Page 44 of Say Yes to the Nemesis
“Only one way to find out,” I tease.
“Fuck off.” Her face grows hot pink. She flicks her hand in a sweeping motion. “Out. So I can change.”
God, she’s so hot when she’s mad. I can’t help the smile the breaks across my face.
Ten minutes later, I’m waiting downstairs when she walks out carrying an overstuffed backpack, wearing jeans and a black-and-red Atlanta Ice Storms jersey.
My mouth goes dry.
That jersey… I lost that thing a few years ago. Washed it so many times it turned soft and faded. It disappeared. I mourned it. But I’m pretty sure I just found it.
My practice jersey.
She gives me a subtle smirk, then hides the jersey beneath her coat, buttoning it up.
With her hair down and her lips glossy, I forget how to swallow.
I can’t even check out how low her jeans are riding on her hips because I refuse to let myself look.
“Is that my shirt?” I ask, narrowing my eyes as she gets closer.
Her lips twitch with dark amusement. “Maybe. You said jeans. Didn’t say no team merch.”
“You can’t just wear that around,” I argue. “Especially if this isn’t a date or anything.”
“I can wear whatever I want,” she says, arching a brow. “Unless you feel like it’s too precious.”
I glare at her, grab her backpack, and frog-march her the couple hundred yards to the parking lot. I open the passengerdoor without a word, chuck her bag in the back seat, and slide into the driver’s side.
“Is this what it’s like when you glitch?” Wren asks, amused.
I don’t even glance at her. My grip tightens on the steering wheel. “Don’t start with me right now, little girl.”
When we pull into the rink’s half-empty parking lot, Wren doesn’t say much. But I can see her trying to puzzle out what we’re doing here.
The second we step inside, she makes a soft sound. Almost a gasp.
I have to agree. It’s gasp worthy.
There are a million fairy lights strung around the rink’s walls. But the main attraction is the projection. Smooth white silk panels hung from the ceiling, with constellations in pink, white, and purple drifting slowly overhead. They shimmer against the dark backdrop, mirrored faintly in the ice below. Soft, romantic music plays over the speakers. The whole place smells like popcorn and crisp air.
“This…” Wren trails off. “I don’t hate this.”
I nudge her with my elbow and wink. “Yeah, don’t get emotional or anything.”
“I’d have to have emotions to get emotional,” Wren fires back.
It takes a minute for me to grab a pair of rental skates. Once I’ve got them, we lace up in silence.
I glance over. She’s struggling to lace the first skate, hands fumbling. I finish tying mine, then bend down in front of her and wave her hands away.
“What are you doing?” she asks, tone slightly offended.
“I don’t want to be here for the rest of my life, Chirp,” I tease. “Let me help you. I’m a pro, after all.”
I grab her foot and angle her ankle, lacing her skate like it’s second nature. She goes weirdly quiet. Her face turns pink.
I don’t comment on it. But I feel it too. The electricity, flowing back and forth between us like a live wire.
