Revolve (Off the Ice #3)

by Bal Khabra

For anyone who’s had to put themselves back together, even when the pieces no longer fit.

This is the one place I can breathe and pretend like I have my shit together; no one’s ever been in here with me, and that’s how I like it.

Until her i bet!!!

Breathing. It’s something so automatic, yet I need a reminder to do it. It’s pathetic.

I toss an irritated look at Kian, who forgot to mention this was a neon party. To no one’s surprise, Kian pulls his T-shirt over his head and motions for the girls to cover him with more paint.

When I look up, her emerald eyes pierce mine. Fucking smoke show. That’s when I recognize her as the girl from outside the rink earlier today,

She seemed so … lost then. Now she’s all fucking fire.

I turn to see dark hair, green eyes, and red lips. Trouble.

The girl glares at me with her hands planted on her hips, like she could take me. Like she’s the one who’s six foot four.

“How can I make it up to her?” I ask. She tilts her head. “You wanna make it up to her?” “Dying to.”

The confrontational, opinionated, bitchy side that I buried long ago. But the hockey player pulled it out of me like a loose thread.

It wasn’t just the sight of his jeans slung low, white Calvin Klein waistband bold against his golden skin, or how the dim moonlight caught the sheen of sweat on his chest. It was the handprints—colorful, smudged, pressed like memories on his skin, as if everyone wanted to leave their mark on him. As if they already had.

WOW

I got it over with so no one could say I’d given up my whole life for skating, even though, deep down, I knew I had.

I would be enough for him because I was never enough for myself.

Why am I being punished? I’ve given too many people the best night of their life to be treated like this.

“Why are you in my bed?” I rip the comforter off Kian, who’s still covered in paint. When he doesn’t stir, I push him hard enough that he rolls off the mattress to the floor with a heavy thud and a high-pitched scream.

“My guests are usually hotter than you and wake me up with a thank-you for the night before.” He slaps a hand over his chest to feign offense. “I won’t whore myself out just because I needed a place to sleep last night.”

I love this in a book!!!

But what could I even tell him? That I’ve been dealing with my parents’ shit for so long that this was the phone call that sent me over the edge? That I was so desperate for an escape, I didn’t think twice before letting a few puffs cost me my career?

I can't cry in my lecture

I can’t bring myself to apologize when everything I’ve done at Dalton was going to amount to this anyway. It was only a matter of time.

DRUGS ARE GREAT. Well, prescription drugs are.

I freeze. I hate that I recognize that voice—deep, rumbly, and cocky as hell. I glance over my shoulder, and yup, it’s the jock from the party. He’s leaning on the boards, forearms braced, his amber brown gaze locked on me.

He’s still so much taller than me even when I’m in skates,

HOT

“Shouldn’t you be tapping a keg somewhere?” I ask. “Just giving you some friendly advice, princess.” “I think that would require us to be friends.

“You can look, but you’re going to have to be a little nicer if you want to touch.”

“Why? Am I too much to handle? Never had a girl that could put a skate to your throat?” His dimple appears. A fucking dimple. “Never, but I think I’d enjoy anything you’d do to me.”

“Maybe if I toss a puck on the ice, you can chase after it like a good boy.” A glint returns to his eyes. “Is that what you want? For me to be a good boy?”

“Sierra, huh?” She freezes, and her eyes widen. But then that tiny fire sparks when she looks at me. “Dylan, huh?”

Did you go home and look me up?” I ask, leaning against the reception desk. “Find any good pictures?” “Yeah, I have the perfect one taped to a dartboard.”

“Great talk, Coach. Let’s never do it again.” “I kind of like it when you call me Coach.”

I stare at her mouth for an indecent amount of time. Too indecent even for me. “You’re smiling, Sierra. Are you enjoying my company?”

“I’m flattered.” “Don’t be,” she says. “I’ll bruise your fragile ego.” “You’d do a lot more damage than just a bruise, baby.”

She raises a brow. “Are you flirting with me?” “Yes.” I grin. “Is it working?”

Well it's working on me

“See you around, Romanova.” “Walk into traffic, Donovan,”

My mom said she’d take walks to the opposite wing of the hospital while I was in surgery, not realizing it was labor and delivery. Every time a baby was born, music played; she counted sixteen chimes. Sixteen lives entered the world while she thought she was losing hers.

Wow

I’m still watching them when a body crowds mine in the space between the hallway and the bleachers. “Who do we hate?” My skin prickles with awareness. “No one,” I mutter.

“Aren’t you banned from the rink?” Dylan shrugs. “It’s always more fun when it’s forbidden.”

His gaze drops to my lips. “Why? You want something in exchange for your secrecy?” “Yeah, a restraining order.” “You’re the one showing up everywhere I am, Romanova.

If you want me, just say the word. We can cut the whole cat-and-mouse thing.” “Am I supposed to be the mouse in that analogy?” “Definitely the cat. But that’s how I like it. Claws and all.”

“I don’t know if I’m in the mood anymore. You were kind of mean.” “Shh!” I cover his mouth with my palm. “Can’t. I like it loud.”

I'm obsessed with him!!!

My tightening chest isn’t deflating. “Call me princess again and you’ll find out.”

“You were figure skating. Hockey doesn’t teach that.” “Impressed?” “Indifferent.” “Jealous,” he decides with a satisfied grin.

“Are you trying to goad me into skating with you? I’m not that easy.” “Oh, I know, but I’ve always had a thing for a challenge.”

“I’m not giving in to whatever kink you’re trying to satisfy.” He smirks, leaning in slightly. “You in those tights is doing a lot for me already.”

ohh this book is going to send me into a reading slump...nothing will ever be the same

When I push away, he follows me. We’re face-to-face as he glides forward while I glide backward.

Hot.

But she looks at me like she wants me dead. It’s kind of fucked up how much that turns me on.

She’s damn stubborn, and so full of attitude, but then underneath the bleachers her emerald eyes cracked, and there it was, a single tear.

That pain still seemed to linger in her red-rimmed eyes, but she was determined, vengeful, and a little scary. It was fucking hot.

“If you’re lucky, they’ll probably just bicker the whole way home.” Kian groans. “That’s worse; it’s like foreplay for them. You’re coming.”

I follow their line of sight to Aiden Crawford walking toward the car. Kian is first to react. He parks where we’re definitely not supposed to park and runs out of the car. He wraps his arms around Aiden and squeezes the shit out of him.

“You’d do that for me?” “No,” says Aiden. “I’ll do it for the other version of you. Because he’s my best friend.”

The silence isn’t just the absence of sound. It’s a living thing, swollen with the weight of quiet sobs muffled into tear-soaked pillows and words that have echoed in my mind for months.