Page 72 of Icy Pucking Play

He nods once, still not speaking.

We make it to my apartment in that same heavy silence. But as soon as the door closes, he has me pressed against it, his kiss desperate, almost angry.

For a moment, I let myself indulge in this. The eagerness. The heat of it. The way I fit perfectly in his arms, as if this is where I belong.

Then reality begins to seep in. Because this isn't just any ordinary evening. And Evan isn’t just any ordinary man. He’sa man with a complex past and a family that has become increasingly important to me.

I can feel him tensing up, his thoughts racing. "You're thinking too loud," I mumble, my voice soft against his insistent mouth.

He glances down at me. “Am not."

"Are too. I can feel you tensing up." I glance up to look at him. "Want to talk about it?"

"Not really."

"I’m shocked." But I say it fondly. "Is this about what happened at dinner?”

"It's about a lot of things," he says carefully.

"Like the fact that I'm writing about your family while sleeping with you?"

"Among other things."

I take a step back, and I immediately miss his warmth. "Regrets?"

"No." That, at least, he's sure about. "But concerns."

"About?"

"About what happens when the story comes out. About how this affects Ryland's chances at camp. About..." He swipes a hand through his hair. "About what people will say when they find out I'm dating someone barely older than my babysitter."

"First of all, I'm twenty-three, not sixteen." I poke his chest. "Second, I'm pretty sure your babysitter doesn't do what I did last night."

"Sophie."

"Sorry." But I'm grinning. "Couldn't resist."

He tries to stay serious, but it's hard when he's looking at me like that—all sleepy eyes and dark, messed-up hair.

"I mean it," he says, sitting up against my headboard. "There are complications here."

"I know. Trust me, I've thought about them all. Extensively. Usually at three a.m. when I can’t sleep."

And that's the problem, isn't it? How easily he's woven himself into every part of my life. How natural it feels to have him there. How terrifying that is.

"The last time I mixed personal and business..." he starts, then stops.

"Didn't end well?"

"That's an understatement."

He's quiet for a moment, fingers playing with the hem of the shirt I'm wearing. "Tell me about Chelsea.”

"Sophie..."

"Not for the story. Not for anything except...I want to understand what you're afraid of."

I study his face, looking for any sign of the man who's usually so guarded. All I see is Evan—open, honest, caring Evan who makes me feel safe in his big, strong arms.

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