Page 17 of Switching Skates

I ignore the agonizing, burning sensation in my chest at the thought, the stubbornness in me holding on strong.

Turning to face him, I cross my arms with the shampoo bottle in my hand and meet his darkened stare. “No need for more. I still have plenty.”

His teeth clench together. “Oh, really? Do you?”

Nodding with a grin on my lips, I step toward him. “Yeah. But thanks for the offer. Now I know who to go to when I run out next time.”

His nostrils flare, and a menacing smile flashes across his face. “And who exactly is lowering your stock?”

“None of your business.”

“Daphne.” His voice is low and deep, slicing through the air as he moves toward me, reaching me in three big strides.

“Mason,” I scoff, his name dripping with disdain.

Leaning down, he closes the distance between us until only a few inches remain as I look straight up at him. “No one on thiscampus is going to touch you. No one in thistown. Not if they know what’s good for them.”

My eyelids lower, and I glare at him. “What? No one butyou? Is that what you’re going to say next? Get over yourself. Your hands are never touching me again. No matter how much you beg.”

His cologne invades my nose as he bites down onto his bottom lip. “Why? Would getting on my knees and begging do something for you, Sunset?”

The image of him on his knees before me flashes in my mind, and I can’t help but admire the thought.Probably, yes. But he doesn’t need to know that.

He clicks his tongue against his teeth, reading me like a damn book. “Noted.”

Shit.

His arrogance causes anger to surge through me.

Flattening my hand on his chest, I shove him away from me, hard, and do my best to ignore the firmness and definition that hasgreatlyintensified since we were teenagers. “Delete that note because nothing you do will ever make me stoop that low.”

He sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, and I hate the way my breath catches in my throat. “Really? Don’t you meanagain? Because if I remember correctly, it wouldn’t be the first time I was on my knees. Although last time, your leg was over my shoulder, and I was tongue deep inside of?—”

“Marco!” Maeve calls out.

Mason and I jump apart, both of us holding our breath as we’re reminded that we’re in the middle of a grocery store, having this face-off.

Turning to the sound of her voice and striding quickly away from him, I shout, “Polo!”

“Bye, Sunset,” Mason mumbles, and I glance back and find him rooted in place, watching me walk away.

I don’t give him the satisfaction of a response. Or a smile. Or a wave. I just stand there, confused, slightly turned on from the bickering, and I contemplate transferring back to my old university to avoid a confrontation like this ever again.

“Mase, is it almost ready?” Ross whines from the living room.

“Yeah. Give me two minutes!”

Folding the scrambled eggs over and over in the pan as they finish cooking, I mentally run through the rest of breakfast. Bacon’s done and cooling. Pancakes are done and warming in the oven. Fruit’s already on the table. And homemade berry syrup is in the fridge, ready to go.

“Come grab plates, boys!”

Shutting the burner off, I lift the hot pan with a mitt and gently pour the eggs onto the white ceramic platter, finishing them with a sprinkling of pepper. Setting the rest out on the counter, I prop my hands on my hips and proudly exhale.Perfect.

There is something so satisfying and rewarding about cooking. Especially for the people I love.

“Holy shit, dude. This looks amazing.” Chet’s eyes devour the spread until he reaches the pancakes, his gaze flying back to me. “Are those chocolate chip ones?!”

Shrugging nonchalantly, I smile. “Well, it’s your birthday this week, so I figured I’d surprise you.”