Page 23 of For Her Own Good

I snort, and yeah, my nose hairs are feeling like tiny icicles too.

“I suppose. Let’s try to get you off the ice without a tumble, shall we?”

She glares at me, and if I were frozen all the way to my heart, that one wrinkled-nose glower would thaw me. Starla is like a bunny. An incredibly rich and powerful bunny who could have her henchbunnies end a person in a second, but with me, she seems only to want her ears stroked. “Oh, shut it. I haven’t fallen at all. I’m pretty impressed with myself.”

I am smart enough and fond enough of my own hide not to return that she’s been using me as a crutch the entire time and it would take a truly cursed skater to fall whilst doing that. And indeed, after another couple of minutes of shuffling, we do make it off the ice and onto a wooden bench.

It’s probably not comfortable, but my arse is so cold I can’t honestly say if that’s the case. Starla’s cheeks are a pretty shade of pink above the scarf she’s got wound round her neck, and there’s a glisten of perspiration at her temples and on her forehead.

“How is it possible,” she mutters, “to be so cold and yet sweaty at the same time?”

“Talent?”

She elbows me, but it doesn’t hurt since we both look like marshmallows in all our layers. When we’d exited the rink, she’d let go of my arm—much to my dismay—but now she’s leaning against my shoulder and gazing at me with imploring eyes.

“Can I be done now, please? If you get me some hot cocoa, I’ll sit and watch you skate if you want to go out without an anchor holding you back, but I’m dying here.”

I am in the worst shit if Starla’s going to start asking my permission to do or not do things. Makes my voice come out all gruff and stodgy. I suppose that’s better than cracking which is the other possibility, given how I feel so light inside. I may as well be stuffed with helium.

“Aye, you can be done.” I tip my head in the direction of the concession stand where there’s a bit of a line but it’s not awful. “I’ll get your chocolate while you take your skates off.”

She has the prettiest smile when she says thank you, and it makes me glad I’m walking away from her. Because I can hear her saying, “Thank you, Daddy,” and I could collapse from horniness right here. Which… What in God’s name is that about? Never did I wish for Maeve to call me that. Nor want for her to be the type of woman who would. I liked her toughness, her self-sufficiency, her cutting intelligence and wit. Not that those qualities are incompatible with wanting to call your loverdaddy, but…

Christ almighty. That vivid, thrilling sound bite is playing on repeat in my head. It pokes at all of my worst fears about who I am, the things I want, wishes I keep in my darkest heart. Despite all that—and I’m not proud of it—I know what I’ll be jerking off to later.

When I come back from getting her cocoa, she’s sitting prettily on the bench, rubbing her hands together, stomping her feet. The fur-topped boots she’s wearing complete the picture, and I’m glad she’s given me the excuse to go exert myself and also freeze my arse off again because she’s so darling, I’d otherwise have trouble keeping my hands to myself. I would, but I wouldn’t want to.

Once her hands are wrapped around the waxed paper cup, she smirks up at me.

“All right, Campbell. Show me what you’ve got when you don’t have me slowing you down.”

Her teasing challenge makes the foolishly masculine part of me perk up, the part that wants to preen and strut, like a peacock spreading its feathers to attract a mate. I’m not going to make it to the Olympics either, but I can at least pick up some speed and I can skate backwards and come to one of those showy, ice-spraying stops. For her, I will.

“As you like.”

Chapter 8

Starla

An hourand three cups of hot chocolate later, Lowry is making a last few loops around the perimeter of the makeshift rink. He’s fast and graceful, and I feel guilty for having held him back, but only a little. It’s fun to watch him now, but I’m glad I tried. He probably knew I’d be glad I tried.

When I haven’t been warming my hands around a cup of cocoa, I’ve offered him high fives and fist bumps, cheered his fancy hockey stops that send particles of shaved ice spraying into the air. He’s not the best skater out there, but he’s not far behind. And despite there being people with better moves, more speed, I can’t take my eyes off him. It’s not as though I can see his body through the many layers he has on; it’s a competence porn thing. He’s good at this, as he’s good at so many other things. And while I can sometimes be jealous of the ease with which people walk the earth, I’m not jealous of Lowry. I enjoy him.

Soon enough there’s an announcement that it’s closing time and all skaters need to exit the rink. I meet him at the gate in the boards that line the ice and somewhat overcome by—I don’t know, I guess this is joy I’m feeling? Secondhand elation from the way he’s been zipping around? Something comes over me and I hug him, arms thrown about his neck, bodies pressed together from chest to pelvis and wow, that’s a terrible idea. Truly, truly terrible. I don’t want to let go.

But anxiety brain is watching out for me—after a split second of contact, it starts hissing that this is weird and I should stop. When I’ve stepped back, red-faced from embarrassment and not the cocoa or the cold, he’s standing there with his mouth open. Whatever he’s got to say, I don’t want to hear it.

“Get your skates off, I’ll grab you a hot chocolate before they close.”

And then I promptly run away because that’s what grown women do.

By the time I’m back, he’s packed up his skates—because of course he has his own skates—and is thumbing through his phone.

“Everything okay?”

The furrow between his brows smooths out a bit but doesn’t go away entirely because it never does. “Everything’s fine, just Maeve checking in. She’s glad you got me outside.”

Telling his ex-wife about me? He did say they were friends still so I guess it’s not surprising. But still, I’m not sure whether to feel self-conscious or pleased. “Did you tell her this was your idea?”

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