Revolve (Off the Ice #3)

by Bal Khabra

I roll my eyes. “You should really wear gloves when we’re not doing lifts.”

£100 she's going to knit him a pair!!!

“There was no begging involved. I’d probably be a whole lot nicer to you if I did beg. But you don’t have the upper hand here, Dylan. You need me just as much as I need you.”

“Say that again,” he says. “The needing me part. But slower this time, and put a little emphasis on need.”

“You seriously think that I’d drop you? After all you’ve been through, you think there’d be a second that I’d ever let you touch the ground before I could catch you?”

“Comfortable.” And suffocating. The dichotomy makes my head spin.

“Eyes on me, Sierra,” he reprimands.

Good god

Lidia’s phone rings. “I need to take this. Don’t kill each other.” My eyes dart to the door, and I sigh. “I’ll be in control.” “Just how I like it,” Dylan says.

Why can’t you look at me?” Dylan asks suddenly, breaking the silence. “I am,” I reply, keeping my tone flat. “You’re looking through me, not at me.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, feigning concern as he presses the back of his hand to my forehead. “Looks like you’re burning up.”

“I wouldn’t call that a rejection. Looks more like a reaction.” “Yeah, an allergic one.” “Wasn’t aware you felt so strongly about me, Sierra.”

The heat in the room has been unbearable, but this close to him, I’d turn into ash.

So this is what it feels like to have a man’s attention so focused on you it’s borderline predatory. Somehow, I know without a doubt that it wouldn’t feel like this with anyone else. So completely flammable and stupidly reckless that I crave it.

I THINK I need my brain checked. Because I must be insane to pull away from a girl who kisses better than most people fuck—and

Love is messy—I’ve seen enough of that with my parents—and it demands more than I’m willing to give. Lust, though? Lust is simple. Unattached. It doesn’t ask for anything beyond the moment.

“I’m totally digging the whole shirtless, covered in paint, depressed Van Gogh thing you got going on. But what’s got you so messed up that it made you want to redecorate? I’m very concerned.”

“You can read about it in my diary.” “Wait, really?” Kian’s interest piques. “Get out before I give you something to be concerned about.”

Kian chuckles. “You don’t have to cover your eyes anymore, Sunny. Dylan’s a born-again virgin.”

“Everyone trusted me enough to do this, and I won’t ruin it. I’m not the guy she deserves.” I’ve never been that for anyone. And I prefer it that way.

HOW DO YOU look your skating partner in the eye when you know what he tastes like?

I’m no one’s first choice; I’m not even anyone’s last choice.

“You’ll be fine. Sierra doesn’t have an angry bone in her body.” Dylan barks out a laugh, but when he sees my mom’s confused expression, he hides it in a cough.

Sierra: What surprise? Scarlett: 6’4”, brown hair, cocky as hell and way too persuasive for his own good. Sierra: You gave him my address? What the hell, Scar?

Sierra: You are a weak, weak woman. Scarlett: Or I’m a perfectly sane woman, and you’re just in denial.

“It’s only up because I look good in it.” “Can’t argue with that,” he says.

“The only sweet thing about you is the alcohol I tasted from your lips, Sierra,” he says, his tone too casual. “Everything else is hot and scorching.” “Like the sun?” “Like hell.”

I'm done

“Having an attitude versus an opinion about something you do professionally are two different things. I think you’ve been around weak people who can’t listen to a smart woman without making it a dick-measuring contest.”

“When you’re with me, Sierra, I don’t want you to be who everyone thinks you are. I want you to be the girl who calls me out on my shit and speaks her mind. Can you do that?”

“Just unlock the car,” I order. “The back seat?” he asks buoyantly. “It’s been a while, but you’re small enough—” “Just drive,”

He doesn’t even have any music on, and I wonder if it’s because of my headache.

“Should I be worried about you?” he asks, his eyes still on the road. “Why?” “Because I think you’re losing your hearing.”

have no idea what you’re talking about.” “Ah, so that’s how we’re going to play it?” he asks.

Sierra pulls out her phone and swipes through her social media, lingering on those lantern festival videos.

“Tell me what you need, and I’ll be that for you,” I whisper.

“Cooking class?” I ask. “You thought us being around sharp knives and fire was a good idea?” “Kinky,” Dylan whispers, speaking for the first time since I used him as my personal pillow.

“You’re seeing what you want to see, Sierra,” he says, releasing a frustrated breath. “If I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t be here.”

“You won’t tell me how to fix this,” he says sharply. “You’re struggling, and I can feel it, yet you’re so fucking stubborn that you won’t let me help.

They stay tied up in an old knot that was created so long ago, I no longer know how to unravel it. I want to tell him I’m trying, that this isn’t easy for me anymore, but I’m stuck.

“Your teeth are chattering. Wear it, Sierra.” “What about you?” I say, barely above a whisper.

“Why were you on their date?” I ask. “They felt bad leaving me home alone.

“I’m not a hugger.” “I know.” I pull her closer. “Dylan.” “Let it happen, Romanova.”

DYLAN WAS RIGHT. It brings me a great deal of pain to admit that.

When I did finally fall asleep, I dreamed of him. And for the first time since I moved into Iona House, I slept through the night.

“Was it good? That’s rhetorical.” She’s not even remotely surprised, and I feel attacked.

I’m fidgeting with the handle of the gift bag as I wait for someone to answer the door.

She knitted him gloves im calling IT

It should be a crime to look this good at every hour of the day.

“What is it?” “That would defeat the purpose of a gift bag, wouldn’t it?” He watches me in amusement. “Never going to give it to me easy, are you?”

Even when I’m trying, I come off as cold, and I don’t know how to fix it.

“Gloves,” he says.

CALLED IT give me my £100!!!

I glare up at him, and he smiles.

“Can’t you just say thank you and not make this weird?” I mutter. “No way. You knit me gloves and you think you’re going to get off easy?”