Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 86878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86878 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 434(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
As she disappears, I force myself to stay rooted in the living room and take in her private space. It’s neat, minimalist. There’s a small couch, a table, and a few pictures on the shelf. I pick one up and study it closer. It’s a black-and-white photo of her mid-spin, three or four feet above the ice, with her arms tightly pressed against her chest.
She looks powerful.
It’s a stark contrast to the vulnerability that lurks in her eyes.
“I’m ready.”
I turn, startled from my thoughts.
She’s transformed in minutes. Black leggings, a fitted pink sweater that clings to her curves, and her blonde hair pulled up into a tight bun. The change is almost jarring, like a mask she wears to keep everyone at a distance. All I want to do is strip it away, layer by layer, until she lets me in completely.
She tilts her head. “You good?”
I clear my throat and force a smile. “Yeah. Let’s go, Tink.”
I hold out my hand, hoping she’ll take it.
Her gaze drops to my fingers, and hesitation flickers in her expression. After what she’s been through, I don’t blame her for being cautious.
It feels like an eternity before she finally slips her hand into mine. It’s a small gesture that has something in my chest loosening.
I pick up her duffel bag, slinging it over my shoulder as we head downstairs to my truck. The arena is only a five-minute drive from her apartment building, and the morning is still pitch black as we pull into the empty parking lot.
As we reach the arena, Ava walks ahead, her movements sure as she unlocks the door to the rink and pushes it open. We make our way through the building until arriving at another set of glass doors. Once inside, the air hits me—the cold, familiar smell of ice.
When she drops down onto a bench, I jerk my thumb toward the men’s locker room. “I’ll grab my skates and be back in a minute.”
She nods, already slipping off her shoes and pulling her white skates from her bag. I cut across the space to the locker room before shoving inside. The lights automatically turn on, illuminating the echoing area.
When I return, Ava’s already gliding across the ice with that same effortless grace I caught a glimpse of in the photo. I can’t help but stop and soak in the sight of her. She’s poetry in motion—spinning, twisting, floating across the ice like she’s weightless.
I’ve only caught glimpses of her like this when I watched her from a distance. This isn’t the guarded, careful girl who looks at me with uncertainty. This is the real Ava. The one who comes alive on the ice.
It pisses me off all over again that her former coach stole something so precious from her. That he tried to ruin this part of her life.
She deserves to have the future she worked so hard for.
I skate a few laps around the perimeter while she practices jumps and spins in the center. My eyes stay locked on her, mesmerized by the way she moves. The determination etched into her face is sexy as hell, and it makes me want to pull her off the ice and show her exactly how I feel.
She transitions into a spin, pulling her leg up until the blade of her skate is over her head. The skill and flexibility it takes to execute that trick is mind-blowing.
I move closer, drawn to her like a moth to a flame.
When she finally comes to a stop, I find myself unable to hold back. As soon as my fingers nab hers, I tug her toward me with measured movements, wanting to give her enough time to put a stop to the intimacy. My arms wrap around her, pulling her against me. For a second or two, her muscles stiffen. Just when I consider setting her free and stepping back to give her space, she relaxes, her body melting into mine.
“You’re too talented not to compete,” I murmur, my voice low. “You realize that, right?”
Sadness floods her eyes as she looks away. “There’s no longer a place for me in that world.”
I lift her chin, forcing her to meet my gaze. “I don’t believe that. And deep down, neither do you.”
Before she has a chance to respond, I brush my lips across hers. It’s a gentle kiss, slow and teasing, but it’s enough to set every nerve ending on fire. Her palms settle on my chest before sliding upward until her arms tangle around my neck.
A groan rumbles up from deep within my body as she presses against me.
This is what I’ve been waiting for.
This connection.
The feeling of being so close to her that nothing else matters.
My hands tighten around her waist as our tongues brush, and I sink deeper into the kiss.