Page 3 of Ice Cold Heart

What the fuck was I doing?

I didn’t kiss random people in a very public study area, especially not hotshot hockey players. The little voice in the back of my head that sounded disturbingly like my mother screamed at me to snatch back my hand, throw him a quick goodbye, and get the hell out of the library.

Instead, my fingers curled into the material of his shirt, and I sighed.

Cole’s lips curved against mine before he devoured me. His hand speared into my hair to hold me in place, and I surrendered. Completely. The kiss was supposed to be a demonstration, a pretty ruse for the sorority rejects hunting him, but nothing about it felt fake.

Shock and heat dumped into my system, and I let myself sink into the sensations. For one glorious moment, I forgot—Scott’s manipulations, my mom’s betrayal, my dad’s apathy. I forgot the hard-earned lesson to keep myself distant, to separate my heart from the world, to never trust a guy who seemed too good to be true.

To my horror, I wasn’t the one who came to my senses first. Cole relaxed his grip and eased away, far enough for me to catch my breath, but not nearly the distance I needed to shove the unexpected longing back inside.

“No wonder they want your attention,” I mumbled.

Cole chuckled and leaned over to put his mouth against my ear. “You should see what I can do when I don’t have an audience.”

There it was. My face flamed at his whispered words, but I viciously shoved the temptation to the back recesses of my mind. I’d come over here anticipating him to make a play, and he hadn’t disappointed, though getting him to that point had taken a lot more effort than I’d expected. College hockey’s golden boy wasn’t much different than the rest of them.

I had to give him credit for being charming, but I’d sworn off charming, sexy men as well as hockey players. Add in that Cole was one of my dad’s hockey players, and he had three strikes against him.

My body didn’t give a single fuck. The instant response to him was an interesting complication, but I wasn’t done proving my point. The hero types never lived up to their reputations.

I tossed my hair over my shoulder and gave him a cheeky grin. “Down boy. Don’t fall for your own hype. I’m not looking for a private show.”

“Right.” His eyes flicked to the table of puck bunnies, now ostensibly talking amongst themselves about their next conquest.

I glanced around us, and most of the tables had stopped paying attention. Drama during finals week was both immediate and short-lived. Everyone had more important things to focus on, which worked for me. The audience wasn’t necessary. Cole seemed to come to the same conclusion because he leaned back in his chair and eyed me curiously.

“Is this the part where you run away?”

I raised a brow, suddenly feeling confrontational. “Why would I run?”

“Because you kissed the hell out of me, and unless I’m mistaken, you’re as surprised as I am by how good it was. Whether or not you were looking for it.”

The blunt truth shocked me. I’d turned him down. He should have been trying to charm my pants off or looking for a quick exit. Instead, he held my gaze with a subtle challenge. My eyes narrowed. Cole wasn’t pushing me to act on the kiss, only to admit it was good.

It was good, but I didn’t give in to thinly veiled challenges. Not anymore. “I don’t run, and you don’t know me.”

He watched with a slight frown as I stood and slid the strap of my messenger bag over my shoulder. I’d gotten Cole’s attention and proved he wasn’t the perfect specimen he pretended to be. Mission accomplished. Leaving wasn’t running. I’d done what I’d come to do, and now I had other places to be. Cole didn’t need to know the other places included my kitchen for a snack then bed with a good book.

I wouldn’t sleep. It took heavy duty medical intervention most nights, but I liked spending time by myself.

Dad would be haunting the rink by now, so there was even the possibility of catching up on my guilty pleasure show, Next Best Ninja. In general, I preferred books to reality TV, but something about watching athletes pit themselves against impossible obstacles hooked me every time. I was invested.

With my mind made up, I purposely kept my gaze away from Cole. The slow swirl in my belly urged me to change direction and plop down in his lap—really test his reactions—but I didn’t trust myself to stop at a simple test. My mind whispered one more kiss wouldn’t make much of a difference, and I knew I was lying.

Kissing him again would be for me, and it would mean ignoring those three strikes, something I wasn’t willing to do. I reached out to grab my coffee cup, but Cole’s hand shot out, wrapping around my wrist in a loose grip.

“Wait,” he said quietly.

“Why?” I stared down at his large fingers, idly wondering if the rest of him was proportional.

Nope. It was past time to derail that train of thought and get my mind straight. Still, I hesitated. I could pull away without any effort, but I wanted to see which direction he’d go. Asshole or good guy.

Cole’s thumb swept a line of fire across my wrist, then he released me. “I’m sorry. I was out of line. Will you stay? Please?”

I crossed my arms to keep the heat from spreading. “What’s in it for me?”

“Absolutely nothing.”

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