Page 60 of The Invitation
Billy reads between the thin lines, takes our skate sizes, and disappears through a doorway behind him.
I’m frozen in place, tucked against Ripley’s solid frame, and enveloped in the spicy air surrounding him.My God.
The only movement he makes is to peer down at me with an uneasy yet unapologetic look in his eyes.
I press a hand against Ripley’s abs and swivel to face him. My throat is tight. My body hums. And, by the growing humor in his baby blues, I’m pretty sure he knows all of that.
“Was that necessary?” I ask, my heart pounding.
He grins mischievously. “If you hate it so much, step away from me.”
His voice is low and smooth. It’s a dare, a goad. It’s a test to see who will win our battle of the wills. He’s snapped into character quicker than I have.
Get yourself together.
Thankfully, Billy reappears with our skates before I have to say anything in response. We thank him, take the skates, and silently move to a bench near the ice.
My head is spinning. I can’t make sense of my reaction to his touch. I knew it would happen eventually, and I’ve been mentally preparing for it—practicing how cool I’d be when the time came. But it came out of nowhere, with absolutely no warning. His arm wrapped around the small of my back, hisfingers splaying against my hip. I didn’t have time to remind myself to brace for impact.
Dammit.
Ripley tosses a bag beside him and sits. I sit, too, leaving enough space between us so I can’t use my skates as a weapon.
“I’m happy to sit and watch you,” I say, placing my purse next to me. “You can have all the attention on you. We know how much you love that.”
“You’re skating.”
“I’m not much of a skater,” I say.
“You are today.” He slips off his sneakers and starts putting his skates on. “We have to start filming at some point, so let me know when you want to be nice.”
“To you? Never.” I slip off my shoes. “It’s so draining.”
He laces up his last skate while I fumble with mine. “You signed the contract.”
That I did.
I finish my skates and sit up. Ripley hands me an audio pack. We work quickly to attach them to our backs like the crew showed us at Canoodle.
“Smile at me,” I say, straightening my hoodie.
He looks up, puzzled. “Why?”
“I want there to be photographic evidence that you think I’m funny.”
“We can’t lie to the people, Peaches,” he says.
I laugh, pulling my hair back into a ponytail. “The fact that we’re here is lying to the people. And if I don’t punch you in the face for calling me Peaches, that’ll also be disingenuous.”
“Why do you hate it so much?”
I tap my skates against the ground. “You don’t think I’ve lived with Georgia Peach jokes my entire life?”
He smirks, making a show of turning on his mic. “I was referring to your ass, not the state.”
My jaw hangs open, much to his amusement.
“I brought you a pair of gloves,” he says, handing them to me. “It’s impossible to have fun with cold fingers.”
