Page 101 of Icebound

Their lives still undecided, wide open.

Despite the pungent paint scent in the studio, I smell as fresh as an Irish Spring after my shower. I’ve also turned my baseball cap backward because every time Nina glanced at it during the party, she'd bite her lower lip, and that look always makes me want to take a bite of her. I hitch my gym bag on my shoulder and poke my head in the art studio.

Nina’s hunched over a spinning wheel in an apron, glasses sliding down the bridge of her nose while molding her hands to the clay. Her tongue’s poking out between her teeth, and she looks so immersed in her art that I lean against the door frame, watching for a minute.

I’m somewhat jealous of the way she’s staring at her clay. She’s looking at her sculpture like how I used to look at a puck.

I lift my hand, raising it in a knock, when some blond guy in a flannel shirt walks out of the fire room. Kilm room? Kiln?

I can’t remember what it’s called, but that doesn’t matter when the guy’s looking down Nina’s gaping T-shirt. I clench my fists like that’ll stop this possessive feeling from spreading.

I cough to announce my presence because, apparently, all six-foot-four of me is invisible. “Hey, am I interrupting?”

Let’s hope so.

Nina snaps her head up so fast her glasses almost fly off. “Rhode? What are you doing here?”

“Not sure why you sound shocked. I told you I was coming over,” I say, ignoring the flannel guy.

I stride into the art studio, bypassing a massive mirror and some painting of a headless doll. I shiver. Creepy. The guy scans my face and smirks like he’s hot shit, but I invented that look in my twenties.

He shoves his tongue in his cheek, eyes flicking over me. “This your dad, Nina?”

I tighten my clenched fists.

These old man jokes are really grating on me.

She shoots him a glare. “Really, Noah? Stop.”

Noah can take the scenic route straight to hell. If he thinks he can one-up me, he’s dead wrong. I force a light chuckle like he’s a bug I’m about to wipe off my windshield. “Yeah, I’m definitely not her dad, man, but she does like to call me daddy in bed sometimes.”

“Rhode,” she cuts out, turning to the guy. “He’s joking.”

My brows fly up. “Am I? Because no one’s laughing.”

We look at each other like we’re silently communicating this guy’s a dick. At least, that’s what I’m trying to say with my eyes, but she shifts her focus back to her pottery. “We’re working on some pieces for the Peaceful Mind Project. Can we talk later?”

I sit down on an art stool and cross my ankle over my knee. “All good. I can wait.”

Her eyes narrow. “So, you’re just going to sit there and watch us throw pots?”

I roll my eyes like the idea’s ridiculous when that’s exactly what I’ll be doing. “No, I’m not going to watch you. I’ve got emails to respond to.”

I’ve got all of one email in my inbox, and I think it’s a Cross-Stitch of the Month subscription. I’ll do a crossword on my phone or something.

With a shrug, Nina goes back to her pottery, and I spend the next twenty minutes trying to figure out what ingredient in baba ghanoush could fit in eight boxes.

Eggplant? Yeah, that’s it.

I try to hide my glances at Nina, but it’s tough when I can’t stop watching her work. She’s so talented, and now I’m worrying about what I made her. What if she hates it?

Nina dips her fingers into the small bowl of water by the wheel before gently sculpting the clay. The water shines on her fingertips, reminding me of what my fingers look like when I shove them inside her.

Damn, she’s hot when she’s working all intense like that.

Heat races down my spine, and I shift on my stool, thinking of that nasty joke Cruz told this morning to stop it from spreading.

All of a sudden, Nina lifts her foot from the pedal and huffs, blowing a strand of hair off her forehead. “You know what? Can we finish this later, Noah? I should probably talk to Rhode.”