Chapter 24
What the hell happened in there?
I’m sitting in Scotty’s truck in the very back corner of the rink parking lot, fiddling with the string on my sweatpants, unsure of what to say. The auditions finished hours ago, but they wanted to go through a few things with me before I left.
Unbeknownst to me, Scotty waited.
When I walked out, he was sitting in his car, one of the last in the lot, just waiting for me to come out here.
I came and sat in his car about twenty minutes ago, and we’ve been sitting silently ever since. All the cars are gone now. It’s just us in the darkness and the neon glow of the parking lot lights in the distance, which I’m thankful for.
I did terribly in that audition, and I in no way deserved to get through, but Scotty was there to save me…again.
“Were you serious in there?” I finally whisper. My cheeks burn so hot I keep my eyes glued to my lap. I can’t look at him—not when I’m still replaying the fall in my head on an endless loop.
He takes my hand and pulls it across the bench seat toward him. Then he lifts it and kisses the back of my hand.
“Of course I was,” he says softly. “I want to help you, Laura. That’s all I’ve ever wanted to do. You deserve for people to see how talented you are.”
My throat tightens. “Thanks, but this isn’t just an audition, Scotty. This is… if you auditioned, you’re part of the act.”
“I’m aware,” he says, not even blinking.
“B-but how would that even work? You’ve got hockey and—”
He shrugs. “The tour dates are during the winter hockey break. It means I can do it.”
“But what about practice?” I ask, scooting back slightly, pulling my hand from his.
“There will be rehearsals, choreography, blocking… you’ll need to be there for all of that.”
His mouth lifts into a slow, warm smile that hits me square in the chest. “Guess I’ll have to spend more time with you.”
I glare at him because I can’t breathe when he says things like that.
I shake my head, forcing space between us that immediately feels wrong.
“Thank you for offering to help. And for, you know… making the embarrassment less horrifying in there. But I just don’t see how any of this helps.
I can’t do spins or holds. I fell during the easiest part of the routine.
How am I supposed to do pair skating when I can barely skate solo? ”
“Because I’ll be there to hold you,” he says, the confidence in his voice so steady it almost hurts. “You just focus on the singing.”
“Scotty—” I inhale sharply, everything in me knotted tight. “This isn’t realistic. I’m not a skater. I’m not—”
He tilts his head, studying me with those warm, patient eyes that make me feel seen and safe and unbearably vulnerable all at once.
“Laura,” he says quietly, “let me help you.”
I can’t agree. I’ve always had a hard time accepting help.
“Look, I have an idea. One that will help distract the judges from your skating.”
I tilt my head. “What kind of idea?”
“I need to work out some details, but trust me, I’ve got a plan.”
“Scotty—”
“Please.” He reaches over and takes my hand, threading our fingers together.
His palm is warm, solid, grounding. The second his skin touches mine, a shiver shoots straight up my arm, settling somewhere just under my ribs.
“Just give me a day or two to figure it out.
I promise you, Laura, we can do this. You're not going to fail.”
I stare down at our joined hands, unable to look away from the way his bigger fingers wrap around mine so confidently. My throat tightens. My heart is pounding way too loud in my ears.
Can I do that?
Can I trust him not to let me fall—literally and figuratively?
Can I trust myself not to let him down?
“Why are you doing this?” I whisper, forcing myself to drag my eyes back up to his. “After everything I said about keeping things professional. After I pushed you away for a year. Why would you put yourself out there like that? In front of everyone?”
His features soften, not out of pity, but something warmer, deeper.
He cups my face with his free hand, the pad of his thumb brushing across my cheekbone with such tenderness it steals my breath.
His touch is confident and careful, as though he knows exactly how fragile I feel right now and wants to hold me together anyway.
“Because I meant what I said that night on the ice. I can't stop wanting every part of you, Princess,” he murmurs. His voice is steady and devastating.
His thumb sweeps across my cheek again, slower this time.
“And watching you in there…so brave, so damn beautiful even when you fell…” He shakes his head. “I couldn't just sit there and let you lose this. Not when I could help.”
“Scotty…” I breathe, because I don’t know what else to say. Because nothing feels like enough. Because everything feels like too much.
“You don’t have to say anything. You don’t even have to—”
I cut him off by fisting the front of his jacket and yanking him toward me.
Our mouths collide, messy and hungry, and suddenly I’m scrambling over the center console like all the oxygen in the truck is in his mouth.
My knees slide around his hips, and the moment I settle on his lap, he lets out a low, wrecked sound that shoots straight through me.
“Laura,” he groans against my lips, his hands snapping to my hips to keep me from tipping backward. “What are you—”
“Shut up,” I breathe, kissing him again, harder. “Just shut up and kiss me back.”
He doesn't need to be told twice.
His hands slide up my back, pulling me closer until my chest is pressed to his. I grind down instinctively, desperate for more contact, and the thick, hard line of him beneath me makes my head spin. My sweatpants and his practice pants do nothing to hide how badly he wants me.
And I want him, too.
I grind down on him again, chasing the friction.
Scotty reacts instantly.
His hands grip my hips tighter, guiding my movements. He drags me over exactly where he wants me, where he needs me, and the way he’s looking at me as though I’m everything he’s ever wanted makes me bold.
I roll my hips in a slow, deliberate circle.
The sound he makes… God.
“Fuck, Princess,” he breathes, his head falling back against the seat. His hands slide from my hips to my ass, squeezing as he pushes me down against him.
I lean forward, my mouth finding the exposed column of his throat. I kiss and suck my way down to his collarbone, feeling his pulse race beneath my lips. His hands move up my back, one tangling in my hair while the other palms my breast through my hoodie.
“Laura,” he groans when I bite down gently on his neck. “We're in a parking lot, and you’re going to make me come in my pants like a fucking teenager.”
“Don’t care. No one can see us.” I tug his hair again, harder this time, loving the way his breath stutters. “It’s dark. We’re way back here and there aren’t any other cars.” I kiss him. “Even if someone did see… I’m done pretending I don't want this. That I don’t want you.”
His eyes snap open, locking with mine. “You mean that? You don’t want to hide us anymore?”
“Yes.” I cup his face in both hands. “I’m tired of running. I’m tired of being scared. You showed up for me today when everyone else would’ve let me fall on my ass. You always show up.” My voice goes quiet. “Even when I push you away.”
He leans forward, pressing his forehead against mine. “Always will, Princess. I’m not going anywhere.”
I grind down harder. His cock fits perfectly between my thighs, thick and straining against his pants, and the pressure makes my breath hitch. I do it again, slower this time, dragging right over him to feel every part of his cock.
“Then show me you aren’t leaving,” I whisper, rocking against him. “Right here. Right now.”
His eyes drag down my body, then back to my mouth. “What do you mean?”
“Well, do you remember when you said you like feedback?”
He groans. “Yeah.”
“Well,” I murmur, my hands sliding down his chest to the waistband of his pants, “tonight I want yours.”
His body tenses, his grip tightening on my hips.
“Laura…”
“I want to hear what I do to you,” I say, leaning in so my lips brush against his ear. “Every. Fucking. Second.”
“Laura…” he groans, hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise.
I sink lower on his lap, my mouth drifting down his throat.
“So,” I whisper, kissing his pulse, “are you going to give me what I want?”
He groans, his head falling back. “You're going to kill me.”
I take that as permission and slip my hand beneath his waistband, under his boxers, wrapping my fingers around him.
Fuck. He's so hard, and thick. I knew he was big after the fountain incident, but I never thought I’d be here and wanting him like this.
I squeeze slowly, testing him, wanting to know everything—how sensitive he is, how fast he gets there, what makes him lose control.
“Fuck, Princess…” he groans, his hips jerking up into my palm. “Just like that.”
I stroke him again, tighter this time. His eyes are half-lidded, his breath coming out rough and uneven.
“Faster,” he rasps. “Your hand feels perfect.”
I lean in and brush my lips against his jaw. “Tell me more.”
He shudders.
“You're perfect,” he groans, his hips thrusting up into my hand. “So fucking perfect. The way you're touching me…fuck, Laura, I've been dreaming about this.”
Every word makes me bolder. I twist my wrist slightly and he curses.
“Fuck, yes. Right there,” he grits out. “You have no idea what you do to me. Watching you skate—watching you fight to keep going—I wanted to drag you off the ice and keep you for myself.”
“What else?” I whisper, squeezing him a little harder.
His eyes find mine. His blue eyes are wild, dark and unapologetic.
“I think about you constantly,” he says, hips thrusting into my hand. “Think about fucking you every time you look at me. Think about hearing you fall apart on my cock.” His hand grabs my jaw, forcing me to hold his stare. “Think about you riding me exactly like this while you scream my name.”