Page 59 of The Invitation
“Whatever.”
We stop at the entrance to the rink. People walk by and around us, moving through their day. I glance inside, a bubble of excitement rising in my stomach.
“When was the last time you skated?” Ripley asks.
“Actually, this will be my first time.”
He stops fiddling with his bag and looks up, confused. “Seriously?”
“It’s not like riding a bike. Not everyone ice-skates.”
“Huh.”
“What?” I ask, my brows tugging together. “What’s thathuhabout?”
“I swore I remembered you said you were going skating our senior year at Christmastime. A bunch of us were going caroling for extra credit, and you couldn’t go because you were going skating.” He shrugs. “Guess I got my people mixed up.”
My shoulders fall as I stare at him.How the hell did he remember that? I didn’t even remember that until now.
“No, you’re right,” I say in disbelief, clutching the hoodie I brought as instructed. “It was me. I just didn’t go.”
He waits as if he knows there’s a story there and he’s giving me time to share it. Maybe he senses that I need a moment to process the hidden memory. But when it becomes clear I’m notdelving into that particular holiday tale—ever, if I can help it—he clears his throat.
“Myla contacted the rink and had cameras configured before we got here,” he says. “There won’t be audio though until we turn on our audio packs. I have them in my bag.”
“Got it. Remind me where we left off the other night,” I say. “So we can keep the vibe nice and steady.”
He flashes me a killer grin. “You thought I was the hottest guy you’ve ever seen and couldn’t wait to see me again.”
“And you were clearly smitten with me and practically begged to take me out one more time.”
“You begged to go home with me, but I refused. I’m just not that kind of guy.”
I gasp. “You like men?”
“Right.” He shakes his head, amused. “Are you ready to do this?”
“As ready as I’ll ever be.”
He unceremoniously slings open the door to the rink, and as I step inside, a blast of cold air smacks me in the face.
The rink smells odd, kind of like frozen sweat.
“Do you know what’s truly ironic?” I ask, sliding my hoodie over my body.
“Probably not.”
“The devil just took me somewhere freezing. Who would’ve thought?”
He groans, ignoring my laughter, and leads me to a long bar extending along a wall. A blond man smiles at us, mostly me, from the other side of the counter.Good grief.
Ripley frowns, his eyes hardening as he introduces himself to the man and explains why we’re here. Billy, as his name tag reads, provides a rundown of the next two hours that I have the luxury of spending with Ripley.Not.It’s not lost on Ripley or me that Billy keeps watching me out of the corner of his eye. As theseconds tick by, and Billy seems more and more interested in talking to me than Ripley, my date starts to grow annoyed.
“We’re on video,” I whisper just loud enough for Ripley to hear.
Ripley’s jaw pulses. He slides an arm casually around my waist, his gaze locked on Billy.
I gasp as Ripley’s fingers sink deep enough into my side so I’m aware of the pressure through my two layers of clothes. It’s a subtle, yet intentional move, which isn’t lost on me … or Billy.
