Page 99 of Icing Hearts

“That’s tempting, but my dad gets home in an hour, and Vince would be suspicious if I randomly skipped school.”

“Oh yeah, Vince. Perfect.”

“Tory, come on. He’s a good guy. You’re friends with him, you would know.”

He snorts. “You don’t know him. Not like I do. You ever heard about locker room talk? I mean, he’d be ‘suspicious?’ Not worried or concerned but suspicious? Do you even hear yourself?”

“I don’t know what to say.”

He sighs deeply, and it rattles all the way into my bones. “You don’t have to say anything, Charity. You don’t owe me an explanation. And you’re right, I can’t have my tutor’s grades start slipping. I just want to do one more thing.”

I give him a smile. “Make it quick.”

Tory drops a fifty on the table and slugs down the rest of his water before taking my hand and leading me back outside. I grab the last quarter of my sandwich and finish it while he fastens my helmet.

We cruise out of the parking lot and down a side street toward my house. There’s a sense of dread—impending doom—as the night nears a necessary end.

“Do you trust me?” he calls back. Our speed is at an easy thirty. It feels faster being on the bike, but it’s comfortable now.

I give his thigh a squeeze. Words wouldn’t form even if I tried to get them out. The answer to his question is not a simple yes or no. It’s a loaded question, even if he doesn’t mean it as such in this moment.

“Close your eyes and put your arms out to the sides.”

Slowly, tentatively, I listen. He holds steady on a straightaway, and I sit up—head high, eyes closed. My arms rise, catching the wind as it lifts my flattened palms.

And I’m flying.

I sense movement in front of me and peer through slitted eyes. Tory’s arms are outstretched, just like mine. I lean forward, entwining my fingers with his. And we soar together.

It’s brief, but beautiful.

Just like us. Just like this night and all the other moments we’ve shared. Those nights at the tournament. The bus rides. The tutoring sessions. The dances at parties. Fleeting. There and gone. Transient. Tragic.

At the top of a hill, Tory brakes abruptly and pushes down the kickstand. “Get off,” he says. I listen.

To my surprise, Tory pulls me onto the front of the bike facing him. He throws my right leg over his lap with far more grace than any teenage boy should have—and I’m straddling his lap.

When he tugs off my helmet, I open my mouth to argue. He’s unpredictable, but I’m always trying to figure out what he’s going to do next. Always trying to work out his angle. His helmet is next, and we’re both breathlessly staring at each other when he wraps my low ponytail around his fisted hand. My mouth falls open.

He pulls my head back until my throat is completely exposed. Tory whispers, “Look at the stars, Clara.”

My breath catches when his full lips get dangerously close to my collarbone. It has been so long without his touch. Without his warmth. It all feels new again. Like the first time.

“What happened to your breathing?” he asks.

“Stolen,” I rasp.

I feel his lips curve into a smile against my skin. “Is a thief afoot?”

“Just you.”

My body is tense. I’m nervous. He’s so beautiful, and he’s been so kind, and he’s telling me to look at the stars while his lips touch my skin. My mind races until—

“Just let go, Clara,” Tory whispers.

I exhale, leaning back the rest of the way. My back arches over the fuel tank. His cheek tickles mine as Tory sits up. That strong hand releases my hair, and I want to cry out in protest until both his hands find a resting place on either side of my ribcage.

More tears fall as he holds me there while we stare at the stars.

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