Page 29 of Puck to the Heart
“What happened?” It looked like Ash wasn’t sure if he should leave or stay. His stare darted between me and the direction Brad had disappeared.
“Panic attack,” I wheezed, squeezing my eyes shut against the glare of the ice.
“Do you need?—”
“No.” I cut him off. “I’m okay now.” And I was, with Brad gone.
Little by little, soothing, chilly air entered my lungs until my breathing returned to normal, and our surroundings filtered back into my senses like a pixelated image filling a screen.
Fairy lights and the setting sun bathed us in golden light. Every one of Ash’s lashes caught its own beam of light somehow, the pattern fracturing across his face as he watched me. Close, we were so close; I could count the fractal pattern in his irises if I wanted. Too close, maybe. The brush of his chest against mine sent my breath skittering away again, and I gasped in oxygen. Somewhere a bonfire cracked and roared. The scent of wood smoke permeated the air, mingling with the chocolate and cider in a heady autumnal perfume.
It was a perfect, cinematic moment, captured like a mental polaroid. Like some sort of out-of-body experience, our little tableau unfolding in real time and slow motion together. Ash’s eyes kept flicking down, and something flickered in his eyes, like he wanted to me ask, but I didn’t know the question. I still didn’t know what game we were playing.
Until his words snapped me back to reality, his gravity pulling me back in.
“Why do you let him do that if you hate it so much?”
Huh? Whiplash, much? Where did that even come from? “What?”
“Brad kept touching you, and you didn’t stop it. And the nicknames, which you said you hated.” One hand fisted at his side, the other shoved deep into his jacket pocket.
“With Brad, I find it easier to ignore those things. I’dhateto damage his fragile male ego, especially since we have to work together.”
Ash’s thick, dark brows drew into a deep crease. “It’s not okay, Barnes.” The roughness in his voice made my knees even wobblier.
“It’s not, but it’s my burden to bear.”
“So, canIcall you Babycakes? Since you don’t seem to mind as much as you said.” His chuckle was lighter, more like what I expected from him.
“If you call me that again, I will slit your throat with this idiotic deathtrap.” I tried to lift a foot but nearly lost my balance again.
“Nah. You’d have to catch me first.” And he skated backward a few feet, drawing a serpentine pattern in the ice with his skates, leaving me to cling to the wall.
“How do youdothat?” I hissed.
“Do what?” He skated in a lazy infinity symbol, barely moving his body but still gliding around the ice somehow. “This?” He spun on one skate, graceful despite his size.
“But you play hockey. You’re not a figure skater; how do you know jumps and shit?”
Still skating backward, Ash came back to my spot on the wall. “My interests are broad and varied, Babycakes.”
“Don’t you fucking start. Olivia is bad enough.”
“Don’t lie. You like it when I call you Olivia.”
I really did, but I wasnotabout to tell him, although he didn’t give me the chance as he continued, facing me again. We were almost chest to chest, our skates nearly touching. Only a breath separated us, and mine hitched at his closeness, all the heat radiating off him. “You’re the only person I let call me that.” The space between heartbeats drew out as he glanced at me, his eyes darting to my mouth for a split second before flicking back up.
My eyes mirrored his, flitting down to his perfect mouth. Would he kiss gently? Or would he be aggressive?
“Really?” Something light, like hope, clung to the word.
“Mhmm. I guess you’re special.” Shit, I needed to stop thinking about kissing him.
He must’ve read my mind, because suddenly he dragged me off the ground and against his body, crashing his lips against mine. Oh, God, were we spinning? He wasspinningus. Gripping him tighter was impossible through our layers, but the invisible barrier between us snapped, and I let out an involuntary sound when his tongue traced across my lower lip.Bliss sparkled over my skin, setting me alight like a match to dried leaves.
In a blink, he set me back on the ground—er, ice—my legs wobbling like a fawn as Ash skated backward a few strides. Missing his warmth and stability, I reached for him and nearly fell over. Something inside me swooped and?—
Butterflies from a kiss are a cliché, and one I never appreciated. Butterflies, for me anyway, were always more like alarm bells. What I felt when Ash kissed me was the opposite of the fluttering restlessness of a butterfly, always seeking and never able to fully alight. Something I’ve learned about butterflies is that the ones in my stomach never made me feelsafe.
