Page 40 of Breaking the Ice

And he’s right. There might be more to Evan than first meets the eye, but it’s still too complicated.

Chapter

Seventeen

ISABELLA

Evan: Wanna blow off some steam?

Isabella: Um.

Isabella: I really don’t know how to answer that.

Evan: Let me try that again.

Evan: Wanna hang out?

Isabella: Okay. I have more time now that the play is over. What did you have in mind?

Evan: Meet me at this address and I’ll show you.

Isabella: Always with the surprises. What’s up with that?

Evan: I love surprises. They are great.

Isabella: Except for when they are terrible.

Evan: Trust me. You’ll have fun.

Pulling into a spot, I scan the parking lot. This is definitely the right place, because Evan waits outside his car. Hands in his pockets, leaning against the door and looking sinfully good, he reminds me of every hot lead in a rom-com. Yes, please.

But this strip mall is not giving romance vibes at all. Date nights should be a picturesque picnic in a park or a quiet dinner at a fancy restaurant.

And this is not a date, I remind myself. You told him you just want to be friends. He is not boyfriend material. This is perfect.

I really don’t know why I changed out of the oversized sweatshirt and leggings combo I was wearing and threw on high-waisted jeans and a burgundy cropped sweater. And curled my hair and did my makeup.

It’s good to be presentable in public, right? Yeah, that’s probably why I was motivated to look good. It has nothing to do with Evan. As I think this, he opens my car door for me and whistles.

“You look gorgeous.” Then he blinks, like he’s catching himself. “Friend. I mean that as a friend.”

Uh-huh. The flurries in my chest are also just friendly. No problem here.

“Thanks.” I swallow, then gesture at our surroundings. “Did you bring me here to murder me?”

He gasps and puts a hand on his chest. “No! I’m offended. I’d take you somewhere much more sinister for a murder.”

“It gets more sinister than this?” To punctuate my words, one of the streetlights in the parking lot pops, flickers, and goes out.

“I mean, probably.” Evan winces at it. “But this is one of Lafayette’s best-kept secrets.”

He waves at the strip of stores behind us—a bar, a check cashing place, and a nail salon.

“It’s probably secret for a reason,” I whisper, having way too much fun bantering with him.

“Do you trust me?” he says again, echoing his text from earlier and holding out his hand.

And dammit, my heart lurches. Because I do. Against my better judgement—he’s a hockey player, for crying out loud—I know he’d never bring me somewhere unsafe or actually shady. Not only do I trust him, I like spending time with him.