Page 8 of Dreams on the Ice

She arches a brow, and her eyes narrow a little more. “Are you kidding me right now?” she asks. “You want me to call you every time I want to go for a run? That’s ludicrous.”

It’s my turn to narrow my eyes as I look directly at her. “It’s not,” I say. “Wanting to keep you safe isn’t ludicrous.”

She turns around to face me fully, her lips parting as if she’s going to say something, but then she snaps them together and rolls them a few times before she speaks. When she does, it’s clear that this is going to be a point of contention.

“I’m not going to text you every time I feel the urge to run,” she states. Then her eyes slide down to her feet before she brings them back up to meet my own. Her voice is a bit softer and less irritated when she speaks again. “But I do appreciate that offer. It’s very sweet.”

She walks away again, and this time, I let her. Although the entire time, my thoughts shift between her ass looking fucking amazing in her running leggings and the fact that I wasn’t trying to be sweet. Instead, I just wanted to keep her safe so I can fuck her soon. It’s simply as selfish as that.

Plus, I just plain like her as a person.

“You are so fucking gone for her,” Alexei says.

Ripping my gaze from the closed front door, I look over at him. He’s standing a few feet away, his lips curved into a grin as he watches me. Rolling my eyes, I snort but don’t say anything immediately.

I’m not exactly sure what to tell him because the last thing I want to do is go into detail. If I do, he’s really going to think I’m into her. And honestly, I am, but I don’t want to admit it to him before I’ve even fully admitted it to myself.

And I’m not ready to do that yet.

“She’s helping me out with some family shit, that’s all.”

He hums, shaking his head. “Hate to tell you, but you’re in denial over that girl. I’ll just start saving my money to buy youout of the house because you’re the next one to fucking fall,” he grumbles, then turns and walks toward his car.

I watch as he climbs inside and starts the engine. Then he’s gone. But his words aren’t. They live fucking rent-free in my head, and I’m not sure I’m ready to push them out. Because he’s right. I’m fucking gone for her.

I’ve been gone for her since the moment I laid eyes on her. I know this is an excuse, the whole fake girlfriend gig. I could make her my real girlfriend and accomplish the same shit.

Chapter

Four

BROOKLYNN

Staring at allmy clothes on my bed, I can’t help but wonder just how fancy this is going to be. My clothes are good quality, but they are not designer. I enjoy chic styles, but I don’t necessarily spend thousands of dollars on single outfits. I have a feeling the people who are going to be at this party do spend that much per outfit. It’s the freaking Hamptons, after all.

There is a knock on the doorjamb behind me. Lifting my head from the pile of clothes on my bed, I turn and look at Ayden, who is watching me silently.

“What?” I ask.

She shrugs a shoulder. “You’re putting a lot of effort into this for afriend.”

“Any of us would do it for any of the guys,” I murmur.

She laughs. “Girl,” she warns before she continues. “No way would I rearrange my whole schedule for any of those guys. As much as I like them, I just wouldn't go out of my way like that. It’s super inconvenient. And then to have to spend four days with his family? No way.”

As much as I want to tell Ayden that she’s lying, she’s probably not. Ayden wouldn’t go out of her way for anyone. I love her, but she’s not really known for going above and beyond for much. She loves her clients, she loves her friends and her family, but she’s not going out of her way for much of anything.

“He asked me for help, and I’m going to help him,” I mutter.

She sucks in a breath, holds it for a moment, then lets it out slowly. “Okay, but you’re sleeping with him during these four days away, so make sure you bring protection.”

“I’m not sleeping with anyone,” I snap.

Mainly because I want to sleep with him so damn badly that I can’t even think straight. But he doesn’t want me, and there’s no way I’m putting myself out there to get rejected. I’m not that girl. The kind who dusts herself off and pulls herself up by the bootstraps.

“Keep telling yourself that,” she says in a singsong voice before she turns and walks away from my room.

We leave at nine this morning. We have a flight to catch. Forrest sent me the full itinerary a few days ago, which included all the flight information and theme-night parties.

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