“I brought coffee.” Anthony’s voice scatters the fantasy of running my fingers through his hair. He’s holding out a ridiculously large to-go cup with NICO written in block letters on the side, and a heart scrawled beneath. He sees me eyeing it and grins cheekily. “Labeled it myself.” I take the cup from him, scowling. For some reason, this seems to make him smile wider. I wave him forward and start walking toward the rink. His shoulder keeps bumping mine, like he’s purposely walking too close to me.
