Page 51 of Ice Bet

I stood and peered down at his lazy posture on the seat. He was in the very first one, which probably wasn’t a coincidence, because it was very clear that Aasher Matthews had a complex that bled confidence. He probably sat there because, in his head, hewasnumber one.

“I’m waiting, Riley.”

He was so irritating.

I sighed. “Fine.”

His eyebrow rose. I rolled my eyes.

“I won’t talk to aBexley Uhockey player if you win our bet.”

Aasher chuckled. “You’re too smart for your own good. Just had to add in that Bexley U part, yeah?”

“What’s wrong with talking to other hockey players? That’s not part of our little agreement.”

He stood up and leaned down into my space. “Our ice bet, you mean.”

I felt more amped up the longer I talked to him. Aasher had a way of making me feel everything deeper than usual. Irritation? I was ready to explode with insults. Desire? I had to force myself not to go in for another kiss after he let go the other day. “Whatever. Let’s just get started.”

“Follow me.” Aasher slipped past me, but before he got too far, his fingers wrapped themselves beneath mine, separating them from my skates. “No skates.”

“No skates?” I repeated, confused.

“No. Skates.” He un-pried my fingers, one by one, and placed my skates on the ground.

Then he put his back to me and began walking down the aisle. I chased after him. “How am I ever going to get back to skating if I’m not even using my skates?”

Aasher didn’t answer me, which was no surprise. He put his hands on the ledge of the side wall and flung himself over with ease, landing below with a precise thud. Hockey players were probably some of the most able-bodied athletes there were. Their precision on the ice carried over to the steady ground, and I was convinced they could do anything. Being on skates was a skill that had to be honed and most of the hockey players I knew had the dexterity of someone who lived and breathed athleticism and had room for nothing else.

“Come on,” Aasher yelled from below, and I quickly rose to my tiptoes, placing my hands on the same wall he had hoisted himself over.

“I am not jumping.”

“I’ll catch you.”

No.“Why can’t I just go to the entrance like a normal person?”

He shook his head and adjusted his backward hat. It was really unfair how he looked so good in his black joggers, BU long-sleeve shirt, and hat. He was casual but still insanely attractive. “Because you aren’t a normal person. You’re Coach Lennon’s daughter, and the last thing we need are rumors of how you and I were spotted alone in the rink together after hours.”

He had a point.

I puffed up my cheeks and put my hands on the ledge, propping myself up. My muscles woke up, rushing with adrenaline from the thought of being on level ground with the ice. I gritted my teeth as I dragged a leg over the side and then the other. A rush of fear whipped through me as I dangled there with my fingers slipping against the tiny ledge.

“Jump, Duster,” Aasher called out from below.

“I can’t.” The distant memory of my childhood coach flashed before my eyes, barking out an order to do three hundred pendulum exercises for saying the wordcan’t.

“You’re going to have to trust me if we want this to work. Now let go.”

I didn’t let go because of Aasher’s demand. I let go because if I couldn’t fathom a simple jump into his arms, I was never going to get back on the ice. A whoosh of breath left me as I landed in Aasher’s arms, and I gripped his shoulders like they were my lifeline.

His hands fit around my hips like a perfect size of jeans—squeezing me in all the right places—and the only thing I thought of was the stupid kiss.

“Good girl,” he whispered, breathing down into my space.

There was a flick of something in my lower stomach that was completely uncalled for with his praise. My cheeks were pink, and I wasn’t close enough to the ice to blame it on the cool air.

The moment he put me down, I stepped farther away from the opening to the rink, for more reasons than one.

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