Page 34 of Icebound

He moans, and the rumble brings an entirely new wave of memories to the surface. Yes, I’m angry with Gwen. That seems to be my permanent state. Except those feelings pale in comparison to the electricity of Rhode’s solid muscles pressed against mine.

I see why so many women talk about him online, and honestly, being chained to his headboard doesn’t sound so bad. Now, I’m rethinking my No Distractions rule this semester. It’s been a while since I’ve had a good, toe-curling orgasm. For me, orgasms are about as common as a coin flip.

I twist a strand of hair around my finger like the movement will wind up my growing feelings. “Okay, first of all, I’m not a teenager, I’m legal, so don’t call me that. Secondly, it didn’t seem like you were going to be sick when you had me spread out on the kitchen counter looking at me like you wanted to rip my clothes off. It seemed like you liked that just as much as I did.”

A million different thoughts seem to flicker through Rhode’s expression. His eyes travel down my body, but his jaw clenches. “I’m not going to lie because that wouldn’t be fair to either of us. I did like that, obviously.”

He gestures to his crotch, but neither of us looks down. I don’t need to because the woman walking that toy poodle across the street can probably see he’s still hard.

“But we’re in different places in life. I’m not looking for something casual, Nina.”

I rear back. “You’re not? But what about all the articles?”

He looks at his feet, and something about the motion has guilt tingling up my spine. Maybe I shouldn’t have believed everything online.

“Those were from years ago,” he admits. “That’s not what I want anymore. I want something real. Kids. A family. I’m ready to propose to someone, and you should be out getting drunk, sleeping with strangers, and partying through your twenties.”

“It’s kind of narrow-minded that you think that’s what all twenty-two-year-olds do. Not everyone sets a yacht on fire while having a threesome in their twenties, Rhode. In fact, I’d say that’s the minority.”

He waves a hand. “Alright, fine, do yoga, drink iced coffee, study. I don’t care, but I can’t date you for real. The guys will give me so much shit.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t care about what other people think.”

“Maybe you should call me in ten years.” He flinches, backtracking. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Why do you care so much about my age?”

He glances away like he doesn’t want me seeing whatever’s on his face. “I just do, but it’s mostly that we’re in different places. Are you ready to get married and have kids?”

“No. I’m only twenty-two.”

He flicks a hand. “See? That’s why.”

His words pierce through me, but I don’t budge even though Rhode’s right. We’re in different life stages, and it doesn’t matter that dry humping him on the kitchen counter was better than eighty percent of the sex I’ve experienced.

Okay, ninety.

I don’t want to be tethered to a professional athlete in the spotlight, spending all my weekends in a crowded stadium. I need at least four hours of alone time to function in public.

He needs someone who can drop their plans to fly across the country, and I didn’t spend three years working on myself to be tied down by someone else’s life.

A chill shivers down my spine. Rhode’s gaze drops to my chattering teeth. The frost in his eyes seems to melt, and he removes his beanie with a heavy sigh before handing it to me. “Here. Wear this.”

Taking it, I peer at the stitching inside that looks like handwriting. May all of your dreams be as wild as you. Smiling, I run my finger over the letters. The warmth from his skin still clings to the fabric, but all that does is remind me of the heat of his body.

He scrapes a hand over his stubbled jaw. “Look, I like you, Nina. You’re a great uh, girl, but this isn’t going to work. We’ll do the ¡Vamos! event—”

“What?” My jaw drops. “You still want me to go to that event with you? That’s a bold ask. Am I going to have to pretend to be a neurosurgeon?”

“No. I’d never ask you to pretend to be someone you’re not.”

“I thought you said everyone would give you ‘so much shit’ for being with a twenty-two-year-old?”

“Yeah, but it’s not like anyone there knows how old you are.”

“What do I get out of it?”

“I don’t know…” He presses the heels of his palms to his eyes. “I can pretend to date you to make your ex jealous or something?”