Page 25 of Make Me Mean It

Eventually, keeping it in takes more effort than saying it.

“It’s easier to think here.”

My voice drops on the last few words.

Theo stays quiet, no teasing comment following.

He lifts the bottle and takes a long drink instead, watching me over the rim. His throat moves when he swallows, and I drag my eyes over his shoulder before they can linger there.

“You know where’s even better to think?” he asks, the corner of his mouth twitching up.

I look back at him, already suspicious of the amusement pulling at his mouth.

Theo sweeps an arm towards the rink. “The ice.”

My eyes follow his hand out towards the empty sheet.

Oh, no.

I turn back to him, and then face the ice again, following the shallow tracks his blades have carved through an otherwise perfect surface.

It’s been years since I put on a pair of skates, but not long enough to forget Dad standing on the other side of the boards, disappointment getting harder to hide every time I failed to do something Marcus had picked up without even trying.

I stopped asking to come with them eventually.

I catch my bottom lip between my teeth, worrying at the skin before looking back at him. “You’re not serious.”

I’m not entirely sure when this stopped being an immediate no.

Theo skates closer, stopping against the boards and folding his forearms over the top, those green eyes far too bright when he tips his face up towards me.

“Oh, princess,” he drawls. “I’m deadly serious. Get on the ice.”

“No.”

I step backwards, finally making myself do what I should’ve done the second he suggested this.

Theo’s fingers hook into the front of my t-shirt before I get anywhere, yanking me straight back towards the boards.

My stomach bumps against the barrier, a startled breath catching in my throat while my hand shoots out to brace against the top.

“Get on the ice, Reid.” The teasing disappears from his voice. “Or I’ll drag you onto it.”

I look down at the fingers still twisted into my shirt, then back at Theo.

He makes absolutely no move to let go.

“You’re unbelievable.”

Marcus keeps spare skates here, along with enough other hockey stuff to outfit half the team, and I drop onto the bench before reaching beneath it.

My hand closes around a pair.

Fuck.

I’m actually doing this.

I haven’t worn them in years.