Page 107 of Burn Bright (Cobalt Empire #1)

HARRIET FISHER

H oly shit…I am bad at ice skating. The last time I put on a pair of skates, I couldn’t have been older than six or seven.

But I deluded myself into thinking that it’s just like riding a bike.

Natural intuition would take over, and I’d just float gracefully down the rink, right? Wrong. So very wrong.

I didn’t go so far as picturing twirls, but I most definitely did not imagine myself death-clutching the railing while on an official date with Ben.

I’ve considered most of our hangouts as being date-like, but he specifically said, “I’m taking you on a date this afternoon. Wear something warm, Fisher.”

My heart volleyed against my ribcage. “A date?” It struck me that no one had ever used that word with me before. It was always let’s go grab a bite to eat. Let’s watch a movie. Let’s fuck. Never let’s go on a date.

“Yeah,” he smiled. “There’ll be many more like it.”

There’ll be more, Harriet. Having more time with him is what I really cherish. We could be playing Scrabble in my apartment, and it’d be just as perfect.

But I am glad he decided on this type of date after finals week.

I’m not sure I would’ve enjoyed it as much with the stress of exams and essays dangling like an ugly raincloud.

I mean, I hope I would mentally compartmentalize, but I like that I don’t have to even think about it now.

With fall semester over, I fully embrace this moment with my boyfriend.

Boyfriend.

Okay, that still makes me unnaturally giddy. I’ve accepted the strange, powerful effect Ben Cobalt has on me. I even let him surprise me this afternoon—though I asked about twenty-five questions to narrow down where we’d be.

Ben took me to an outdoor ice-skating rink in New York City. Winter clouds up above, festively clad skaters surrounding us, and a dazzling Christmas tree overlooking the glittery white rink—it can’t get more romcom than this. Except for the part where I almost ate the ice.

Twice.

I envisioned this sickeningly sweet moment where I skate alongside Ben, hand-in-hand, like we’re strolling down Park Ave with birds chirping. It was this dumb Disney princess fantasy that I’m not even positive I want. It seems too fake.

So I’m not kicking myself that hard for not being fucking Elsa and conjuring the spirit of frost or icicles or whatever she does. I’ve honestly never seen Frozen , but that “let it go” bitch is inescapable.

In the center, a young girl is doing some sort of twizzly twirl.

Definitely a trained ice skater. At least we aren’t a spectacle.

His bodyguard glides back and forth near us, but for the most part, no one recognizes Ben Cobalt on the rink.

Families, couples, and friends all relish in the pretty December weather together and not my laughable skills.

“Seriously, go on without me, Friend.” I wave Ben on with a hand, the other is planted firmly on the railing. “I don’t want to hold you back.” He is a hockey player. The ice is his natural habitat, and my ankles scream at me like they’re two seconds from giving out.

Ben hovers close and comes to a dead stop since I’m no longer moving. I’m just clinging to this railing like a baby deer learning to walk for the first time.

His brows knit together in concern. “I’m sensing fear.”

“Of face-planting, chipping my front tooth and needing a full dental package, yeah. Of falling on my ass and bruising my tailbone, possibly fracturing it, also yeah.”

A smile edges across his mouth. “Come here.” He hooks his fingers with mine. “I’ll keep you safe, mon bel oiseau.”

My lungs expand. This is the first time he’s ever said my beautiful bird .

My.

Mine.

I’m his.

I bite the inside of my cheek as this lovey-dovey feeling engulfs me. “I don’t know, Ben, I could be an actual terror on skates. Ten more feet forward and I might need dentures.”

“I won’t let you chip your front teeth. Let alone knock out all of them.” His smile pulls mine to the surface.

“Okay,” I breathe, trusting him. “What do I do?”

He clasps my left hand. “Just follow my lead.” He holds out his right, and I take that palm too. Both hands in his, my knees fight the urge to tremble. Ben is skating backward while he helps me gain balance on the ice.

My pulse thumps hard in my chest, but after a couple of minutes, I start to relax. Mostly thanks to Ben’s constant encouragements and supreme confidence as he moves so effortlessly on the ice. I tighten my grip on his hand as I teeter.

“I have you,” he assures, his sexy smile a great distraction from my nerves.

He’s too attractive. Wispy strands of hair escape his navy beanie, and his winter jacket is more suited for the elements than my pleather getup. I’d be colder if it weren’t for the flush bathing my whole body every time Ben looks down at me.

Since I’m wearing black earmuffs, my ears are safe from getting pink and numb. They were a gift from his mom when I met her at Le Petit Rêve. I told her, “I didn’t know we were exchanging Christmas gifts yet. I didn’t bring anything?—”

“That’s not for Christmas,” she cut me off fast, thank God. “It’s so your ears don’t fall off.”

I love his mom more and more, and I’m starting to dream of adopting her as my own. It’s beginning to feel like a real possibility. Which is… nuts.

But like hell am I complaining.

Ben must feel my hand ease off the death-squeeze. “You want to try on your own?”

“Maybe for a little bit.”

He drops his left hand, then releases his right as I stabilize myself. I’m wobbly, but in no threat of falling. I exhale a large breath. He’s grinning and still skating backward like a pro. “Looking hot, Fisher.”

“That’s about how I feel. Like I might melt into this ice.” My ankles really are on fire. I can’t tell if the skates are the wrong size or if people just grow accustomed to this uncomfortable ankle-breaking feeling.

Honestly…I think I might hate ice skating.

I don’t like how people whiz too close to us, but I do love when Ben skates around me, to protect me from being shoulder-slammed on the crowded rink.

I don’t like how unstable I still feel. But I do love each time he slides an arm across my back.

I don’t like how my feet shriek at me to yank the skates off.

But I’m putting up with the pain because it’d be a shame if Ben only spent two seconds on the ice.

And I love seeing him glide so naturally on his blades.

He maneuvers beside me in a clean, practiced turn. I’m majorly impressed by that simple move. Then he studies the length of me, maybe noticing me wince. “You want to call it?”

Yes . “No, we just got here. I’m doing great, Cobalt boy. See .” I let go of him just to skate ahead with this impulse—not to show off because hello , I know where my skills are and this isn’t it—but to illustrate my okayness.

I make the dumbest move to turn (my instinct is to look at him and not save myself, apparently). As I rotate, my skates screech and slip. Oh fuck. I try to balance myself, but I’m falling backward. My breath catapults right as arms swoop down and catch me.

Ben has me in his grasp like he dipped me in a dance. My heart triple-beats, and I’m fisting his jacket, more to touch him, to pull him closer, because I know there is absolutely no way Ben would ever drop me.

His gaze flits to my lips in a featherlight moment, then he kisses me.

I dizzy. My cheeks heat, and I can’t come down to earth because he picks me up so suddenly, my skates lifting off the ice, and he rotates in a skilled circle with me tucked to his chest. I cup the back of his neck—grinning, I’m fucking grinning.

“You are too good at this,” I tell him deeply. “And I mean so much more than ice skating.”

“Yeah?” He drinks in my features. “I’m glad I’m good at loving you. I’d hate to be terrible at it, Friend.” It fills my heart before he presses another hot kiss to my lips. After that romantic moment, which I will be replaying for eternity, he sets me carefully on my blades. I grimace a little.

Ankles, ouch.

“Now we’re calling it.” He catches my hand, but I pull back. “Harriet?”

I eye the exit with too much glee. “I might not be made for this, but you are. You skate some more. I’ll go grab a hot chocolate.”

He’s uncertain. “You sure?”

“Not to be a creepy stalker fan, but I wouldn’t mind watching you fly like a bird.”

His smile explodes into a laugh. “Not to be a creepy stalker fan, but I wouldn’t mind watching you sip a hot chocolate.”

“Oh, I’ll be pounding a hot chocolate, Cobalt boy, and you can watch me from the ice.”

“Deal.” He seals this with a tender kiss, bending a lot lower to reach my lips, and I’m grateful when he helps me back to the exit.

Once my skates are removed, my ankles very red, and my boots firmly back on, I buy a hot chocolate and an apple cider. I nestle near an open spot at the railing overlooking the rink.

Then I see him on the ice.

My breath leaves my lungs.

Ben really is flying . It’s not his speed that has me awed. He’s skating fast but respectfully for a semi-crowded rink. It’s how he’s skating. Lithe, graceful movements as if you can’t tell where his body ends and the ice begins. It looks like he was born here. Like his soul finds comfort here.

It registers so powerfully that this is the very first time I’ve ever seen him skate.

My throat swells watching him. I’d like to think that’s how I look when I play the drums. When I talk about medicine. Totally and completely enraptured.

Music and medicine—that decision has become a terrorizing stressor.