Either that or he’s just politely ignoring them. Perhaps that’s closer to the truth.
He turns to me now, catching me staring. The crinkles around his eyes deepen and I turn away as heat spreads across my neck.
Fuck, I’m just mooning over him like a schoolgirl with a crush on a teacher or something. This is exactly what I was trying to avoid—slipping into fantasies and daydreams. All it takes is a few hours in the company of a hot guy and I turn right back into my old self. I spent all morning pretending we were on a date, for Christ’s sake. What is wrong with me?
“You all good?” Michael asks, bumping his shoulder against mine. His breath comes out in a white cloud in front of us.
I force a bright smile. “Of course.” I pull my phone out and take a few pictures of the ice rink. When I turn the phone around for a selfie, he reaches for it. I try my best to look normal as he takes my picture, but I’m not sure I quite pull it off.
Then he stands beside me, switching to the front camera and leaning close. And there on the screen of my phone is the pair of us, side-by-side, in front of the ice rink. Michael grins into the camera, and I watch as my own face lights up, gazing at the two of us together. We’d make a cute couple. Before I can stop myself, I’m imagining what it might be like if he was my boyfriend, taking a picture of us for a holiday card or a photo frame to put on the mantelpiece.
He smiles as he hands the phone back. “Send me those.”
“Oh. Sure.” I flick through the pictures and he leans over my shoulder, looking too. My breathing goes shallow with him so close, with his warmth pressing against my back. It takes all my strength to keep my eyes on my phone—to not turn around and slip my arms inside his coat and snuggle into the heat of him.
“That one.” He points to one of the selfies of the two of us. Then he reaches over and flicks back through the photos until we get to the ones he took of me. And I definitely do not look normal—I look manic. But Michael adds, “And that one.”
Confusion swirls through me as I forward both the pictures. I don’t know what he wants with a picture of me posing like an idiot. Maybe he thinks it’s funny, like all the other things about me he finds so amusing.
I pocket my phone and lean forward on the railing, gazing across the rink. “The tree is beautiful. It must look amazing at night.”
“Yeah.” Michael leans back beside me. “It’s stunning in the dark.”
I feel myself wilt a little. I’d love to see it, but I’m not sure I’ll come back uptown alone at night just for that.
My gaze lands on the skaters below and I turn to Michael hopefully. I might not get to see the tree sparkle in the dark, but there’s something else we could do.
“You want to skate?”
He raises his eyebrows. “What, now?”
“Sure. It would be magical, ice-skating here.”
He chuckles. “You’ll need gloves. Do you have gloves?”
I nod, gesturing to my bag. “Do you?”
He taps his coat pocket with a smile.
“Can we?”
“Well, we could.” A self-conscious laugh chuffs out of him. “I’m not very good. My balance is terrible. It’s hard to skate when you’re this tall.”
I trail my eyes over him. He is tall—I’m guessing six foot four, or so. But still, he’s pretty built and he goes to the gym, so I know he’s fit. Much fitter than me, that’s for sure.
“Seriously?” I give him a teasing smile. “I thought you were really athletic. You can handle it.”
“How do you know I’m athletic?”
“I don’t know.” I shrug. “You just look—”
“Super fit?”
“Shut up,” I mumble, glancing away.
He shuffles closer on the rail, nudging his shoulder against mine. “Let’s do it.”
I turn to him, and there’s a flutter behind my ribcage because he’s so close. “Really?”
“Yeah. It’s your first winter in New York. Let’s ice skate at Rockefeller Center.”
A thrill runs through me and I push away from the railing, looking around for the entrance to the rink.
“But no laughing at me,” he adds, attempting a serious face.
I shove him with a giggle. “Oh, I’m not promising that.”
19
If ever there was a perfect scenario in which I would make a dick of myself in front of Michael, it would probably be on ice. The rink looked so magical from up on the Plaza, but now that we’ve got our skates on, I’m seriously questioning this decision. I haven’t been ice-skating since I was a kid.
But I’m pleasantly surprised to find that it only takes me a few goes around, holding the railing, to find some confidence. Turns out it’s kind of like riding a bike, and it’s not long before I can push away from the side and glide across the ice, even if I am a bit wobbly. I barely notice the cold anymore as I look around, trying to take in the fact that I’m here, ice skating in New York City.
Michael, however, wasn’t kidding when he said he couldn’t skate. I didn’t realize how difficult his height would make this, but he can’t find his balance properly and he sticks close to the sides. It’s odd to see him so out of his depth—this big guy, afraid of falling on his ass. Everything is turned on its head and I’m the one who’s capable, who’s watching as he flounders. I can’t say that I don’t enjoy the shift in the power dynamic.
Still, after a while I start to feel bad.
