“You know, you still have that look,” he said, twisting his mug in his hands.

  I glanced up, fork half raised. “Which look?”

  “That one where you’re pretending like you don’t care but you really do.”

  Words failed me. Instead, I shrugged, because that’s what awkward people did. “Is it that obvious?”

  He nudged my boot with his under the table, light at first then firmer. “Always was to me.”

  Swallowed hard, not just because I’d almost inhaled an egg. “You always read people or just me?”

  “Just you.” He didn’t look away, even once.

  If there was a medal for Most Scalding Awkward Silence, I’d just won gold.

  He finished his bacon and pointed at the empty plates. “You’re not getting out of kitchen duty. You eat, you clean.”

  I stood fast enough to knock my chair back. “Trying to get me to break something?”

  He laughed. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

  I gathered plates, careful not to touch anything that could be described as “delicate.” My coordination was running about a C minus at this point.

  Ryan rolled up his sleeves and stood beside me at the sink. Suds foamed under the hot water, steam curling up. He reached over, bumped my hip gently, and handed me a plate.

  “Rinse.” He leaned in close. “I’ll judge your technique.”

  “Is this like PE in elementary school, or are the stakes higher?”

  His grin could have burned through the frost on the kitchen window. “Definitely higher. Fail, and you have to do all my laundry.”

  He rinsed his own plate, hand brushing over mine again. I was starting to think he was doing it on purpose. Or maybe I just wanted him to be.

  As he dried a glass, his shoulder pressed into mine, solid and warm. My entire body was humming. Was this flirting? If it wasn’t, someone should really tell my nervous system.

  We stood there, the suds slowly dwindling, water running. My hands were red from the heat but otherwise numb. Ryan placed a clean mug on the rack, then turned, wiping his hands on a towel.

  For a second, he just looked at me, searching my face like I’d said something remarkable.

  The air tightened.

  He stepped in, a fraction too close, hands damp. The towel fell onto the counter. His fingertips caught my wrist, the skin of my hand still slightly soapy. Warmth radiated up my arm, a straight line to the center of my chest.

  Ryan’s face was right there, his eyes bright. I didn’t move, didn’t breathe, didn’t ruin it with a joke.

  “Okay if I kiss you?” His voice was softer than I’d ever heard it.

  I nodded, probably too fast, and then he did it. Kissed me, mouth pressing gently to mine, warm and easy, like he’d been waiting for this all day.

  His lips brushed mine, soft and hesitant, barely pressure. Everything in me went still. In a good way.

  The kiss was simple. No fireworks, no tongue, just the kind of deep, slow contact that rewrote my understanding of “why bother dating anyone else ever again.” His grip on my jaw tightened just a little, grounding me, and I let my hands fall to his waist, afraid that if I pushed my luck he might bolt. He didn’t.

  Long seconds passed, our lips brushing, gentle but somehow wildly electric.

  When it ended, he didn’t move away. His forehead rested against mine, both of us breathing hard. For once, I had nothing witty to say. I was melted butter.

  “Been wanting to do that for a while,” he admitted, his grin crooked now, like he couldn’t believe he’d actually pulled it off.

  I couldn’t either. I blinked up at him.

  He grinned, thumb brushing my cheek. “You want to do it again?”

  Did I? Completely. I couldn’t remember wanting anything more.

  He kissed me again, deeper this time, tongue tracing my lower lip, coaxing until my mouth opened to him. I wrapped my arms around his waist, just to see if he’d let me. He did.

  We stood there, wrapped up in each other, surrounded by the scents of soap and bacon grease, lips pressed together while snow kept falling outside.

  Ryan finally let go, but only a little. “Unless you want to spend your whole trip washing dishes and making out, we should maybe do something fun.”

  I swayed a little, dizzy, but nodded. “Yeah, um. Fun. You pick.”

  “Want to go skating later?” He still hadn’t let go of my hand.

  “I haven’t skated in like fifteen years.”

  “All the more reason.”

  I grinned. “Will you catch me if I fall?”

  He pressed his forehead to mine, smiling. “Always.”

  We dried the last cup in silence, but it was the good kind. The kitchen felt warmer somehow. Like a piece of something long-missing had slotted into place.

  He squeezed my hand, then, as if he couldn’t help himself, kissed me again. This time it was hard, decisive, like he’d been waiting for ten years.

  Maybe I had, too.

  * * * *

  Ryan’s truck idled at the curb, engine running, windows foggy from the warmth inside. He tossed me a scarf as I slipped into the passenger seat.

  “Put this on unless you want to freeze your ears off,” he said.

  I wrapped the scarf around my neck, inhaling traces of his aftershave. Or maybe it was just pure Ryan. Either way, I wasn’t complaining.

  The drive to the skating rink was a blur of snow drifts and glances stolen over steaming travel mugs of coffee. Ryan’s hand kept finding mine, fingers hooking loosely across the gearshift. He sang along to Motown, off-key. We didn’t talk about the kiss. We didn’t have to.

  At the rink, fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. The place looked exactly as tragic as I remembered with its scarred ice, scuffed rental skates, and the faint aroma of hot chocolate gone wrong. Ryan helped me with my laces, kneeling in front of me like some kind of ice-bound Prince Charming. I could get used to that.

  Skating was a predictable disaster. Ten seconds in, I slipped, but Ryan was there to catch me before my ass hit the ice.

  “Careful.” Ryan’s hands circled my waist, grounding me solidly on both skates.

  My brain short-circuited. Warmth radiated through his gloves, straight into me, a human reset button. No one, and I mean no one, had ever made wobbling around on ice skates feel this erotic. I’d spent most of high school trying not to faceplant in the hockey rink. Now, given the choice, I would have gone down just for the thrill of having him catch me.

  “Not letting you break anything,” he murmured. His face hovered close enough for me to count individual eyelashes.

  My breath fogged between us, probably with the faint stench of desperation. “I think you’re overestimating my athletic talent.”

  Ryan’s grip tightened. He shifted me upright, feet parallel. “Nah. You were always good at this.”

  That was news to me. “You’re confusing me with someone coordinated.”

  “Never.” Something in the way he said it, just soft enough, made danger and comfort blend into a single, heady feeling. Was that his breath warming my cheek or just my imagination?

  Maybe both.

  He guided me forward, his palm splayed over my hip. Cold seeped up from the ice, but it was nothing compared to what was happening above my ankles. Every step felt like walking a tightrope between humiliation and…something else. The something else had Ryan’s hand moving confidently over my hoodie, steering me past gaggles of giggling children and one ancient lady in a sequined parka.

  “You’re a natural,” Ryan lied blatantly as I windmilled for balance and nearly took us both out.

  “If natural means destined for America’s Funniest Home Videos, I agree.”

  His laugh rumbled up between us. “Just let me steer. Trust me.”

  Yeah, that was my issue, trust. Not the part where my knees turned to Jell-O if he so much as looked at me sideways. Ryan held me steady, his arms snug around my waist. Anyone passing by would assume we were a couple—or maybe just that I required full-time adult supervision.

  I could live with either one.

  We made it halfway around the rink before I surrendered to the obvious and let Ryan pull me in against him, back to front. He didn’t say anything, just pressed his hand to my stomach and angled me ahead of him, skating like we’d practiced the move for years.

  His chin bumped my shoulder.

  “This okay?” he asked. Instead of moving away, his thumb rubbed the hem of my sweatshirt, finding a strip of bare skin.

  I felt a shock, followed by pure longing. I didn’t trust my voice, so I just nodded. If this was what counted as “skating,” I’d found my new favorite sport.

  “Hold on.” Ryan guided us around a turn, my back swallowing the heat from his torso.

  He was warm, sturdy, solid in that way that made me wonder what he’d be like pressed up against me in literally any other context. Not that my mind was in the gutter. Not at all.

  He smelled like generic laundry soap and the faint afterburn of coffee. It was weirdly intoxicating, considering we were just feet away from a table of crying toddlers.

  His fingers flexed, pulling our bodies tighter together.

  My mouth went dry. “If my old gym teacher could see me now…”

  “He’d be jealous.” Ryan’s voice dropped, almost a growl. “You look good, Alan.”

  The sincerity in his tone would have floored me if Ryan’s arms hadn’t already been locked around my waist.

  A kid zipped by and nearly took out my left skate. Ryan caught me, saving my dignity and probably my teeth.

  “Still think you don’t need me?” he teased.

  I shook my head and let myself lean back. “Never said that.”

  His answer was another press of his palm to my belly, this time holding, lingering.

  If I’d been waiting for a sign, well, this was it.

  * * * *

  After three full circuits of the rink and zero major injuries, Ryan guided me toward the benches. My ankles throbbed, and my fingers were going numb, but in a weird way, I felt more alive than I had in months.

  “Hot chocolate?” he offered, slipping his hand into mine like it was the most natural thing in the world.

  “Are you kidding? I’d murder for it.”

  The rink snack bar pulsed with the kind of energy only fluorescent lighting and ancient curling trophies could provide. Holiday music blared overhead, and a bored teenager with a nose ring manned the cash register, eyeing us with that signature “You’re old, why are you here?” look.

  Ryan ordered two hot chocolates with extra marshmallows and no hesitation. He even paid, because apparently chivalry was alive and living in this gym teacher’s broad shoulders.

  He handed me the paper cup, our fingers brushing. “Careful. It’s hot.”

  My tongue was already half-burned, but the sugar and milk were worth it. “They make it this way so you can’t taste the disappointment.”

  Ryan took a sip, marshmallow foam clinging to his lip. “You disappointed?”

  Hard to answer that one, with him looking at me like I was the only thing worth focusing on in the whole damn snack bar. “Honestly? Could be worse.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.” I risked a bigger gulp and regretted it instantly. “You could have let me fall in the rink. Broken ego, broken tailbone. The works.”

  Ryan grinned, leaned in, and thumbed the marshmallow from his mouth. “Wouldn’t happen. I take care of what’s important.”

  Sexiest sentence I’d ever heard, and it wasn’t even dirty. My heart did a stupid little dance.

  I nudged his cup. “You’re getting foam everywhere.”

  He licked it off, a quick flick of tongue. “You staring?”

  “Should I not be?”

  He looked me up and down, lingering. “I’d be hurt if you weren’t.”

  The concrete floor vibrated with the thump of skates with people coming and going. Our bench was grimy, but the world felt weirdly private for a minute, just the two of us locked together by bitter chocolate and mutual longing.

  Ryan leaned in so his face hovered close, all warmth and confidence. “You ready for round two?”

  Of what, my brittle dignity or the rink? Didn’t matter. “Try and keep up.”

  He snagged my hand again, pulling us back toward the ice.

  Round two was easier. Maybe from muscle memory, maybe from the simple fact that Ryan didn’t let go for a second. The other skaters faded out. My body moved a little easier, warmed up, and his presence pressed into every cell of me.

  He tugged me into a faster lap. “You’re getting the hang of it.”

  “Lies. This is entirely you.”

  He spun us around the center, then braced our bodies together to slow down. All the while, those hands never left my waist. When we passed under the string of colored lights, he dipped his lips to my ear. “You smell really fucking good.”

  My brain skipped a beat. Was he allowed to say that? Apparently yes, because he didn’t stop.

  “You’re just jacked up on sugar.”

  He snorted. “No. Pretty sure it’s you.”

  We skated until the muscles in my thighs shook and my brain struggled to keep up. Every time I faltered, Ryan caught and steadied me, eyes bright, mouth tilted in a smirk.

  At the end, he braked so we slid up against the barrier, our bodies bumper-to-bumper.

  “No injuries. I’m proud.”

  I fought to regulate my breathing, which was a lot harder than you’d think. “Guess I owe you.”

  Ryan’s gaze pinned me. “You can pay me back.”

  Hints of a grin, pure mischief. My body answered before my head did.

  “Yeah?” My voice sounded rough, full of want.

  “Yeah. You can.”

  No idea what would actually happen if I kissed him right this second, pressed up against the cold, plastic barrier, in full view of two dozen strangers. But the thought hooked me so deep I could barely blink.

  He bent down, noses almost touching. “Later,” he promised, voice low.

  Disappointed? Actually, no. The anticipation tasted better than all the cocoa in the world.

  * * * *

  In the truck, both of us kicked off our boots and crammed into the tiny cab, still humming with cold and leftover adrenaline.

  We blasted the heat and left Motown on low.

  Ryan’s hand slid over the console, finding mine. His thumb scratched gently at my palm, each drag sparking little points of want.

  Nobody spoke. Not until he parked outside my parents’ house, engine idling.

  He turned, reached for my cheek, and just like that, our mouths collided.

  Not a sweet little peck but a real, hard “I’ve wanted this for years” kind of kiss. His lips captured mine, mouth hungry, and suddenly my core ached with need.

  Ryan sucked on my bottom lip, tongue teasing for entry. I opened willingly, fingertips digging into the worn denim at his thigh. Our breaths tangled.

  He broke away, only to whisper, “God, I want you.”

  My only answer was another pull of his mouth to mine, this one filthier, our teeth clashing.

  If he’d said “let’s fuck right here,” I probably would have agreed.

  He seemed to sense it, too. He grabbed my thigh, shifted closer, his body bracketing mine. I shivered, hard, and not from cold. The heat was unbearable.

  His forehead pressed to mine, sweat beading already.

  “Come on. Inside. I’ll make dinner.”

  I nodded, because speaking would have ended with me begging to blow him in the front seat.

  * * * *

  At his place, Ryan held the door for me. Cold air bit at my cheeks, but all I could think of was the way he stared at me, eyes nearly devouring.

  He went straight to the kitchen, pulling ingredients from the fridge. I hovered by the counter, desperately casual, while he chopped and seared and somehow conjured dinner out of thin air.

  The scent of onions and garlic filled the kitchen, along with the sound of bacon sizzling. Butter was melting somewhere. The kitchen grew steamy, windows fogged from the heat. I leaned back, arms crossed, pretending I didn’t have a front-row ticket to the Ryan Show.

  He looked over, grinning. “You want wine?”

  “What, not beer?” I raised an eyebrow.

  Ryan glanced at me, eyes warm. “Thought you’d be a wine guy.”

  I shrugged. “I’m an anything-that-blunts-the-pain guy.”

  He poured two glasses, pushing one into my hand. Our fingers brushed, lingering. I sipped, pretending it didn’t mess me up how easy it was to fall back into this, to want something simple after all these crap years.

  Dinner was pasta, sauce heavy with cheese and bacon. I moaned unconsciously at the first bite, which probably did nothing for the dignity I’d already lost at the rink.

  Ryan watched me eat, his smile lazy, eyes on my mouth. “Good?”

  “Should have skipped the skating and started with this.”

  He wiped his mouth with a napkin, never breaking eye contact. “There’s always tomorrow.”

  Afterward, we did the dishes together. Ryan rolled up his sleeves, dunked his hands in suds, and started scrubbing in looping circles. I rinsed, and his arm brushed mine over and over, like we didn’t have anything better to do than stand here and see how many times we could bump hips before one of us snapped.

  When it was over, his hand slipped around my lower back. He pulled me in, kissing me slow and soft, tongue nudging inside until I gasped. If he’d asked me to stay there at the sink for the rest of my natural life, I might have. The only thing forcing us apart was the sound of the movie he’d left playing in the living room.

  “Movie?” he asked, and when I nodded, he just took my hand and walked us out.

  On the couch, Ryan pulled me into the space between his legs and wrapped his arms around my waist. I melted there, the heat from his body soaking into me. He traced a finger up and down my side, watching the TV with fake focus. I pretended to care about the movie, but mostly I cared about the way he scattered little kisses behind my ear, sometimes on my neck, never quite satisfied.