Page 69 of Revolve
“Give me your palm, Sierra.”
I hide my hands behind my back. “What for?” I eye the pen with suspicion. “If you’re planning to stab me, you’ll need something sharper.”
He ignores me and pulls my hand out from behind my back. My fist remains clenched, and with a shake of his head, Dylan unfurls each finger. His hand is warm and calloused, dwarfing mine. He cradles my hand, applying just enough pressure with the pen to avoid hurting me. A stray lock of brown hair falls across his forehead, and as he doesn’t move to push it away, I find myself itching to do it. Tocurl the soft strand around my finger and brush it from his warm temple, letting my fingers linger on his smooth skin.
There’s a faint tickle as his pen moves across my skin—slow, circular strokes, two quick dots, and a swift swipe. He drops the pen on the desk and looks at me expectantly. I glance down at the new ink that sits in the center of my palm where I’d just pressed my nails. It’s a smiley face. He drew a smiley face on my palm.
Despite myself, my lips twitch, the hint of a smile creeping in before I can tamp it down. Dylan watches, his gaze steady as I study the drawing in confusion.
“Huh, that’s new,” he murmurs. “You have nothing to say.”
“It’s a smiley face.”
“Oh good, I didn’t think you were going to figure it out.” Dylan drops my hand and goes to his bedside table to grab his phone. “Any reason you’re here? Or were you just hoping to catch me shirtless again?”
I’m still caught on the smiley face inked on my palm, its simplicity now at odds with the flicker in Dylan’s eyes—something deeper than the casual mask he’s slipping back into now. For a split second, it felt like he’d let me glimpse something beneath the surface. But then he calls my name, pulling me from my thoughts.
“I want you to lift me.”
He doesn’t look up from his phone. “I lift you all the time.”
“In a reverse lasso lift.”
His jaw tenses. “No.”
“Come on! Lidia won’t let me try it because she’s worried I’ll freak, and I can’t keep training without knowing if my brain will malfunction the second I’m up there.”
Dylan blinks, and for a moment I think he’s considering it. But then he turns to his closet, pulling out a pair of sweats and a crewneck. His hand moves to his towel before he lets it fall. My breath catches, and I whip around so fast the room tilts. “Lidia’s made it clear that we’re not doing advanced lifts until later. We’re not even supposed to be on the ice today,” he says.
“Since when do you care about what we’re supposed to do?” I turn back around, not caring if he’s still naked, letting the frustration seep into my tone. “You’ve changed our choreography because you thought your way was better. Besides, she’s being too cautious, and it’s driving me crazy. I need to do this.”
I’m practically begging now. We’re both highly aware it’s the same lift position I was in seconds before my life flashed before my eyes. He studies me in silence, crossing his arms over his chest, his biceps flexing beneath the snug fabric of his shirt.
“We can’t.”
My heart sinks.
Dylan heads for the door, but before he can open it, I slap my hand over it. He twists the knob anyway, showing me just how little my hand is doing to stop him from leaving. I don’t know whether it’s my anger or Dylan not even considering it, but I yank him toward me, and his back hits the door. My hands press firmly into his shoulders, trapping him in place as I tilt my head up to meet his gaze.
“I’m sick and tired of everyone treating me like I’m fragile!” My voice trembles. “I’m not some doll that can’t handle a few bruises. I’m not the girl bleeding on the rink or the one crying in the hospital. That’s not me anymore, and I won’t let anyone—not even you—stop me from doing what I used to do with my eyes closed!”
His brows rise, and he blinks at me.
“So, I’m asking you again, Dylan. Will youpleasehelp me with my lift, or should I go find someone else?”
A long beat passes, thick and heavy.
“There is no one else,” he says, voice low and firm. “I’m the only one with you on that ice, Sierra. Got it?”
Then his amber brown eyes watch me, and I let those words soak in. I nod.
“Then I’ll do it.” A familiar glint flares back to life in his eyes. “But only if you promise to manhandle me like that again. Perfect spank bank material.”
“Youneed a spank bank?”
“Where you’re concerned, absolutely.”
“STARING AT MYass the entire routine isn’t going to help you perform better,” I say.
