Page 65 of If You Give a CEO a Chance

I climb out of bed, wrapping the comforter around me to keep warm.

I check inside the bathroom to find it dark and empty. After turning on the light, I take a quick peek in the mirror, mortified to find mascara streaks under my eyes, and my hair shooting out in all directions. I take a minute to wash my face, removing the residual makeup.

When I reach over to grab a towel to dry off, I pause midway when I notice Harrison’s toothbrush and comb are missing from the counter.

That’s odd.

I look down on the shelf below the sink, the nagging voice in my head growing louder when I notice his toiletry bag is also gone.

“Harrison, are you here?” I say with a shaky voice as I rush out to the living room, coming to a halt when I find it empty.

My heartbeat thunders in my ears as I rush back into the bedroom, confirming what I already knew when I find his hockey bag is gone. All that’s left in the place is my purse and shoes.

I scan both nightstands, hoping he left a note, but find nothing. I sink onto the bed, burying my face in my hands, running through our weekend together, trying to think if I could have misinterpreted something he said to make me think it meant more than a fleeting connection.

How could I have been so foolish? I barely know Harrison, yet I spent the whole weekend wrapped up in him, believing what we shared meant more.

I was wrong.

God, I can’t believe I fell for his charm. I was right to begin with. All hockey players are the same—charming, reckless, and only care about themselves.

Lesson learned.

It’s like a bucket of ice water hits me when I remember how things ended last time.

God, what was thinking?

I wasn’t. That’s the problem. I let Harrison’s good looks, his kernels of kindness, and possessiveness cloud my judgment.

When he left without a goodbye all those years ago, I was left to pick up the pieces, not only from my recent breakup but from the possibility that Harrison could have been a shining light in my otherwise lonely existence. Instead, he taught me that I can’t rely on men and that I’m better standing on my own.

I’ve got to put an end to this.

I quickly climb out of Harrison’s lap and scramble to the side of the rink, struggling to get to my feet.

“Fallon, where are you going?” Harrison calls out after me.

I ignore him, concentrating on keeping my balance as I shuffle toward the exit.

“Fallon, wait.”

My heart races, the weight of what just happened sinking in. Harrison’s probably going to kick Cat and me to the curb, and honestly, I’d rather move out myself than have to face him ever again.

“Fallon…”

Lost in my thoughts, I don’t notice my skate slipping on the smooth ice again until it’s too late. I shut my eyes, bracing for impact, when suddenly Harrison’s strong hands land on my waist, pulling me safely into his chest.

One second I’m fed up with Fallon’s antics, prepared to let her storm off, the next, the sound of her skate catching on the ice has me reacting without thinking. Thankfully, I’m already on my feet when she stumbles and my body reacts faster than my mind, closing the distance between us. My hands wind around her waist, and I pull her flush against me before she can fall.

Her hands cling to my shoulders, the steady rise and fall of her breath presses against my chest. I brush her hair back from her face, my fingertips skimming her skin, and she trembles beneath my touch. Every nerve hums with awareness of how her body seems to fit perfectly against mine, and the space between us practically buzzes, charged with a magnetic pull, drawing us closer.

Fallon’s eyes darken with apprehension. “You can let go now. I’ve got this handled.”

“Right, I can tell by the flawless way you almost face-planted,” I retort.

She places her hands on my chest to create distance, and tilts her head. “I’d rather take my chances with the ice,” she grumbles.

“You might think so now, but you wouldn’t be saying that if you were nursing bruises or a concussion.”

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