Page 76 of Skating and Fake Dating
“I mean, it would be fine. Better than a musty old basement.”
“What would we be doing on that road?” He turns to face me slightly.
I swallow thickly. “Um, walking.”
“Together? Why?”
With an irrational need to make my vision clear, I say, “Well, we were walking from opposite directions and met.”
“So stranded, but walking toward each other.”
“More like just the two of us. Alone,” I whisper.
His eyes dance with mischief. “Like right now?”
I’ve traveled too far. Can’t go back now, so I continue, full steam ahead. “Except you’d be wearing a cowboy hat. Do you happen to have one of those?”
In his low, rumbly Southern accent, he says, “As a matter of fact, I do.”
I shiver, but not only because I’m chilly, but more like how being so close to Carson sends excitement through me that has no real place to go, having decided that our relationship is for show and not real.
“Are you cold?” Carson asks, shifting closer to me.
“A little. The temperature drops fast when a storm moves in.”
Without hesitation, he shrugs out of his flannel, leaving him in a thin T-shirt, and drapes it around my shoulders. The fabric is warm from his body and smells like him—fresh and masculine with a hint of aftershave—uniquely Carson.
“Thank you, but what about you?”
“Can’t have you freeze, Blondie.”
“When you first called me that, it made all my insecurities come up.”
“Blondie?”
“My brother, Xander, has loads of nicknames for me, including but not limited to Wobbles, Bog Monster, Bailey Jaily, and most recently Wrinkle in Time.”
“What is he, twelve?”
“Twenty-one.”
“And very, very wrong. You’re quite the opposite of a bog monster—whatever that is. Not only are you beautiful, but you’re smart, funny, and talented, Blondie.”
The nickname that once stained my cheeks—and shirt—red with humiliation and irritation makes my blood turn to lava. “Did you really break the nutrition plan rules and eat one of the maple butter blondies I made that day at the Ice Palace?”
“My mother told me that it’s rude to turn down homemade baked goods. Plus, it was delicious. Worth every calorie and dentin my macros or whatever, Nat, the Knights’ nutritionist, was tracking.” Brows knit together, his expression turns more serious. “I wanted to tell you how amazing they were, but then everyone would know that I’d eaten one.”
“You risked the wrath of your nutritionist and teammates for my baking. That might be the nicest compliment I’ve ever received.” Something warm unfurls in my chest.
“And I’d do it again. But I also should’ve told Nat to stuff it.”
I giggle. “You basically said as much to Gabe.”
“Maybe I need to find a new agent.”
At the reminder of Gabe, being the person who originally suggested Carson fake a relationship, we fall silent. The rain drums on the metal bulkhead doors, interrupted by the occasional crack of thunder. As the minutes tick by, the room grows colder. Despite Carson’s shirt around my shoulders, I can’t stop shivering.
“Come here.” He opens his arms.
