Page 260 of Burn Bright

“Of face-planting, chipping my front tooth and needing a full dental package, yeah. Of falling on my ass and bruising my tailbone, possiblyfracturingit, 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 saidmybeautiful 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 skatingbackwardwhile 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 becausehello, 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 fuckinggrinning.

“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.