Page 7

Chapter seven

~ AVERY~

I stir my coffee, watching the milk swirl in lazy circles before blending into the dark liquid. Sarah is mid-sentence, her words lively as always, but I’m only half-listening, caught up in my own head.

“You sure you don’t want to come with me to Soho?” Sarah’s voice cuts through my fog.

“I don’t like clubs.” I shake my head, my fingers releasing the spoon.

“Look, I love you, but being a hermit doesn’t exactly scream fun.” She cocks her head to the side with a crooked smile.

“Getting wasted does?” I counter with a chuckle. “I like being at home. It’s peaceful.”

She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, until you turn into one of those people who talk to their houseplants.”

I laugh, but it’s more a deflection than anything else.

“Okay, real talk.” Sarah sets her coffee cup down and leans in, her expression shifting into something more serious. “Asking Damien to skate with you is the best thing you could have done. You’re twenty-three, gorgeous, and stuck in this… I don’t know, ‘don’t-look-at-me’ bubble. Now you can flirt with a hot pro hockey player.”

“I’m not going to flirt with him, Sarah.” I shoot her a look.

“What are you so afraid of?” she counters.

“Rowan,” I reply, though it comes out more defensive than I intended. “Damien isn’t a guy to flirt with, even if I knew how to do it. And you know Rowan. He’s like a hawk. I don’t want to make this more complicated than it is.”

“And why is it complicated? He’s just giving you lessons, right?” She arches a perfect brow.

“I…” I hesitate. “I don’t know. Sometimes it feels like he’s… you know, flirting. But Damien’s always been like that. I don’t think he actually sees me that way. I think he’s so used to flirting that he doesn’t know how to interact without it.”

“That’s even better, then. You can flirt with him and not expect much from it. He’ll be your practice dummy,” she says like it’s the best idea she’s had.

“I don’t want to flirt with Damien, Sarah. I’ve already crossed enough lines with him.” I take a sip of my coffee and set it down, my eyes glued to the mug. The truth is I can’t change my mindset about Damien. The moment I view him as anything other than Rowan’s best friend, there’s no going back. I know myself. I’ll start crushing on him and be forced to watch him take other women home all summer. I’m not a self-destructive person and have no plans of being one.

“You’re scared,” Sarah notes.

“Of course I am. If Rowan finds out Damien’s giving me lessons—”

“I’m not talking about Rowan and the lessons,” she cuts me off. “You’re scared because you’re starting to like Damien. You’re scared because you don’t know where this will lead.”

I blink at her, considering her words. I mean, it’s the absolute truth. I just didn’t think she’d catch on this fast.

“I’m scared because I don’t know where his playfulness ends and the flirting begins… if there even is flirting. I’m scared because what if I’m getting the wrong signals, Sarah? What if when I finally crack and make a move, he just laughs in my face?” Damien is unpredictable, and there’s no way of knowing what his true intentions are when he’s treating everything like it’s a fun game.

“If Damien is as big of a playboy as all the tabloids describe him, you have no way of knowing.” She gives me a long stare. “But maybe it wouldn’t hurt if you… you know, flirted a little. You don’t have to do anything crazy. Just stop acting like you’re invisible. Guys don’t bite. Well, some of them do, but who knows. Maybe you’ll like it.” She grins wickedly. I raise a brow at her but can’t keep the amusement off my face.

She raises her hands in mock surrender. “I’m not saying change who you are or anything. Just maybe lower the drawbridge every once in a while.”

Before I can respond, her phone buzzes on the table. She glances down and groans. “Shoot, I gotta go. Got a date tonight, remember?”

“Yeah, with that guy who talks like he’s in a 90s action movie,” I tease.

“He’s cute. And he actually knows how to hold a conversation, unlike some of the other losers I’ve been seeing.” She stands, slipping on her blazer. “Anyway, think about what I said, okay? Life’s too short to stay in your head all the time. And trust me, men notice you. You just need to notice them noticing you.”

With that, she gives me a quick hug and rushes out the door, leaving me alone with my coffee and my thoughts.

I finish my drink slowly as I look through the list of books in my journal. The café is quiet. There’s just the hum of a few of the patrons talking, machines, and the occasional clink of cups. I glance out the window, considering what to do next. Bookstore? Maybe. I’m not in any rush to get back to Rowan’s place.

Just as I’m about to grab my bag and leave, someone steps into my line of vision. I look up and see a familiar face. The guy from the rink yesterday. The one who’d been standing at the door while Damien was talking to me. He’d left before Damien could even go up to him, but there was obvious tension in his shoulders as soon as he saw the silent observer. That makes me instantly cautious.

“Hey,” he greets me, his blue eyes glinting.

I stare at him for a beat, surprised. “Uh… hey?”

“I’m Jake,” he says, as if that’s enough of an introduction.

“Avery,” I mutter out, still confused as to why he’s talking to me.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you, Avery. Mind if I sit?” he asks, flashing a grin as he slides into the seat across from me, not waiting for me to reply.

“Sure,” I agree hesitantly. I can’t exactly say no now.

“I saw you at the rink yesterday,” he notes, observing the look on my face. I immediately tense up.

“Yeah, I remember.” I keep my tone polite, but my guard’s already up. He’s got that look like he thinks he’s charming just because he’s here.

“So, you like hockey?” He sweeps his blond hair back and casually rests an elbow on the table.

“I…” Do I? I love watching the guys move. I love how thrilling it is. I love seeing Damien on the ice—I mean, I like watching everyone play. “I guess I do.”

His eyes have already darted to the counter, where the blonde barista is busy wiping down the espresso machine. His eyes glaze over her body, resting on her legs. It’s not subtle. Guys like him always think they can keep you hooked while scanning the room for something better. It makes my skin itch.

“Cool,” he replies a bit absentmindedly. “You uh, skate?” he asks, turning his attention back to me, but not before his gaze lingers just a second too long on the barista’s open cleavage.

“I used to,” I say flatly. He’s already lost me, but I figure I’ll give him a few more seconds before I make my exit.

“You should come to one of our practices,” Jake says, the smile back in place. “I could, you know, show you a few things on the ice.” His voice drops like he’s offering something tempting. Like, I’m supposed to be impressed.

I cock an eyebrow “Like what? Standing on the ice without falling? I think I got that covered” I say, draining the last of my coffee.

His smile falters for a split second before it recovers. “Here’s what.” He clears his throat. “My team and I are going to Soho this Friday.” He pulls something out of his back pocket and hands it to me. I take it slowly, my brows furrowing. His business card?

I look up at him again, confusion still etched on my face.

“I’d love for you to come with us,” he adds.

“I don’t know,” I say. My nerves are up, and the chair feels like a cage around me. “I’m not really into clubbing.”

“How about just a drink at a bar then?” he says, hopeful. “Nothing too crowded.”

Am I being asked out on a date right now? My mouth opens, ready to say no, but my conversation with Sarah resurfaces.

“I’ll think about it,” I reply, still hesitant. His lips stretch into a grin, showing off his white teeth.

“Give me a call once you’re done thinking about it and ready to do something about it,” he winks and rises from his seat. “I’m glad I saw you at the rink. And I’m looking forward to seeing you again, Avery.”

“Uh, yeah. You, too,” I say, my voice a bit too high-pitched, my smile a little too forced. And with that, he walks out of my line of sight toward the door.

Did he just ask me out on a date… after checking out another girl? What a Douch !

Just as I’m contemplating whether or not I imagined the whole thing, my phone buzzes on the table in front of me. I pick it up, butterflies instantly going off inside my tummy as I read the text.

DAMIEN: Meet me at the rink in an hour.

I had some time to kill before my lesson with Damien, so I decided to stop by a bookshop I’d seen on the way to the rink.

I don’t know why the thought of being alone with Damien again has my heart racing. I know it’s not the fear of getting on the ice anymore. It’s being close to him.

When I get to the rink, the space is empty except for him. Damien’s alone, skating laps, his movements effortless. He’s always in his element out there—no teasing grin, just focus. I can only stand and admire the way his body moves, impressively swift for his size. He’s wearing black sweatpants and a matching hoodie, looking devilishly casual and, despite finding it hard to admit, more than good.

I pause at the edge of the rink, not wanting to interrupt. It’s all power and control like he owns every inch of the ice. I feel small just watching him, like I’m intruding on something private.

Then he stops mid-turn and looks right at me, his smirk creeping back into place. “Enjoying the show, Red?”

My stomach flips, and I roll my eyes, trying to play it cool. “You wish.”

He skates closer, his eyes locked on mine, and for a second, I forget how to breathe. “What’s the verdict?” he asks, his voice low and teasing. “Did I pass the inspection?”

“I wasn’t inspecting anything,” I lie.

“Well,” he stops just a few feet away, resting his stick on his shoulder, “are you done staring, or would you like me to do a few more laps?”

“You’re full of yourself, you know that?” I cross my arms, trying to ignore the heat rising in my cheeks.

“I’ve been told.” He grins, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

Damien glides off the ice, his movements effortless as he steps out of his skates and onto the ground in one fluid motion. He’s unbothered as if the intense workout hadn’t even phased him. My eyes are still glued to him as he rolls the sleeves of his black hoodie up to his elbows, revealing the tattoos curling around his forearms, dark ink against his tanned skin. I’ve seen them before, but today, they seem sharper.

I swallow hard, my heart speeding up as he walks toward me, each step slow and deliberate. He’s tall—way taller than me—and built like a threat. He’s all broad shoulders, muscled arms, and that cocky smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, making me feel like I’m standing on thin ice, about to fall through.

I try to hold my ground, but the closer he gets, the more overwhelming he becomes. The faint scent of his cologne hits me, a mix of cedarwood and something smoky. It makes my pulse quicken like it’s crawling under my skin, seeping into my lungs.

Damien’s hair is pushed back with just enough length to make you want to reach up and run your fingers through it. His hazel eyes, flecked with gold and green, glint with something unreadable.

My palms are starting to sweat.

Why is it suddenly so hard to breathe?

“Any other observations you’ve made about me besides the obvious?” His voice is a low rumble, soft enough that it’s meant only for me. He’s standing way too close, and my brain is screaming at me to take a step back. But my feet won’t move.

“No,” I lie, my voice weaker than I want it to be.

“No?” He cocks his head, eyes narrowing slightly as if he can sense the shift in me. “Well, I’ve made some observations about you,” he adds, his lips twitching upward.

“That should be interesting,” I say, trying not to fidget under his gaze. Both my heart and my thoughts are racing. Because the lines don’t even look like lines anymore. How he looks at me doesn’t seem like something out of habit. It’s deliberate. And right now, he feels like something else. Like a storm I can’t outrun.

Damien leans against the barrier, his body language completely at ease, but there’s an intensity in his eyes that pins me in place. His gaze drifts over me, a slow, lazy once-over that makes my skin tingle. No, this isn’t out of habit.

I should hate this. I do hate this. I shouldn’t let him make me feel like I’m teetering on the edge of something dangerous, like I’m about to fall. But at the same time… God, why does it feel so good? Why does it feel so exciting?

“You look like you’re ready to bolt again,” he murmurs, amusement flickering in his eyes. He steps closer, and now I can feel the heat coming off him, the warmth of his body just inches from mine in the cool rink.

My heart thuds harder in my chest. This isn’t how I’m supposed to feel about Damien. He’s supposed to be off-limits—a walking, talking, smirking no in every way.

But as he leans in, his face hovering just close enough that I can see the slight stubble lining his sharp jawline, my stomach flips. His lips curve into that smug grin I’ve seen a thousand times, but this time, it’s different. This time, it’s for me. And God help me, I like it.

“Are you scared?” His voice is softer now, lower, the space between us shrinking by the second. I should back up. I should say something, anything, to stop this, but every word gets stuck in my throat.

“No,” I whisper, though the lie is so obvious it feels like a joke.

His hazel eyes lock onto mine, and I swear he knows. He knows exactly what he’s doing to me. He’s toying with me, and I should hate it. But every part of me is buzzing, alive in a way I haven’t felt before.

“You look scared,” he teases, tilting his head slightly as if studying me, his smirk deepening. “I’m not making you nervous, am I?”

“N-no,” I stammer, cringing at how weak my voice sounds. His proximity is messing with my brain, making it impossible to form a coherent thought.

His eyes flick down to my lips briefly, and my pulse races. “You’re flushed.”

I force a laugh, trying to shake off the tension creeping up my spine. “It’s called blush. Makeup. You couldn’t make me blush even if you tried.”

“Even if I tried,” he repeats, his eyebrows raising as if that’s the most offensive thing I could have said. “You wound me, Red.”

He doesn’t need to tell me I’m flushed. I know it. My cheeks burn, and I can feel my heart pounding in my ears. I glance toward the rink, desperate for an escape, for something to break the moment, but he steps into my line of sight again, stealing back my attention.

Damien shifts, leaning in just a little more, so close that I can see the tiny flecks of green in his hazel eyes, the sharp angles of his face. He’s never been so close before.

His presence is overwhelming and consuming. Every inch of him screams trouble , the kind you’re supposed to run from.

But I’m not running.

“You know,” he starts, his voice low and husky, “You’re a very, very,” he says each word slowly, dragging it out, “bad little liar.”

My heart leaps into my throat. “I’m not lying,” I breathe out.

“No?” His eyes dance with mischief as he edges closer still, his lips curving just slightly. “Because I don’t appreciate lies, Avery.”

Avery. Not Red.

I open my mouth, but the words die on my lips when I see his gaze darken, his smirk fading into something more serious. I feel like we’re standing at the edge of a cliff, and all it would take is one wrong step.

“I’m not… I mean, I wasn’t…” I trail off, hating how lost I sound. “What is all this questioning anyway? Can we just get on the ice already?”

But here I am, my heart racing, my breath shallow. And I can’t seem to stop.

“Don’t worry.” Damien’s voice is a low murmur, but it sends shivers down my spine. “I’ll make sure you’re back on the ice soon enough.” He leans in, his breath warm against my ear. “Impatient little liar.”

My throat tightens. Every nerve in my body is screaming that this is wrong, that I shouldn’t be feeling like this. All I can think about is how close we are, and how much I don’t want him to move away.

This is insane. I’m not supposed to feel this way towards him. He’s not supposed to talk to me like that, either. But here we are, and for the first time in forever, I feel like maybe I’m not invisible. He makes me feel seen. Special.

And that’s the most dangerous part.