“Like this?”

“By chance.”

He huffed a laugh. “Maybe we just have lots in common.”

Her marvelous lips pressed together. “That seems unlikely,” she said, obviously unwilling to admit that they belonged to the same places. Loved the same things. What a mindfuck this woman was to him.

“Alec trained you?” He’d seen a lot of skaters in his life, and Rue didn’t look the part too much, but she nodded. “When did you stop?”

“Final year of college.”

“Injuries?”

“Some minor ones, but that wasn’t the reason.”

He’d just bet she’d been like him: not good enough to go pro, but good enough to get a full ride. “You’re tall for a figure skater.”

“That had more to do with it.”

Her long, strong legs. The muscles in her core, tightening as she shuddered and arched into him. He tried to picture what it would take to dance on the ice with a center of gravity as high as hers. With the length of her limbs, the kind of control she’d have mastered to achieve the elevation, precision, speed during jumps. He savored the mental image, the anticipation it created. He’d never given figure skaters a second thought, but her strength did something for him. Rue, sweating and doing beautiful things. Rue, powerful and quietly fierce. She would match him. In fact, she already had.

“Did you want to go pro?” he asked.

“I was done with the whole thing about two weeks into college. It was actually a tightrope to walk, being just decent enough to have my tuition waived.”

“I can imagine.”

“Insisting on choreographing my routines to ‘Pump Up the Jam’ helped.”

He felt himself smile. “I still can’t tell when you’re joking.” And I fucking adore it.

“I told you, I was born without a sense of humor. It’s congenital.”

Bullshit. “Yeah?”

“You’ve met my brother. Do you think he’s the type to giggle over puns?”

He assessed her. Tried to solve her. Failed. “It’s okay, if you prefer to play it this way.”

“Rue,” the woman from the pizza stand called, “we’re out of water bottles. Could you get some more from the back?” Her eyes slid to Eli, suspicious. “Maybe that brawny gentleman can help?”

He smiled. “It’d be my pleasure, ma’am.”

He followed Rue to one of the many storage rooms. Uniforms, old helmets, and the occasional stick piled on all surfaces, and he had to sidestep several boxes of pucks just to find the light switch. His brain hiccuped, disoriented in time: he hadn’t been in here in over a decade, but the logo on the green jerseys was as familiar to him as the weight of the head on his shoulders.

“Have you kept in touch with Alec since graduating?” he asked. If he couldn’t have her, he at least wanted to know things about her. Tiles for the Rue mosaic that had taken up residence in his brain.

“Yeah.” She unearthed a cart from under a box of shin guards. In the harsh ceiling lights, she was paler than usual, her curves meeting dramatic shadows and narrow angles. “Did your sister?”

“Yup. Alec has done a lot for our family.”

“For me, too.”

“Yeah?”

“When I was a teenager, he’d bring food to the rink, just for me. Sandwiches, veggies and hummus. Healthy snacks with protein.” She stopped unloading the cart, eyes unfocused in the middle distance. “I never even said I was hungry.”

He observed her, recalling the slight frame of teenage Rue. Wasn’t her project on shelf life extension of produce? “And were you hungry?”

She shook off the memory of it, and he realized that this one hadn’t been one of the ugly stories they’d gotten into the habit of exchanging. She’d shared it with him without quite wanting to. “Do you see the water?” she asked.

He pointed at the cart he’d just loaded with eighty bottles.

“Ah. Right.” She scratched the back of her neck, uncharacteristically flustered. A fucking sight to behold. He wanted to pull her apart, watch the atoms of her squirm in pleasure, and take his own sweet time putting them back together. He wanted her to feel the way he did.

“My ex-fiancée was a chef,” he said.

Her look was blank. “And?”

“She was—is—damn good. And she thought everyone should have at least three signature dishes they could prepare without needing a recipe.”

“To impress at dinner parties?”

He laughed. McKenzie would, too, at the idea of wanting to impress. “To be able to eat good food. By yourself or with others.”

“I’m not sure where you’re going with this.”

“There are three dishes I can make. Because a professional Michelin restaurant chef taught me.” Rue blinked, like it still wasn’t clear. “I could feed you well. If you’re still hungry, that is.”

She gave him a wide-eyed look and slipped into speechlessness. Then she moved closer, and the blood in his veins thickened as she pushed onto the tips of her toes. Her heat warmed him, and her chin tilted up, and her mouth—

He turned his head away before her lips could touch his.

Which, his body immediately let him know, was a supremely fucked-up idea. Go back. Kiss her. Lock the door. Pull her shirt up and her shorts down. Bend her over. You know what to do next. She does, too.

Rue took a step back, looking confused, maybe hurt by the rejection.

Eli’s body revolted. He was so hard, he could feel his erection pulsate against the zipper of his jeans, bent at a painful angle. When she made to leave, he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder and spun her around. “Wait.”

She lifted her chin. Her eyes held a hint of challenge.

“I live nearby,” he said. A gambit. “You could come over. Retrieve your property.”

“My property?”

“You left something in that hotel room.”

He watched her scan her memories, and her eyes widened when she stumbled upon the answer. “You could have thrown them away.”

“The thought never occurred to me.”

“They’re not your size, you know.”

“They definitely worked when I used them.” He was being deliberately crude, maybe to remind himself of what lay underneath this distance between them. Maybe to remind her.

“You can’t have Kline, so you stole my underwear.”

“Oh, Rue. I can have Kline.” Her eyes narrowed, and he continued, “I just wanted a keepsake. If you don’t want them back, you can leave them with me—it’s a good home. But come over anyway. For fun.”

That last n lingered between them. A long matrix of calculations played out on her beautiful face. He let her think it through, waiting breathlessly for the outcome. His heart skipped a beat when she said, “Okay. I’ll come over.”

Fuck.

Fuck.

He needed to calm down. He couldn’t be this worked up, just because of a handful of words.

“Cool. I have one condition, though,” he said.

“A condition?” She’d clearly never considered the possibility, and maybe he wanted to fuck her more than ever when she looked confused. It was the asshole in him, the one who got off on being one step ahead and in charge, the one who wanted to lock her in his room and keep her there for months.

“If I take you to my place, you’re not running out on me.”

Her arms crossed on her chest. “Are you planning on holding me hostage?”

“That seems like a lot of needless work. And a felony.” He let go of her shoulder. It didn’t seem prudent to keep touching her.

“I’m going to leave when I want to leave,” she said calmly.

“I’m not asking you to marry me and have my triplets, Rue.” He kept his tone casual. Anything resembling earnestness or emotional intimacy would have spooked her. “You don’t have to stay any longer than you like. If you want to leave because it’s too much, or you’re bored, or because the sex is not what you expected and simply doesn’t do it for you, by all means, go. But don’t run out like you did last time. It scared the shit out of me. I’m asking you to communicate.”