Page 64 of On Thin Ice

She chuckled. “I’ll allow it.”

Ethan gave a noncommittal grunt, wiping his board clean with more force than necessary. His knee was bouncing again, and I caught the quick flick of his eyes toward Skinny Jeans, who was hovering off to the side, pretending not to stare at me.

I grinned into my marker cap. Possessive Ethan was my new favorite Ethan.

“All right, next question,” Blair called, flipping to a new index card. “What’s your roommate’s worst habit?”

I barked out a laugh and began scribbling furiously.

Ethan shot me a sharp look like he knew I was about to ruin him.

“On three,” Gun Show said. “One, two, three!”

We flipped our boards simultaneously to reveal that I’d written, “Mutters to himself like a crazy person when he thinks no one’s listening,” while Ethan had answered, “He sheds everywhere. Also won’t shut up.”

I threw my head back and cackled. This was so much fun.

“I do not shed!” I argued.

Ethan shrugged and looked pointedly at my thigh, where a long blond hair stood out against the black fabric. “You were saying.”

Blair was nearly bent double laughing. “All right, last one for this round,” she said, catching her breath. “Bell, what’s Ethan’s guilty pleasure TV show?”

I bit my lip to keep from immediately blurting it out loud.

When we revealed our answers, the marketing team burst into laughter.

Ethan caught my eye, and his mouth twitched like he couldn’t quite hold back a smile.

“You guys are scary good together,” Blair commented a few seconds later.

If only she knew just how good.

If only he did, too.

CHAPTER15

I could do this. Smile. Nod. Say a few canned lines about my time at Thackeray and talk about hockey.

Easy.

Assuming I could ignore the sweat trickling down my spine and the way my stomach twisted itself into knots because it was talking about Bell that was going to be the problem.

Bell, with his stupid bright smile—the one that hit like a punch to the gut every time he directed it my way—that made it impossible for me to remember why I ever thought I could keep my distance.

He looked so fucking happy to be here doing this, vibrating with excitement like a big old puppy, his eyes shining bright under the harsh overhead lights. Unlike the segment we’d filmed a few days ago, today’s was going to be more serious. It was being billed as a real conversation between us, a deep dive into our similarities and differences.

And right now, I was feeling one of those particular differences in every molecule of my body.

Sometimes, it was easy for me to pretend I wasn’t fucking a guy thirteen years younger than me—someone who wasn’t five years old when I’d started my freshman year at the college we both graduated from—but today was going to drive that point home in spectacular, humiliating fashion.

Like there’d be a giant neon arrow over my head flashingpredatory asshole.

Great, now every inch of my skin felt too tight, too hot under my clothing, like I was seconds away from coming apart at the seams. The neck of my hoodie felt like a noose. The shirt underneath it clung to my body, damp with sweat. Even my socks itched.

The harsh overhead lights buzzed faintly, the sound taking root in my brain like static. The chill from the nearby rink created a disorienting contrast with my overheated body.

And underneath it all, the faint notes of Bell’s cologne—something new that was woodsy with a hint of citrus—made my throat go dry every time he shifted beside me.

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