Page 24 of Ice Cold Heart

I shifted closer to take the book back, checking the spot I’d marked with a random receipt. “Looks like page ninety-three. Scheherazade just went into her third story, but I couldn’t tell you what the first two were. Something about a genie and a singing tree. Honestly, there was a lot more sex than I was expecting in something this old.”

When I looked up from the text, Avery wasn’t staring at the book like I’d thought. She was staring at my mouth. Heat swept through me, and I let the pages close.

“Avery?”

Her gaze jerked up, and she quickly wiped away the dazed look in her eyes. “Sorry. Before we start, why don’t you tell me about why you need me for this?”

Talk about a cock block. As much as I knew she was only trying to help, I’d have rather discussed the hint of pink creeping across her cheeks or the way her fingers drummed against her leg. Hell, I’d have rather told her about the time I caught my sister skinny dipping with Leroy Chowder in the pond behind the barn. Anything other than the way I failed at a basic ability any five-year-old could master.

“Cole?” Avery laid a hand on my thigh and leaned into my sightline.

I blinked at her and forced myself to answer her question. “I can focus for one line, maybe two, but then the words get jumbled in my mind and I have to stop. If there’s something—or someone—distracting me, I can’t even get through the first line.”

Her fingers started to retract, but I covered her hand with mine. “I can read and understand the words on their own, but put them together in any kind of length and my brain checks out.”

She nodded. “Have you tried audiobooks?”

“Yeah, the narrators read too slow, and I don’t like sitting for long periods of time doing nothing.”

Avery laughed under her breath. “You’re doing it wrong.”

I tilted my head, desperately curious about the deepening blush. “Do you listen to audiobooks?”

“Yes.” She didn’t give me any clarifications, and I’d learned she used the tactic to discourage people from digging deeper.

“How often?”

“All the time.”

A slow smile crept across my face. “What kind of audiobooks, Avery?”

“It’s not important.”

I squeezed her hand. “I disagree. We’re friends, and friends care about each other’s interests.”

“I don’t like to talk about what I listen to. People tend to get judgy.”

“Trust me, city girl.”

She tossed her hair behind her shoulder and raised one imperious brow. “Romance.”

I kind of hadn’t expected her to answer, but I was suddenly interested in another person’s reading habits for the first time in my life. “And how am I doing it wrong?”

My voice dropped without me meaning to, and her hand tightened on my leg. “You need to increase the reading speed and do something to keep your hands busy while you listen.”

“What do you do with your hands while you’re listening to your audiobooks?”

Avery knew exactly what I was asking, and she didn’t shy away from the answer. She met my gaze and held up my lit novel. “You can find out if we get through this assignment.”

As a motivational technique, her promise was surprisingly effective, but I wasn’t quite done with the softer, needier version of Avery. I’d bet no one else knew about her audiobooks or her serial killer obsession. No one else got to see her like this, with her shield lowered and heat in her eyes. Coach hadn’t been wrong about her being prickly. She used her intelligence and her attitude to push people away, but not me.

I held her gaze and lifted her hand, placing a soft kiss on her palm. “Will you share your audiobook with me?”

Her lips parted on a silent breath, and I brushed over her skin a second time. The world around us slowed to a crawl as indecision clouded her face. I hadn’t asked her to cross any boundaries—friends listened to audiobooks together all the time… I assumed. Even if she didn’t share the sex scenes, I was curious about what kind of stories she read—what drove her to hold those books close and protect her love of them.

But I wanted the heat. I wanted to have this piece of her she didn’t share with anyone else.

Avery studied her hand clasped in mine, and maybe foolishly, I pushed one more time. In a slow, languid movement, I stroked my tongue between her fingers. She sucked in a gasp, almost too low for me to hear it, but I saw the movement of her chest, the way her eyes sharpened, the tiny clench in her hand.

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