Page 19 of On Thin Ice

It was so good, exactly the type of book that could drown out the noise in my head.

A few pages in, I caught Ethan staring. Actually, I felt it before I saw it, that slight evolutionary prickle at the base of my neck that warned a person when they were being watched. When it didn’t go away, I turned my head and caught him examining me, one elbow propped on his knee and the remote held loose in his hand.

“What?”

He jerked like he’d been caught doing something wrong, his eyes immediately flicking back to the television. “Nothing.”

His tone was carefully neutral, but I saw the faint color creeping into his cheeks.

I shifted on the bed, angling my body toward him. “Sure, man. Nothing at all. Just staring at me like a creeper.”

His cheeks turned even pinker, and he scratched the back of his neck. “Um … uh, what are you reading?”

I tried to bite back my grin but failed. “You want the title or the synopsis?”

He dragged his attention back to the TV. “Neither.”

I laughed. “That’s a shame. It’s about this guy who thinks he’s got life all figured out until his new roommate moves in and makes him question all of his life choices.”

Ethan pressed his lips into a flat line, and his ears turned red.

I shouldn’t have enjoyed this as much as I did, but there was something deeply satisfying about getting under his skin, watching his ears go pink while he pretended not to care. Like poking at a bear just to see if it would growl.

We lapsed into a weird sort of silence after that, both of us pretending we were invested in what we were doing. Me reading, him watching a couple of guys talk about baseball. Ugh, so boring.

After a while, he clicked the remote and the screen went black.

“I’m turning in,” he said. “You need the light?”

I lifted my Kindle, showing off the illuminated words. “I’m good.”

He rolled over and flicked the switch on the lamp sitting on the table between our two beds, pitching the room into darkness.

I attempted to get back into the story. I really did. But after re-reading the same paragraph for the third time without really absorbing any of the words, I gave up. I rolled onto my back, trying to focus on anything other than the fact that Ethan Harrison was in bed less than ten feet away from me. I could hear him shift and exhale. Every breath, every rustle of his sheets was a reminder of how fucking close he was.

And yeah, I got hard, which, you know, definitely not cool.

Note to self: do not read spicy romance when sharing a room with the guy you’ve crushed on your whole life.

I turned onto my side, facing away from him and willing myself to think about anything other than how much I wanted him—hockey drills, my grocery list, the goddamn Pythagorean theorem—but nothing worked.

Not when I could hear him shift, the sheets whispering against his skin. Not when his sigh, quiet, almost hesitant, felt like a hook lodged in my ribs.

I bit the inside of my cheek, squeezed my eyes shut, and forced myself not to think about him.

It didn’t work.

It was gonna be a long fucking night.

CHAPTER5

BELL

I woke up later than usual, the sun cutting through blinds I kept forgetting to close. I stretched, my muscles stiff and aching, then flopped an arm over my eyes to block out the light.

No matter how much ice time or gym work I crammed in this week, I still couldn’t shake how poorly I was playing.

Coach’s disappointment was bad enough, but it was Ethan’s glare during the third period last night that really stuck with me.

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