16. MADDIE

CHAPTER 16

MADDIE

" A re you sure this isn't a date?"

Ryan sits on my bed, watching me braid my hair so it doesn't get in the way later for what I've told her a million times is not a date. I press my lips tight and give her A Look through the mirror. The same one I've sent her way the past two times she asked.

She puts her hands up. "I'm just saying it looks an awful lot like one. A guy and a girl going ice skating together on Valentine's Day? I mean, c'mon. I can't be faulted for thinking it might be a date. Your denial makes it all the more sus."

"Aran and I clarified that this is just for book research." I wrap a pink hair tie at the end of my braid. It matches the knit cable sweater that took me all last year to make.

"If so, why is it just the two of you?" She smirks.

"Because—" I interrupt myself with a long-suffering sigh. "I've told you I don't want anyone else to witness my awkwardness."

She dips her chin and gives me an incredulous look. "But it's okay if Aran does?"

"Yes, because that's all he's done—watch me make a fool of myself over and over," I say, turning around with a great huff. "I mean, I even talked about my period with him. If that's not enough reason to put him off me, then there's everything else."

Tilting her head, she asks, "What's everything else?"

I gesture all around me, as if it's self-explanatory. But confusion takes over Ryan's expression, so I add, "I'm just not his type."

"Based on what? Did he say so?"

"No, but I know. I've seen one or two of his girlfriends on campus. And like, he dated you, and you're absolutely freaking stunning, fit, fun, and kind, and… I'm just not like that. I'm short, fat, flabby, and a walking embarrassment." I cringe.

Ryan coughs and splutters to the point where she has to thump her chest before she's able to talk. "Okay, first of all, that's bullshit."

"No way. You really are all that!"

She smiles from ear to ear. "Okay, maybe not that part. I am pretty cool. But the whole thing about you not being his type is the bullshit."

I shake my head. I saw Aran with one girl near the cafeteria once, like a year ago. They were tangled in a very public display of affection where I saw a whole game of tonsil hockey. I remember being stunned at first that they didn't care who may be watching. But then I figured two super-hot people probably wanted to pounce on each other all the time. Because the girl was leggy, with a tiny waist and a huge behind—which one of his hands had been dangerously close to. The other one was lost in the confines of her black hair. And she had the whole air of a girl who had her pick of guys.

I couldn't even get a kiss like that from the one guy who showed some interest in me in the past. And he was a normal-looking guy in the creative writing program too, not some Roman statue come to life.

Oblivious to my thoughts, Ryan continues, "In fact, my concern is quite the opposite."

"Huh?"

She observes me in silence for a moment, so I finish up fastening my fanny pack around my waist and grab my scarf. This one's white, like my Doc Martens. I'm wearing faded blue jeans from Torrid that don't stab into my gut, and I'll wrap myself and the look up with a thick down coat in a cream color and a white knit beanie with bunny ears. Nothing about this outfit screams date.

"I've never seen that stubborn ass open up to a girl the way he's done with you."

I wind the scarf around my neck as I say, "That's because I give him no choice but to talk. Because he's obviously not going to use his mouth for anything else with a girl who is not his type."

"Puh-lease." She unfolds her legs from under her and gets up, passing me my coat before I can reach it from the chair. "You have the smile of an angel. I've already seen it getting him to do things he's never done for anyone else."

"Ryan, we are friends . That's all."

"No, you're friends with Archie and the others, but it's different with Aran. He's not like this with anyone else."

I'm fully dressed to brave the February cold, and it's warm in the apartment, but I stand in my room observing my roommate. Aside from the few jokes in the conversation, she's been pretty serious throughout. And even though Aran is waiting in his car, I need to ask.

"Um, don't get me wrong, but… why are you so worried about this?" I bite my lip and play with the zipper of my coat. "Do you still have feelings for him or something?"

"Ha!" Ryan shakes her head. "Okay, I'll answer the second question first. Do you wanna know why Aran and I didn't work out?"

"If you want to share, sure."

I am low-key dying to know. But I'm trying to act chill and not freak her out.

"Because we weren't interested in each other that way. Him, because he's been incapable of forming a deep connection with a single one of the many girls he's dated. And me because I realized while being with him that I'm ace and aro."

My eyes go wide. "Oh."

"So I'm asking because I'm worried he will break your heart like he's done with almost every girl, and then I'll have to murder him."

My chest fills up with something warm that rushes up my face and to my eyes. I rush forward and give her a big hug. "Thank you for being my friend, Ryan."

She pats my back. "We can still make this a party of three, you know."

"I know." I pull away, wrinkling my nose as I mull over that scenario. "But if I change the plan at the last minute, he'll suspect something's up. The last thing I want is for him to think I may have feelings for him."

"Do you?"

"No, it was hypothetical. Besides," I add with a shrug. "This is so not a date that we're not going to the big outdoor ice rink, but to his former elementary school. We'll be surrounded by little kids and families, and not by smoochy couples. It's the least romantic skating date ever."

"So you admit it's a date, huh?" She elbows me.

I huff. "It's not!"

"I'm just teasing." With shocking strength, she turns me around by my shoulders and pushes me to the front door of the apartment. "Go enjoy your private humiliation with your friend who you definitely have no feelings for."

"Ryan…"

"And also, protect your head if you fall. Unless you want him to stay awake the whole night with you like last weekend. Which I'm sure he did out of the goodness of his heart."

I open the front door and turn over my shoulder with a grumpy expression. "Stop teasing me."

"That's what friends are for."

With a final wave, she closes the door. I stand there for a moment, biting my lip. It's like Ryan could read my mind and make me voice every thought. Yes, this does feel an awful lot like it's going to be a date. I couldn't even sleep well last night because of how much I was anticipating it.

But also yes, Aran is not into me in that way. He acted normal even during the study session and movie marathon we had Saturday while we were making sure I didn't have a concussion. Sure, his mind was in the gutter a few times, but not about me. It was because I kept putting my foot in my mouth. We sat a foot apart on the couch, and he didn't look at me in a salacious way, because there's just nothing salacious about me.

I'm the kind of girl he can comfortably be around with no pressure. Like Ryan. Or maybe even like his sisters. I don't know.

Standing by the exterior balcony, I immediately locate his black SUV. The headlights are on, the beams dancing in the falling snow. As I head down the stairs, I'm glad I spilled the beans to Ryan. It was a good last-minute reminder that I'm not the kind of girl Aran Rodriguez goes for and that there will be nothing attractive about me learning how to skate.

The cabin is dark inside his car, but I make out his silhouette easily. I don't know if he watches me as I round his car, but when I open the door, his eyes are fixed on his phone as he texts with someone.

"Hey."

One of his caveman sounds is the response I get.

Yep, definitely no romance in the air.

I heft myself up into the seat by the door handle and buckle up. "Okay, ready when you're ready."

He nods, though I don't know if the gesture is to me or the phone. After a quick moment, he drops it in the cupholder and turns up the music a bit. His eyes stop on me for a second, but then he sets the car in motion, and off we go.

In full silence.

Aran is the picture of relaxation as he drives. Left elbow on the door, hand loosely on the steering wheel. His right hand is the one doing the steering, which I find interesting.

"How come you drive with your right? I thought you were left-handed."

"I'm ambidextrous, actually." The rumble of his voice fills the cabin.

"So you can write with your right?"

"Yeah."

"Wow, I wish I had that superpower."

Dark eyes flash to me for a second and then focus back on the road.

I regret having zipped up my coat all the way. My phone's in my fanny pack, and I really wish I had something to do with my hands so they'd stop fiddling with my hair or the seat belt.

"Nervous?"

I jump a little at his question, which gives him the answer. Laughing an unhinged little laugh, I say, "Yes, actually. Mildly terrified."

"Skating's not that hard."

The knives on my feet aren't what I'm nervous about.

Still, determined to not let Ryan become a murderer, I say, "Easy for the hockey player to say."

"Just trust me. I wasn't born wearing skates."

And I do trust him. Maybe that's the problem.

Once upon a time, about two and a half years ago, I had a crush on a guy in my department. He was smart, funny, and a year older, which, back then made him seem so mature. And he was such a nice guy to everyone, including me. Of course, I took that to mean more than it did. And because back then, I had a lot more illusions—or delusions—about guys than I do now, I developed a huge crush on him.

One time at a party, I got a lil bit tipsy and confessed my feelings to him. He admitted that, even though he saw me as a friend, we could go on a date and see how things went. I was over-the-moon excited. I even got Rebs to do some fancy makeup for me that later made my face break out. Anyway, the date went well because we talked about writing and books and our plans for the future.

But that wasn't enough. And I felt it when we kissed on our second date. Our lips touched, and it was as if we'd both forgotten how to move. Like maybe his lips were a square and mine were a round peg.

Things were awkward after that, and we obviously didn't keep going out. But we also stopped being comfortable with each other. And that broke my heart even more.

I just don't want a repeat of that with Aran.

When we get to the school, I've worked myself down to normal. The parking lot is packed with cars, and I have to be careful not to bump the one beside us with the door as I get out.

Aran heads to the back of the car and returns with his massive duffel bag. He says, "There are no rentals here, so I brought my older sister's skates for you."

"Crap, I didn't even think of that. What if they don't fit?"

"They should be okay. You're a couple inches shorter than her."

But fatter. What if my feet can't even squeeze in?

With that new worry unlocked, I walk with him into the school. The corridors are lit up, and we make our way through them at his pace, which means we find the ice rink pretty fast and I'm a little winded.

The noise that hits us when we enter is unexpected. Here, the suburban half of town congregates on the seats or on the ice. Groups of kids play around, chasing each other. A parent teaches their kid here and there. Someone takes pictures of a big group in the middle.

I walk behind Aran as we descend the steps to an empty corner in the front row. He motions for me to go first. It makes sense. With his long legs, he'll need the aisle.

I take a seat, and he does the same. First, he unzips his thick black coat. Underneath, he's in a gray St. Cloud hoodie and black jeans. His thigh bumps into my knee as he bends down to open the bag and take out his black skates. He sets them aside and digs for a smaller pair.

"When you're done putting them on, stuff your shoes in the bag."

"Yes, sir. Captain, sir." I salute.

He snorts a little as he sets out to follow his own command.

I take a page from his book and open my coat so I can bend forward easily. After making quick work of removing my boots, I discover the good and the bad news. The good news is that his sister's skates fit. The bad news is that I'll now have to learn how to skate.

Aran surprises me by grabbing my ankle and squeezing his finger into the skate. "You're tying them too loose. You could break your ankle like this."

"Oh, okay. I guess I'll?—"

Before I can finish the sentence, he gets up on his feet. Or rather, on his skates. I crane my neck back, because he's impossibly taller. But then he lowers to his knees, and my heart stops.

His knees surround my foot and hold it tight so it doesn't jerk up with the motions. The tendons of his hands flex and release with the movements, fingers working with deftness as he undoes the strings of one skate and laces them back up tight .

"I could've done it myself, you know," I say in a choked-up voice.

"Sure. And maybe you'd have broken something that way too."

I smile. "No one's getting hurt on your watch, huh?"

"Damn right."

He pats my foot when he's done. I don't know if he even realizes it. Then he moves onto the next foot and starts all over again.

This is such a boyfriend move. Not that he's… I mean, for my book. I'll make a note of it.

"Thanks," I say as he stands up when he's finished.

"Get up."

"Okay, okay." I take a deep breath, brace myself against the seats beside mine, and stand up.

For all of one second. It's like my brain can't feel the whole bottom of my feet touching a flat surface and decides I'm free-falling. Which I sort of do—straight into Aran's chest. Face first.

I yelp at the pain in my cheekbone. It takes me a second to realize I'm still upright, and it's because he's holding my upper arms.

Slowly, I ease my weight back on my heels. Trying to break the awkwardness, I look up and mumble, "Dude, is your chest made of stone?"

"Not just any stone. Marble." His lips twitch, but he doesn't let himself smile. "Ready for the ice?"

"Hey, so. Since this is all for book research, I have a question."

"Are you stalling, Strawberry?"

Totally. I'm terrified of breaking my teeth on the ice.

"I'm just wondering all of a sudden how good a skater a goalie is. Maybe I didn't pick the best teacher."

The expression on his face says really?

"I have to practice skating just like the rest. In fact, my edge work is amazing."

Sighing, I say, "Oh, I bet. You're probably good at everything, huh?"

I blink hard as a little smirk curves his luscious lips. And that's when I realize his words carried an innuendo I played into far too well. His smirk widens the hotter my face gets.

He leans a little closer to my ear and whispers. "I'm not just good. I'm really good."

Wow, okay. Never imagined heart attacks felt this delicious.

I clear my throat. "Great, I think I've got enough inspiration for my book already. Let's go home."

Aran clicks his tongue and pulls away. "No can do. We didn't come all this way just to lace up." He drops his hands, which somehow doesn't make me fall. "See? You're ready."

"Is it too late for me to just look up some YouTube videos about how to skate or something?"

With a few long strides, he slides onto the ice, and with the momentum, he makes a neat turn back to face me. "C'mon, little Strawberry. Be brave."

With shaky legs, I shuffle over to the barrier by the entrance to the ice and clutch at the frame. "First of all, I'm not little. Second of all, I'm not brave."

He folds his powerful arms across his chest. "So you are a strawberry?"

Top heavy, easy to turn red, and likely to get pimples when stressed? Sure. I blow out air and glare—until he extends a hand and flexes his fingers, ordering me to come.

Heat explodes in my belly, and the shrapnel feels like butterflies all over. That little gesture, Aran telling me to join him in his element, is doing something to me. It's a shame that it would look very weird if I took my gloves off so I could touch his skin directly.

Slowly, I reach out with one hand until he grabs it, saying, "You can't be this stiff when skating."

What he doesn't know is that it's either this or turning to putty in his hand.

"This is still probably a good time to mention that I barely passed gym class."

Aran offers his other hand, and I hold it automatically.

Oh, no. He's leaning back.

"Wait, wait, wait?—"

"You're more likely to fall if you don't relax."

"How can I relax?" I screech.

"Look up at my face."

Absolutely the wrong way to relax. Yet, with no excuse in my mind, I obey. Fortunately, Aran's attention is fixed on my feet. I allow one skate to touch the ice. The lack of friction freaks me out, and my weight tilts forward. Fast.

Pulling up my arms, Aran slides me out onto to the ice until I crash into him again. Upon impact, his hands move away, but before I can make a grab for them, they're on my waist. Under my coat.

"Look, you're standing on the ice."

I cannot see anything other than the gray of his hoodie and the upper portion of the S .

"If you let me go, I will kill you."

"I'm not letting you go."

Feeling his voice rumble against my body, the clean smell of his skin and of the laundry soap on his clothes, the heat of his body where it touches mine, his hands firmly clasped around my waist… is too date-like.

Swallowing thickly, I lean back until my feet start sliding. Every time that happens, my heart rate goes up. I make the mistake of tipping my head back.

Aran is smiling. "Maybe you actually suck at this."

"I'm afraid of falling. How do I get back up if I do?" I ask, breathless without even having skated an inch.

"I'll lift you up."

Maddie, this is not a date. Pull yourself together.

We're just talking mechanics here. Nothing about feelings or anything like that.

I swallow with difficulty. "Um, I'm really heavy, though. I wouldn't want you to get hurt."

"Please." He snorts. "I could bench-press you."

I glance at his thick biceps, his hard chest, his broad shoulders. "You do look strong, but?—"

"Stop panicking, Strawberry. I got you." Aran grabs my waist a little tighter, which is both horrifying and thrilling. He can probably feel all my fat rolls, but it's the first time a guy has ever touched me there, and I don't dislike it. Not at all.

"Um, all right."

"Good. Now I'm going to skate back. Eyes on mine. Don't think about your feet."

I nod, and I do not think about my feet during the rest of the night.