Page 18 of Shattered On Ice

Westin: Are you calling me a drama queen because I have a sleep schedule that’s being abused by this visit to my family? How DARE you, sir! I must insist on a duel to reclaim my honor.

I snort out a laugh at his theatrics, not at all expecting this kind of reaction from him. He’s funnier than I thought, and leaning into the teasing. I like it.

Knight: If the shoe fits…

His reply is quick and even more surprising.

Westin: I didn't think we’d be roleplaying this early, and Cinderella definitely wasn't on my Bingo card, but you are a *Knight*, so a royal fantasy tracks.

I miss a step and nearly careen into a mom pushing a toddler in a jogging stroller. I mutter an apology as she glares, and slow to a walk so I can be fully present and no longer a hazard to others as I commit to the conversation.

Knight: I didn't peg you for a princess, but I’m not mad about it. I can give you the full royal treatment if that’s what is required.

My cheeks are hot as I hit send, wondering if I took it too far. It’s been so long since I had someone I wanted to flirt with like this, and Westin is…different from the guys I’ve been with before. I don't know the extent of his history as a queer man, or what he’s used to. Learning someone for the first time feels like learning a new language. What’s acceptable to say and what would be triggering? It’s a tenuous tightrope walk I’m not even sure I should be taking, but here I am.

When I don't get an immediate reply, my heart sinks. The physical outlet of my run is instantly eclipsed by a spike of anxiety. Did I take it too far? This feels like entering a battlefield blindfolded and wholly unprepared, trying to figure out what’s funny and what’s a red flag. I set a faster pace, sneakers slapping the paved path, pushing myself to outrun my own second-guessing.

I’m finishing my first mile when my phone chimes and I slow to a walk. I plop down on a bench, wet and sticky with sweat, to read the message.

Westin: I’ll take whatever you can give me—royal treatment or something less refined. You should send me a pic right now as good faith that you’ll treat me right.

Sparkling relief wells in my chest, flares signaling my rescue from a ship that’s not actually sinking as I thought. Thank everything my weirdness didn't turn him off. My heart skips double time, racing faster than when I was running as I read the second half of his message.

I hesitantly pull up my camera and switch it to selfie mode. I’m a complete mess, my sweat-soaked hair falling into my face, cheeks flushed red, making my eyes pop against the contrasting shade. Well, this is one way to see if he’s actually into me. I snap a selfie that stops at my bare chest, everything glistening with sweat, wearing a smirk that, to me, says, yeah, this is the total mess you’re talking to. My hands tremble with adrenaline as I type out a message to send with it.

Knight: I’m out for a run. I’m not normally this sweaty.

It takes a minute before the gray dots start to dance on the screen, stop, then bounce again before his reply finally comes through.

Westin: God, you’re so damn beautiful. And fucking hell. Warn a guy when he needs to be in private to receive something that hot. I just about scarred my mother with the instantaneous wood that caused. But don't let that stop you from sending photos. I will take anything. Literally anything.

I smile as another message comes in just as I finish reading the first.

Westin: Would you fault me for having no chill if I said I can't stop thinking about you?

My body goes warm and fuzzy all over that he got a little vulnerable. That’s incredibly endearing. It makes me bold when I answer.

Knight: Welcome to the “no chill club”. We have fun here. I can't stop thinking about you, too.

I set my phone down on the bench when I send that revealing message, feeling my face grow hot from nerves and embarrassment rather than the weather and my run. It doesn't matter that I’m matching his transparency; it’s still hard to put yourself out there with vulnerability when it’s someone new. Again, it’s that language I’m learning. How much is too much? Where is the line between what I can get away with saying versus what should stay in my head? I don't know him well enough yet to have the casual confidence of easy conversation.

I lean back and take three deep, centering breaths, hoping to regulate some of this nervous energy and calm my anxiety. I’m fine. This is fine. Everything is fine.

I chuckle. Great, now I’m quoting the dumpster fire meme. That’s a pretty accurate depiction of my internal life most of the time, so I may as well adopt it.

I grab my phone quickly when it chimes, my heart rate speeding up despite sitting still.

Westin: Are you still thinking about that kiss? Because I can't stop. I relive it every time I close my eyes, so it’s on a constant loop in my head. As much as I know I shouldn't, I keep thinking about the next time I get to kiss you.

I shoot up from the bench and take off at a much faster run than I was maintaining before. Holy shit. He wants to kiss me again. Okay, so it’s not just me having the off-limits ruminations. I slow down enough to type back a reply.

Knight: Thinking too much about it, honestly. What are we going to do about this problem?

I nearly sprint the next mile in an attempt to rid myself of the anxiety crawling up my throat. Will he take it as the innocent question it is, or see reprimand in it? Or, and this could be worse, I haven't decided, will he see it as me asking for more and an opening to flirt harder? By the time I’ve made it through the park and am headed home without a response from Westin, I start catastrophizing and making up worst-case scenarios.

Was problem too harsh a word? Does that sound like I blame him for what we’re both feeling? I’ve overanalyzed every nuance, every possible way he could have taken my text, and I’m in a full-blown anxiety spiral, still a half mile from home, when my phone chimes again.

With my heart in my throat, I duck into the shade of a building to check it so I don't drop the phone with my shaking hands. But it’s not Westin. And my phone chimes several times in succession, letting me know there are multiple messages.