Page 65 of Rinkmates

Just as I’m about to catch my breath from laughing, the bathroom door swings open, and Liora walks out like a force of nature. Instantly, the room falls silent. There she stands, looking fierce and drop-dead gorgeous in a costume that leaves little to the imagination. My initial amusement fades, replaced by a surge of protectiveness that catches me off guard.

“No way,” I blurt out, trying to sound authoritative but failing miserably. I toss the limes I was holding onto the kitchen counter, not caring where they land. Closing the distance between us, I face her head-on. “You’re not taking the subway dressed like that.”

Liora arches an eyebrow at me, her expression daring. “Like what?”

I gesture vaguely at her outfit, struggling to find words. “That…barely there thing. You can’t just strut around the city in that. This isn’t Springfield.”

Her frown deepens, and she crosses her arms defiantly. “Watch me.”

Before I can protest further, she storms off, and I hear Shane whistle softly, muttering about trouble in paradise. I dash after her. “Liora. I’ll come with you if you don’t stop.”

“If you don’t have anything better to do, fine.”

She quickens her pace, but I manage to grab her just before she reaches the elevator.

If she thinks she can brush me off like that, she’s got another thing coming.

In a flash, I scoop her up and sling her over my shoulder. She huffs and puffs, but I couldn’t care less about her protests or the punches she’s throwing at my back.

To the amusement of the guys—Colton’s scoff included—I carry her into my room.

I set her down and brace myself for the storm that follows.

“Are you insane?”

“Yes. Is that news? What I wanted to say is, you’re practically naked and there’s no way I’m letting you go out alone. It’s getting dark and—”

“You’re worried.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Because.”

She laughs, a sharp, sassy sound that makes my skin tingle. “If this is your argument structure, I wonder how your English exams turned out.”

“I was a straight-A student, how about you?”

“Same, but I was homeschooled, so I have no idea how it is in the great wild.”

“Homeschooled?” I ask, feeling a shift in the air between us.

“Yeah, I competed in figure skating since I was eleven. Started in Hungary, then moved to the US with my coach and mom. No time for high school.”

I sigh, unable to stay mad at her cute face. “No prom?”

“No.”

From one second to the next this woman makes me feel boiling angry to worried to sad?

And just like that, there’s a short scene I remember from prom.

All the boys drank their asses off, thanks to the booze we snuck in.

And then the ultimate thrill—my first threesome. Yep. In high school.

As I think about it now, another tinge of sadness creeps in knowing she didn’t get the high school experience like the rest of us. But then again, I’m glad she didn’t have a threesome on prom night. It’s a fucked-up thought, but I don’t want anyone else having their hands on her. Only me.

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