Chapter Twenty-Two – Fawn
Just when I thought Dylan and Torin have seen me at my worst, the universe likes to prove me wrong.
They have seen me in all kinds of states now, from drunk to a crumpled mess on the floor.
The way Torin scooped me up into his arms like some action-movie hero still replays in my head when I least expect it. He was so strong and so gentle.
And Dylan . . . Oh my.
I’m torn between hugging him and bubble-wrapping him.
And the fact that he believes strawberries coated in chocolate meet my five a day?
What a cutie. I don’t even know whether I should be touched or concerned.
Either way, I was lucky and grateful. Even just thinking about them does something to my heartbeat I can’t quite steady.
Am I getting . . . feelings? Maybe.
Wait.
Fuck.
Trying my hardest, I stop those thoughts.
I’m another two days in, and I haven’t put a single word on paper.
I mean, not a single word. My outline just sits on my computer, looking all smug in the knowledge I haven’t bothered.
I seriously need to kick myself in the ass.
My agent asked how everything is coming along, and I lied, making out I’ve already started. I know, stupid, right?
Before Dylan left me the other day, he put his number in my phone and said, “Anytime you want, come down to the rink. Don’t even think about scheduling through the coach. You’re welcome whenever. Princess.”
So, that’s where I am, walking through the doors of the rink.
Yes, I’m going to ask some more questions about hockey, but in all honesty, I am here to bring Dylan and Torin a little thank-you present. Just a small gesture, an acknowledgment that I’ve noticed the way they’ve been there for me.
Inside, the rink is much darker than usual, and the lighting consists of pulsating disco lights flickering across the ice like stars.
There are sweeping laser lights casting pink, blue, and green beams across the room.
The bass pounds in my chest, and the beat of ‘Timber’ by Kesha and Pitbull plays through the rink.
Not exactly the soundtrack I expect for a weekend morning.
Rather than the team, the ice is filled with kids looking like Bambi on legs, laughing and stumbling, clutching each other for support.
The smell of hot dogs and excitement fills the air.
There’s a disco in progress, with half the kids wearing glow sticks.
There’s one kid wearing a tiara, another circling the rink like a helicopter.
They are far from pros, but their joy spreads like wildfire. Then, someone slices through the craziness like a shot of light. Of course, it’s Dylan.
He zooms past the children with hardly any effort, backward, then forward, then in a spin, as if he wants everyone’s attention, like he always does. Now, he has a gigantic illuminated bouncy ball, the type you win at arcades, and he throws it softly in the direction of some children.
“TIMBERRR!” he hollers, dramatic as hell.
The kids scream and scatter, slipping and colliding as the ball bounces across the ice.
“Remember!” Dylan calls out. “If the ball touches you, you’re OUT!”
He’s full of pure mischief and laughter, entirely at ease with children.
In his own world, he isn’t even aware I’m standing at the railing, watching him like a goofy idiot with a full heart.
He’s dodging the kids, leading them on a chase, allowing them to almost, but not quite, catch him.
A kid tumbles, and he hoists them up, checking the elbow of another before he skates away.
He’s amazing with them, like genuinely amazing.
I stand there at the gate in the glow of the disco lights, gift bag in hand, feeling something whole, something . . . good.
Two other members of the rink crew jump onto the ice, weaving in and out among the kids. They’re tossing the giant balls, hyping the kids up even further. Dylan turns, and his gaze finds mine.
Just when I think his face can’t possibly get any brighter, he lights up like the sun bursting over the horizon. He grins, big and goofy, and he takes off in a hurry, hurling directly at me. Right before he crosses the barrier, he digs in a blade and blows a cloud of crushed ice my way.
“Show-off,” I tease, shooting out a laugh.
“Hello, princess . . .” he pants, leaning one arm on the gate as he skates here just to flirt himself breathless.
“Hey, you.” I try to sound casual despite the burning in my cheeks. “So, what’s all this?” I nod toward the ice party behind him.
“Fun hour for the younger bunch,” he says, leaving over the gate, and flicking a piece of ice out of my hair. “We get the energy out before the parents lose their minds.”
A group of children skates up and stops in front of him, grabbing his attention.
“Dylan, come on!” one of them shouts in a cute voice. “You’re on our team!”
“Hurry!” another adds. “They’re cheating. We need the best!”
Dylan raises a hand in a gesture like a traffic cop.
“Whoa, my little buddies. Five minutes, alright? Can’t you see I’m in the middle of a conversation with a beautiful woman?
” He nods in my direction, using his thumb in a sweeping gesture.
The smallest kid stares at me, impressed. He turns back to Dylan.
“Dylan, she’s way out of your league,” he says, and then attempts to make a break for it, nearly tumbling. The other kid just shrugs at Dylan and takes off.
Well, I just got complimented by an eight-year-old. I’m honored.
Dylan watches them attempt to make a getaway, trying not to laugh. “Little fu—” He stops himself quickly, giving me this faux-innocent grin. “Fun sponges.”
I decide to lean on the gate and cross my arms. “Nice tunes you’ve got here, but I’m pretty sure the lyrics to this song are about twerking and people taking clothes off?”
“Chill, Mom. It’s the PG version.”
He peers over the railing and suddenly spots the gift bag I’m clutching in my hands. His eyes widen in surprise, like a child detecting concealed candy. “What’s in that?” he asks right away.
“Nosy,” I joke, squeezing the bag slightly. “It’s a thank-you gift for you and Torin.”
“That’s fucking cute, you know.” He knocks on the gate with his knuckles. “Is that why you popped by?”
“That, and to ask the team a few questions. But looking at the disco-skate behind you, I’d say there isn’t any practice today,” I reply.
Dylan leans forward, like he has some big secret he wants to tell. “I think that’s an excuse. You just wanted to see me.”
I roll my eyes dramatically and nudge the top of his arm. “Oh, Dylan, you’re my sunshine. I always want to see you . . .” I joke. The snark factor on my words is so rich, you could ski on it.
Dylan pushes off, slides one dramatic foot, and then turns back in with a satisfied smirk. “Knew it.”
I raise the bag high. He looks at it, then at me, but he doesn’t take it.
“I’ll make you a deal—” he says, and the mischievous note in his voice has my stomach plummeting in a positively playful manner.
Oh, no. Here we go.
“I’ll take your gift, but only if you come to my place tonight. That way, you can ask me anything you want for your book, no distractions. It’s a win-win situation.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? What if I say no?”
He gives me this slow, cocky wink. “Then keep your gift. And guess what? No answers for you.”
“Rude. So blackmail then?”
“Sexy blackmail,” he shoots back, all puffed up.
“Is that a thing?”
“It is now.” He lowers his voice. “So . . . what’s it gonna be, princess?”
Of course, he would turn a thank-you gift into a hostage negotiation.
He pushes off the barrier again, gliding effortlessly back with that calm, almost-too-good-to-be-true confidence.
The lights from the disco flicker across him; his forest green eyes stand out, making him even more handsome, and that’s just plain mean.
I find myself gawking a little too long and recover by clearing my throat, hoping a straightened posture will cover anything.
“Fine! Fine,” I say, giving in ridiculously fast.
From somewhere behind him, a kid yells, “It’s been five minutes!”
“Sorry, princess. Duty calls,” Dylan says, turning a complete circle on the spot. He freezes and turns back to me. “Wait, come here. There’s something on your face.”
A jolt of nerves shoots through me, but I still lean over the gate.
Dylan inches closer, closer . . . then quickly lands a kiss on my cheek.
“You have my kiss,” he teases, backing off with a wicked grin.
A jittery laugh falls from my lips as I tuck a lock of my hair behind my ear.
“See ya tonight,” he says, his voice all warm and teasing.
Then he’s off, skating to the mob of kids. I turn away before he can see what’s happening to my face. My stomach isn’t helping.