Page 25 of Icing Hearts

My intention is to brush her skin against my lips and maybe kiss her, and I’m halfway there when my eyes go wide, and I halt. My heart is so far ahead of my mind. What am I doing? What are we doing? Taking her out to eat? Getting her to manage the hockey team?

My resolve is crumbling. Disaster is the only possible end to the path I’m on, as sure as the rising sun, it looms on the horizon. But I’ve been fighting this for so long. I’m exhausted.

Chapter 16

Victory

“Uh, Tory? You good?” Clara’s voice interrupts my thoughts, and I realize I haven’t moved for at least half a minute and it’s getting weird.

I choke out a laugh push her hand into her lap. “Don’t distract the driver.”

She looks through her phone for a few minutes and asks, “How many followers do you have?”

“Which platform?”

She rolls her eyes.

“Why does it matter, anyway?”

“Just wondering what fuels your massive ego.” I see her shrug and smirk out of the corner of my eye.

I wag my brows. “Ego to match my IQ.”

“Mmm, I don’t think so.” She shakes her head and narrows her eyes, clearly fed up with me. “If I wanted to die, I’d stand on your ego and jump to your IQ.”

A deep rumble of a laugh starts low in my gut and builds on its way out of my mouth until I’m hunched over my steering wheel. I glance over at Clara who is decidedly proud of herself for one, insulting me with such asperity, and two, making me belly laugh—a rarity.

I sigh, catching my breath and answer, “I don’t know, Clara. I stopped keeping track when I started getting paid. Nearing a million on TikTok, but that’s not saying much because it’s easier to grow a following on that app. Twenty thousand on Instagram, maybe?” I smirk, eyeing her as I flick on my blinker and turn down the street. “You should know, anyway. You comment on every video I post.”

She has the window down, arm out, hand surfing the wind. When she’s like this, I can almost envision her on my motorcycle wrapped around me like a backpack.

Maybe someday.

But today, it’s cold, so I blast the heat to counteract the open window. She didn’t ask to open the window, and I didn’t tell her not to. We’re far too familiar—too comfortable. Being with Clara would be so natural, effortless—like breathing. My heart twists with a violent strike of pain. Such occurrences are frequent, and the only way I cope is to escape into an imagined future with her.

“I comment ironically, Tory,” she responds, hair whipping around. It’s half-up today, in a yellow ribbon. She doesn’t usually wear yellow.

“You comment, but you don’t follow. Why is that?” I ask.

She shrugs and says matter-of-factly, “You don’t follow me.”

“I don’t follow anyone.”

“Well, you asked, and that’s my answer.” Sass drips from every word and I fight the smirk tugging at the corner of my lips.

“Noted.” But something has been nagging at me for a while, so I ask the question, “How come you go dark for weeks at a time?”

“None of your business,” she spits. Her tone is uncharacteristically sharp, and I rear back slightly.

Though shocked, I press forward. “I texted you once, about our project. But you didn’t answer, so I called. A recording told me your number was out of service.”

She looks down and smooths her signature skirt. It doesn’t need smoothing. She’s perfectly kempt. As usual. “Sometimes my dad doesn’t pay the bill.”

“Because you get grounded or something?”

She shakes her head with vigor, clearly horrified at the notion.

“Noted.” I read between the lines. He doesn’t pay the bill. He lets his teenage daughter walk around without a dependable source of communication. What if she was stranded somewhere? Or got into trouble? The thought of her not being able to get help makes my stomach churn. She looks at me with alarm, and I realize I’ve allowed my foot to go leaden on the gas pedal.

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