “Throwing some books into my bag so I can go home and not look at anyone.”
“Is your apartment fixed then?”
Wren fixes me with a look. “No. Jay said they found mold, so the apartment has to be completely stripped and renovated. Good timing, I guess, since I have to be here for the next month and a half.”
I tilt my head. “Well, rather than go home to your brother’s house, I think you should throw on some jeans and sneakers. Dress like you used to.”
Her eyes narrow. “Why? You gonna stop me from flirting with guys at bars again?”
God, she tries my patience. But this Wren, combative Wren, is better than the one who flinched when I said her name.
“You’ll see.”
She shakes her head and looks down. “This better not be a date, Haart. Are you dreaming? Because if not, we’re in reality, and we are not going on a fucking date. Now get ready.”
“Only one way to find out,” I tease.
“Fuck off.” Her face grows hot pink. She flicks her hand in a sweeping motion. “Out. So I can change.”
God, she’s so hot when she’s mad. I can’t help the smile the breaks across my face.
Ten minutes later, I’m waiting downstairs when she walks out carrying an overstuffed backpack, wearing jeans and a black-and-red Atlanta Ice Storms jersey.
My mouth goes dry.
That jersey… I lost that thing a few years ago. Washed it so many times it turned soft and faded. It disappeared. I mourned it. But I’m pretty sure I just found it.
My practice jersey.
She gives me a subtle smirk, then hides the jersey beneath her coat, buttoning it up.
With her hair down and her lips glossy, I forget how to swallow.
I can’t even check out how low her jeans are riding on her hips because I refuse to let myself look.
“Is that my shirt?” I ask, narrowing my eyes as she gets closer.
Her lips twitch with dark amusement. “Maybe. You said jeans. Didn’t say no team merch.”
“You can’t just wear that around,” I argue. “Especially if this isn’t a date or anything.”
“I can wear whatever I want,” she says, arching a brow. “Unless you feel like it’s too precious.”
I glare at her, grab her backpack, and frog-march her the couple hundred yards to the parking lot. I open the passenger door without a word, chuck her bag in the back seat, and slide into the driver’s side.
“Is this what it’s like when you glitch?” Wren asks, amused.
I don’t even glance at her. My grip tightens on the steering wheel. “Don’t start with me right now, little girl.”
When we pull into the rink’s half-empty parking lot, Wren doesn’t say much. But I can see her trying to puzzle out what we’re doing here.
The second we step inside, she makes a soft sound. Almost a gasp.
I have to agree. It’s gasp worthy.
There are a million fairy lights strung around the rink’s walls.
But the main attraction is the projection.
Smooth white silk panels hung from the ceiling, with constellations in pink, white, and purple drifting slowly overhead.
They shimmer against the dark backdrop, mirrored faintly in the ice below.
Soft, romantic music plays over the speakers.
The whole place smells like popcorn and crisp air.
“This…” Wren trails off. “I don’t hate this.”
I nudge her with my elbow and wink. “Yeah, don’t get emotional or anything.”
“I’d have to have emotions to get emotional,” Wren fires back.
It takes a minute for me to grab a pair of rental skates. Once I’ve got them, we lace up in silence.
I glance over. She’s struggling to lace the first skate, hands fumbling. I finish tying mine, then bend down in front of her and wave her hands away.
“What are you doing?” she asks, tone slightly offended.
“I don’t want to be here for the rest of my life, Chirp,” I tease. “Let me help you. I’m a pro, after all.”
I grab her foot and angle her ankle, lacing her skate like it’s second nature. She goes weirdly quiet. Her face turns pink.
I don’t comment on it. But I feel it too. The electricity, flowing back and forth between us like a live wire.
We get onto the ice and she wobbles but somehow manages to stay upright. I have the urge to show off, skate lazy circles around her, but I repress it. Maybe later, when she’s more comfortable. Then I can tease her again.
“So you picked this place?” she asks.
“What, you think I can’t pick something you’d actually like?”
She pokes her cheek out with her tongue and shrugs. “No. I figured you heard about it from someone else.”
“Ouch.” I place a hand over my heart, pretending to be wounded. “That stings, Rustin. Just so you know, I set this up. I knew you’d like the stars. I think they’re being projected from a live telescope in New Mexico or something.”
She tilts her head up and stares at the projected sky, mouth dropping open. But because she’s so tragically bad at skating, she immediately trips and almost eats it.
I catch her by the arms and steady her. Then I shift, skating backward so she can cling to my hands.
She looks embarrassed. Extremely so. But honestly, it’s kind of awesome that she’s even trying. She sucks, yeah. But most Georgia girls would’ve tapped out by now.
“This feels like a setup,” Wren mutters.
I snort. “It’s not. You’re just awful at skating.”
“Rude,” she says, but she flashes me a quick grin.
We make slow loops around the rink, taking our time, watching the constellations shift above us. Every time she stumbles, I catch her. Our hands stay locked longer than they need to. Our faces hover too close.
God, this does feel like a date. I hate how easy it is to pretend. How natural it feels to hold her hands, to catch her when she stumbles, to want her to lean on me. It’s too real. That’s the problem.
It’s not a date. I’ve been explicit about that. If she were another girl, any other girl, it would be.
But she’s Jay’s little sister. God knows, every time we so much as bicker in front of him, he loses his shit. I can’t even imagine trying to tell him I was dating his baby sister.
It’s not even worth imagining.
Somewhere around the third lap, Wren points up. “Do you see that one?”
She points at a cluster of stars. “That’s Orion. The guy with the belt. Fun fact. He was super arrogant and said he could kill all the animals on earth. So the gods sent a giant scorpion to murder him.”
I grin. “That’s morbid.”
Her eyes sparkle. “Greek myths are all chaos and consequences.”