Page 69 of Enticing the Enforcer
“It means that everything you attempt to do is a step higher than everyone else.” His smirk softens, eyes flicking down to my mouth. He spins me carefully, catching me by the hips before I can slip. “You’re special.”
My cheeks heat despite the cold. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Maybe,” he shrugs, tugging me into a slow circle, his breath misting in the air. “But I think I’m falling ridiculously hard for you.”
The sincerity in his voice knocks the wind out of me. For a heartbeat, it feels like we’re the only two people in the world–me in my borrowed skates, him holding me steady on the ice that’s his second home.
Of course, that’s when the door bangs open.
“Parks!” A gruff voice echoes across the rink. “What the hell are you?—”
Jefferson stiffens, mutters, “Shit.”
An older man stomps onto the ice in battered skates, hands planted on his hips. “You can’t just–” Then he sees me, and everything about his face changes. His jaw drops. “Holy hell. You’re Ingrid Flockton.”
“You know who Ingrid Flockton is?” he asks, shocked.
“I have a thirteen-year-old daughter, Parks, of course I know who the biggest pop star on Earth is.” He says it like Jefferson is the biggest dumbass on earth. His gaze darts back to me, and he thrusts out his hand. “I’m Syd Bryant, coach here at Wittmore.” Then he lowers his voice. “Are you seriously here with this knucklehead?”
“Nice to meet you,” I shake his hand and then wobble a bit. Jefferson doesn’t move an inch, holding onto me tight while I cling to him like a baby deer on ice. “And yes, I’m here with Jefferson.”
Coach Bryant shakes his head, incredulous at the pairing. “My daughter is a huge fan. Knows every one of your songs. I don’t usually do this, but… would you mind…?”
He fumbles for his phone, looking almost sheepish.
Jefferson mutters under his breath, “Unbelievable,” but doesn’t move his arm from around my waist as I nod.
“Of course,” I say, smiling.
He shoves the phone at Jefferson, who has to release me for a moment to take the picture. I manage not to fall as we grin at the camera.
“Thank you.” He slides the phone back in his pocket. “You just made me father of the year.”
“I’m sure it’s more than the photo,” I tell him, earning me another grin.
“You two have fun,” he says, but shoots Jefferson a look. “Don’t you fuck this up, hear me?”
“Yes, sir.”
Coach Bryant skates off the ice, and Jefferson shakes his head. “Only you could turn my coach catching me breaking the rules into a fan meet-and-greet.”
I grin back at him, heart still racing from the glide of his hands on my waist. “You’re welcome.” I’m still laughing when the thought nudges at me. It’s probably the worst time to bring it up–skating around like we’re in some cheesy rom-com montage–but the words spill out anyway. “Actually, there’s something I wanted to ask you.”
Jefferson tilts his head. “Yeah?”
“There’s a fundraiser in a few weeks. For my foundation. I go every year—it’s kind of a family affair. Black tie, big auction, lots of champagne and awkward speeches.” I skate a half-circle around him and stop, nerves creeping in. “I wanted to know if you’d go with me.”
His eyebrow lifts. “You want to see me in a tux, huh?”
I roll my eyes, heat crawling up my cheeks. “That wasn’t the primary reason I was asking. But sure, Parks, walking in with some eye candy never hurts.”
He chuckles and skates toward me, wrapping his hand around my back as he glides me back until we brush the boards. His arms bracket my head, caging me in with that ridiculous mix of cocky and tender only he can pull off.
“I think it would be fun,” I continue, heart thudding so hard I can hear it in my ears. “You could meet some of my family and friends, but… it would be public. Lots of cameras. It would be viewed as a statement.” I swallow. “If you’re ready for that.”
For a moment, his expression softens, the humor melting into something deeper. He leans in, his breath warm against my cheek. “Ingrid, I’d wear a damn tux every night if it meant I got to stand next to you. Escorting you for a good cause? That’s not work–it’s an honor.”
The world tilts a little, the way it always does when he says things that cut straight past my defenses. I rest my hands on his chest, steadying myself on solid muscle and steady heartbeat. “Careful, Parks. You keep talking like that and I might start believing you.”
