Page 18 of Tangled Vows

“I don’t think you need stitches, but you should still see a doctor.” I worried she could still be concussed.

“I’ll be fine,” she said, waving off my concerns.

“Shayla, you hit your head on solid ice, and you’re bleeding.”

“Not anymore,” she said innocently, like she wasn’t being an obstinate pain in the ass. I stared at her. She glared back.

“You’re not going to see a doctor, are you?”

“Probably not,” she admitted. Damn stubborn woman. I thought hockey players were bad.

I pulled out my phone and tapped the flashlight icon, turning the light to the lowest setting.

“Fine. At least let me check your pupils.” I wasn’t a health professional, but I’d been hit in the head enough times to know the routine. I instructed her to stare straight over my shoulder and checked her left eye. Without thinking, I placed my finger under her chin to tilt her face toward mine, and she froze, the only movement the subtle widening of her eyes. It helped my assessment of her pupils so I kept my hand where it was, gently cradling her face.

This was dangerous territory, but I couldn’t seem to heed the warning bells sounding inside my head. Once I was satisfied her pupils were reacting equally to light, I dropped my phone to the bench but didn’t release her.

“Am I going to be okay, Doc?” Shayla asked jokingly, but I caught the tremble in her voice.

“You’re more than okay,” I replied, my eyes holding her gaze. She was perfect. Every part of her was irresistible. Those soft pink lips, the full curve of her hips, the full, heavy breasts I was desperate to palm and kiss until she squirmed. She was a dream—no, afantasy—one no man could resist, certainly not a weak man like me.

I leaned in, lost in the stormy gray depths. I was ready to drown in them, to get lost in her kiss and the soft, decadent feelof her body. But then I remembered myself, where we were, and who was here, only a few feet away. I pulled back and dropped my hand. Shayla’s brows furrowed as a scowl tightened her features.

“Shayla, I?—”

“Uncle Easton, the camp’s about to start,” Max announced, coming up and tugging on my arm, and the moment was lost.

16

SHAYLA

What. The. Fuck.

Had Easton been about to kiss me just now? And had I been about to let him? No. Nope, that couldn’t be. I was imagining things again. He. Wasn’t. Into. Me. When would I get that through my thick skull? And me? Somehow, I let myself forget how much I despised him and got lost in his eyes, the outer ring a mossy green that reminded me of a meadow in spring melting into the golden sunburst surrounding his pupils.

“Okay, buddy, I’m almost done,” Easton replied, bringing me back to the present and the young boy standing off to the side, his inquisitive gaze bouncing between us.

“You’re not very good at ice skating, are you?” Max asked.

“Max,” a dark haired woman, presumably his mother, scolded as she came up behind him. “I’m so sorry,” she began, but I waved her off.

“He’s not wrong,” I agreed with a chuckle. “It was my first time trying to ice skate, so I am pretty bad at it.”

“Really?” Max asked, not waiting for me to respond before continuing. “I’ve been ice skating since I was five and playing hockey since I was six. That’s only one year, but I’m gettingpretty good. Uncle Easton is supposed to teach me a few of his favorite tricks so I can use them against those jerks from Havenwood Prep.”

I pressed my lips together to suppress a grin and his mother sighed, covering her face with her hand.

“He’s a pretty good teacher. I bet he could teach you how to skate. Then you wouldn’t be so bad.” Max went on, barely stopping long enough to take a breath. The last thing I wanted was to let Easton Walker teach me anything else. Letting him show me how to squat might help me in the long run, but my ego couldn’t take another hit like the one it endured in the weight room.

Max looked at me expectantly as though waiting for an answer. No way in hell would I agree to let Easton teach me how to skate, but I couldn’t tell his nephew that. Instead, I offered him a grateful smile and politely declined.

“I appreciate the offer, but I think I’ve had enough skating for one day.” Easton breathed a sigh of relief, and my gaze snapped to his as Max waddled off toward the ice. He was obviously eager to get rid of me, and I was more than ready to be away from him.

I retrieved my shoes and purse from where I’d tucked them under the bench. I expected him to back away and give me room to change out of my skates; instead, he crouched in front of me and grabbed me by the ankle. I stifled a shocked gasp as he took my shoes from my hands and placed them on the floor.

Surprise rocketed through me as he began to unlace my skates, gently pulling the first one off my foot before moving to the next. He worked with the efficiency and precision of someone who had done this a thousand times. Which, I supposed, he probably had.

“You should really see a doctor,” he said, his voice soft and even as though completely unaffected by our proximity. Me, on the other hand? My pulse raced as he gripped the back of my leg,his large, warm hand cradling my calf. He slowly tugged off the skate and set it aside but didn’t release me. Instead, he grabbed my shoe and slipped it onto my foot. He did the same with my other shoe, then pulled me to my feet.

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