Page 39 of Lovesick (The Minnesota Mustangs #1)

Crew—never passing up the opportunity to show off—takes to the ice naturally.

Watching him skate from the stands is so much different than witnessing him up close.

His legs are an extension of himself, and his body is aerodynamic even though it’s ripped with muscle.

There’s an effortlessness to his movement—an artistry to the intricate figures that his blades score into the tempered surface.

Anxiety squirms in my belly like eels. “Yeah, if I trip and cut off my arm with my skate, this ring definitely won’t alert my parents.”

Crew jerks his body parallel to mine, coming to a halt in front of me and kicking up a spray of ice. I glare at him as white shavings cover me from head to toe.

“Princess, that’s never going to happen. And wait a second—do you not know how to skate?”

I scoff, though my grip on the polyethylene is unrelenting.

Pathetic, I know. My father’s a hockey coach, and I don’t know how to skate.

I guess he never wanted to teach me in case the exertion strained my heart.

In his defense, I never wanted to learn.

Dance and ice skating may be estranged cousins, but at least dance doesn’t demand that I do death-defying tricks on three-millimeter-thick blades.

“Pish, I—I’ve dabbled,” I lie.

“Uh-huh. Very convincing.”

“I don’t need you to hold my hand.”

Longing is sewn into his features, and he levels a look at me that has my heart flip-flopping. “What if I want to?”

I’m like a ship thrown off course, and I’ve got the coordination and balance of a newborn colt right now.

As embarrassing as this is—acting like a big baby in front of Crew—hanging on to him while he skates around seems like a humiliation ritual.

I pride myself on being at the top of my class—in school and dance.

I don’t ask for help, even when I should.

I don’t like people knowing that I’m not… perfect .

“It’s fine. I can do it,” I grumble, though I haven’t moved an inch since we got on the ice.

Crew rolls his eyes. “Jesus, you’re stubborn, woman.”

“Well, you’re persistent. ”

“I know. It helps me sleep at night.”

He offers his upturned palm to me—waiting for me to take it—and I stare at it in fear. The boards are comfy, stable, reliable. Then again, Crew exceeds in those departments with flying colors.

“Will you just trust me? Please?” His voice is warm as it melts over me like caramel deliquescing in August heat.

If there’s anyone in the world I can trust, it’s him.

Slowly, I retract my claws from the boards, and I reach out to grab his hand without making any sudden movement. There’s a hitch in my step that makes me think I’m going to fall, but Crew is holding me upright with a sturdy grip, saving me from further mortification.

“I’ve got you, Merit. Just like I did that night of the near miss. And nothing will ever make me let go, okay?”

I expect him to pull me into his chest for safekeeping, but I lunge for him instead, banding my arms around his tree-trunk torso and burying my face in his shirt. That familiar scent of citrus and dryer sheets overrides my fear.

Without giving me the chance to panic, Crew starts to move at a measured pace while I’m still squeezing him like a boa constrictor.

I can’t see anything due to my eyes being closed, but I can feel the slight breeze we’ve circulated from the momentum.

The heat from his body chases away the frost nipping at my heels, and despite every fiber of my being telling me not to look, I open my eyes anyways.

We’ve drifted over to the middle of the rink, skating around in a lazy, lopsided circle.

Peeling my head off his chest, I gasp in awe, impressed at the progress we’ve made considering I’ve been one hell of a roadblock. Crew accepted what little I had to give, and he never complained that it wasn’t enough.

I know it’s stupid, but I feel like I could cry happy tears. I’ve never felt safe in this world—I’ve never felt secure. Then Crew came along, and he changed everything. He showed me that pain shouldn’t be a constant.

“We’re skating?” I squeak.

“ You’re skating,” he corrects, his breath tickling the swell of my cheek, and his eyes zeroing in on me like I’m the only girl in the world—the only girl for him . Something stronger than admiration peaks in his irises, almost like how the tide kisses the diaphanous moon.

Cautiously, I slip a ways down to grab his hand, and I let him lead me, trusting both him and my legs to carry me across the ice.

Granted, we’re not moving very fast, but I’ve never felt so free .

The wind snaking through my hair and pluming against my face, the satisfying scree of our blades in tandem, the firmness of his grip.

I never want this to end.

Crew is the silver lining I’ve been waiting for, the break in the tireless storm that gives me something that’s been ripped from my grasp time after time again— hope . Glistening, immaculate hope, as pure as the driven snow.

Without warning, I glide over to him so that we’re chest to chest again, and I initiate a spin with the tug of my leg.

My arms braid around his neck, his arms ensnare my waist, then his body follows suit with an according pivot.

We twirl around in circles, stirring up a vacuum of ice.

His embrace never falters as a laugh bubbles up my throat and ecstasy twinges in my stomach.

Even given the arduous activity, I’ve never been more in control of my heart.

When our velocity peters out, I stare into his eyes until we come to a standstill. Both of our breaths merge into one, neither of us letting go of the other, the noise of the rink thinning into complete silence yet again.

Crew speaks for the first time in minutes, his tone shrouded in nervousness. “Merit, I… ”

I rise to my tiptoes and lean into him, brushing my nose with his. “Crew, just shut up and let me kiss you.”

Cheeks red and windbitten, he’s in complete shock at my forwardness, though it doesn’t take him long to smash his lips onto mine. His arms tighten around me, and his kiss is searing in all the right ways. It feels like lightning strikes the entire rink and sets the air ablaze.

Much to my dismay, he’s the first one to pull away, panting and completely plundered of his cool. “We shouldn’t,” he whispers.

I nudge him a little with my nose. “No?”

His restraint is impressive, I’ll give him that.

“You’re my coach’s daughter.”

I cage his jaw with my fingernails, forcing him to look me in the eyes. “And you’re my dad’s star player. That doesn’t change the fact that I want you to fuck my brains out.”