Page 85 of Icing Hearts

Clara

One place I never thought I’d be is waking up wrapped in Victory Amato’s corded arms. I always say you can tell if someone is muscular by looking at their forearms. Some people don’t look muscular at first glance. Maybe they have baggy clothes on or just aren’t flexing. Then, you look at their forearms. Thick and round is indicative of the rest of their body. That’s Tory. Though he doesn’t hide his physique, it’s easy to forget just how muscular he is when he’s in clothes.

But with one of those veined, striated forearms wrapped around my chest and the other acting as a pillow for my head, his physical prowess is inescapable. And there’s no other prison I’d actively choose to lock myself away in.

A looming, terrifying thought with claws and fangs hides deep in the back of my mind, waiting to tear all these moments to shreds. We’re in a bubble this week. But when we get back, we have to face my dad and the repercussions of our actions. What if it all falls apart and the bubble bursts? Isn’t that exactly what I’ve been trying to prevent all along? The heartache?

Tory groans behind me before planting a kiss on my bare shoulder. He wraps his leg around mine and squeezes me tighter against him.

“I haven’t even seen your face yet, and I can already tell you’ve got a busy mind.”

“How?”

“Tension. Your whole body tightens up, starting with your shoulders.” As the words tickle the peach fuzz on my back, I shudder with delight, angling my head to give him better access to my neck. In response, he says, “And that is how you tell me the way to fix it. But I have some tricks of my own, too. In order to enjoy them, you have to let your body…relax.”

He’s careful around my bruises, but everywhere else—my neck, shoulders, chest, hips—eagerly accept his lips. Warm hands apply gentle pressure in key places down the length of my body. It’s not a massage, it’s something…different. Like he knows my own personal pressure points. The thoughts are still present, but they quiet a bit so I can focus on feeling.

“Will you tell me what’s on your mind?” he asks.

“Everything. You know everything now, and I don’t want to leave this trip. I don’t want to go back home and face him, especially after Coach caught us. It’s like none of the consequences are real until we go back.”

“Is that everything?”

“Mostly.”

“What else are you willing to share?”

“It’s stupid.”

“Anything that concerns you, Clara, isn’t stupid. And even if it is, it’s important to me.”

“I just wanted to swim with everyone and lay out on the beach and now I can’t. People can’t find out, Tory. It would be so much worse than it is now.”

“Gotcha. What if there’s a way for you to go out on the beach and still keep it a secret?”

“What do you have in mind?”

An hour later, Tory is pulling me from my empty breakfast plate in the hotel event room where all the teams converge each morning. Our team doesn’t have a game today, and everyone is planning to spend the day at the beach and pool before going to the pier tonight.

“Come on.”

“Don’t you have to eat?” I ask him.

“Already did. Make haste, Charity.”

I bid adieu to Thomas and Clover, and let Tory bring me back up to my room. He strides into the bathroom with me in tow, and unloads items from a small black-and-white, striped bag, lining them up on the vanity counter.

“You bought makeup?”

“Yes.” He points to a tube of makeup in my shade. “This is the stuff my mom makes me wear to cover my tattoos for family portraits.”

“Okay…”

“And the rest is just your top-of-the-line primer, translucent powder, and setting spray. This spray is bionic. You can go swimming and everything.”

“So, you want me to cover up my bruises?”

“Yeah, so you can swim. I mean, your tan lines will be blotchy but if you aren’t ready to let people know, this is a way you can still enjoy yourself.”

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