Break the Ice

by Piper Rayne

  She could have her happy white picket fence and I could live my own life. We could remain friends via phone calls and Skype sessions. I’d endure the wedding, the children’s birthday parties all in moderation. Maybe after she became a casualty of the sixty percent divorce rate, I could move in with her and help her care for her kids. Perfect scenario—a little demented and selfish on my part, but she’d still be in my life and I’d be with her in a manner of speaking.

  A knock on my bedroom door just after eleven tells me her date didn’t go as well as she was hoping when she left.

  “Come in.”

  She peeks her head in just like she did on her last date, like she’s afraid of what she might encounter.

  Did she think I’d be beating off? Hell, I wanted to, especially after I booted up my laptop. Turns out I’m not ambidextrous. My left hand just can’t get the motion right. Which explains even more why being around Skylar lately feels like a form of sexual torture—one where the relief never actually comes. Literally and figuratively.

  She slides in next to me in bed, her eyes shifting from my bare chest to her legs, crossing her ankles.

  “You’re home early. Does that mean no cuffing?”

  She giggles, though it sounds forced. “Turns out police officers can be kind of bossy.”

  “Who would have thought?” I deadpan.

  She knocks her shoulder into mine, leaning her head there after, her dark hair falling over my bare skin. It tickles a bit and it reminds me of what her fingertips might feel like brushing across my chest.

  “He ordered for me,” she says.

  I clench my jaw and widen my eyes.

  “Yeah.”

  “Sorry, he was a hottie, too.”

  She slaps my stomach and the only reason I’m joking around is because her date went badly. If she’d come in here tomorrow morning dressed in what she wore tonight, I’d be clenching my fists instead of laughing.

  “He was good looking. Oh.” She inches back, resting her back on the headboard. “Turns out not everyone is impressed by what we do. He asked me why I would ever want to twirl up in the air and risk injury.”

  “Really? Usually people think we’re badass.”

  She giggles, the true, real kind of laugh I’m used to. “I know, right? I guess Officer Stick Up His Ass likes control.”

  “Not surprising since he’s sworn to uphold the law and all.”

  “I guess I was kind of blind on that one, huh?”

  “Maybe, since he got your number and still gave you a ticket for the accident.” I quirk an eyebrow and she shrugs, agreeing with me.

  “How are you feeling?” she asks, changing the subject. Man, am I ever glad she never dated seriously in Park City. It’s mentally exhausting. She’s O for two right now.

  “Better.” Truth is, I never felt bad.

  She bites her lip and stares over at me. Her signature tell, letting me know that she wants to ask me something she doesn’t think I’ll agree to.

  “What?”

  “It’s still early and I haven’t showed you any of the clubs in Chicago. What do you say?”

  “I say, I have a broken arm and I’m in my pajamas.” I raise my sling up a bit away from my body.

  She tugs at my arm. “Come on. I’ll protect your arm. I’m all dressed up and I want to make the best of what turned out to be a dud of a night.”

  Standing up now, I realize that her dress is more revealing than when she went out with Tad.

  How can I really say no to her when she’s looking at me like that?

  “Fine, let me get dressed,” I mumble.

  She jumps up and down, clapping her hands. “Thanks. I’ll go call us an Uber and who knows, maybe Chels will want to join us.”

  Gee, wouldn’t that be great. I ask the big man upstairs for a small favor hoping that Chelsea has a date.

  * * *

  Chelsea did not have a date.

  “Awesome.” Chelsea peeks her head out from inside the club over the bouncer who could probably knock me out with one swing. I’m aware at how pussy that sounds, but obviously, in Chicago, they make the guys big. “They’re with me, Adrian.” She pats his arm.

  He smiles down at her. Yeah, he’s being this polite because he wants in her pants. Not that I give a shit as long as I’m not waiting in the line wrapping around the corner.

  “Thanks.” Skylar smiles up at the bouncer.

  “She competed in the Winter Classics.” Chelsea points to Sky and the bouncer smiles down at her again with those lovesick eyes. “And this is her friend Beckett.” The guy gives me the signature guy-to-guy nod.

  We head into the club and its dark with an array of strobe lights flickering down across the bodies on the dance floor. I tightened my sling on the Uber ride, so it was closer to my chest. I’m sure I’ve gone against doctor orders, but if I had to sit in that house one more minute and stare at the Leave It to Beaver childhood home I’d go crazy.

  I love the Walshes, in my eyes, they’re the perfect family. And maybe it’s the fact Skylar is thinking about staying here, or that her womb has some sudden urgency to want to hold a baby and her left ring finger feels too light without a diamond ring. All of that shit is suffocating me. Now that we’re at a club, this is where I can let all that go.

  “Come on.” Chelsea waves us through the wall to wall people. Skylar’s gaze shoots to me over her shoulder. I follow, reluctantly though since I’d much rather have it be just me and Skylar here.

  We stop in front of a table full of chicks. Great.

  “This is my cousin, Skylar and her friend, Beckett.” We stand on the outside of the circular booth, three other girls staring up at us. The blonde in the middle blatantly checks me out.

  Chelsea grabs the waitress, ordering us a round of shots. Skylar’s smile is beaming as bright as the spotlights on the dance floor. The blond is imagining eating me with a fucking spoon. Chelsea’s busy chatting with everyone that walks by and the way the blonde woman is looking at me like she’s imagining eating me up with a spoon is making me uncomfortable.

  “Let’s dance,” I whisper in Skylar’s ear.

  She nods, telling Chelsea that we’ll be back. Chelsea nods, looking past Skylar and giving me that whole ‘I’m watching you signal’ with her fingers pointing to her eyes and then to me.

  What the fuck ever.

  I lead Skylar out to the dance floor, letting the people swallow us up so we’re away from Chelsea’s prying eyes. The base thumping through the speakers has the dance floor practically shaking.

  We’ve danced plenty in clubs. We’re no strangers to each other’s bodies, so when I place my thigh between her legs I don’t expect much to happen. I definitely didn’t expect my dick to go half chub, or have Skylar bridge the distance so we would be chest-to-chest if it weren’t for this damn sling. We usually do our pretend dirty dancing that makes us laugh, rarely taking ourselves seriously on the dance floor. Neither one of us about to win any contests.

  I can’t say if it’s the song, or warm bodies swarmed around us, but this time we’re not laughing. A light sheen of sweat covers our bodies as we grind together. Skylar’s eyes are fixed on mine and I can’t look away. My hand slides up her side, her body molding closer to me.

  She’s warm and soft in my arms, the smell of her perfume intoxicating me. I turn her in my arms so that her back is to my chest and though nothing feels more natural than us on the outside of the friend zone, I know we’re playing with fire. Have we both been fighting this thing growing between us so hard that after only one song, my dick is grinding into her ass?

  Her body tenses, her back stiffening as my lips hover on top of her shoulder. Just one taste my internal demon tells me. See if she’s as sweet as you imagine. He continues to taunt me.

  The last thing I want is her to pull away, so I lay my hand on her flat stomach and she wraps her hand over mine as though she’s saying we’re on the same page.

  Her chest rises and falls and not because o
f the strenuous dance moves we’re doing. It’s happening. The inevitable crossover from friends to lovers and I came unprepared because my body’s humming yes, yes when my mind should be overriding it. Tonight, I don’t want to think about reason or think about the consequences of our actions. I just want one swipe of my tongue along her shoulder. One taste of her lips.

  My mouth is millimeters away from her skin, my fingers brushing the stray hairs away. As if the devil is punishing me for taking too long, someone runs into my back and I lose my footing, unable to hold onto Skylar with only one arm. She falls to the ground, her knee catching the stage from the DJ’s area.

  I look behind me to see if I can catch the fucker who bumped us, but either their long gone or smart enough to act like nothing is amiss. Seconds later, I hold my hand out to her, not missing the sight of blood trickling down her leg.

  “Come on.”

  She takes my hand and I get her back to the booth.

  “What did you do?” Chelsea says, dipping a napkin in a water glass and placing it on her cousin’s leg.

  Skylar tosses back the shot sitting on the table. “I think I’m ready to go home.”

  Chelsea gives me a look like this is my fault.

  “Let’s go. I’ll get a taxi home,” I snip, both annoyed and grateful for the interruption.

  Skylar stands, giving Chelsea a hug goodbye and then I guide her out of the building.

  I can’t help but think that fate is calling the shots now. Sometimes we all need saving from ourselves.

  Chapter Eleven

  Two days later, Skylar and I walk into some deli to meet Chelsea for lunch. She stands when she sees us, frantically raising her hand like we’d miss her in the small downtown lunch spot.

  “Hey.” Skylar frees herself from her jacket and sits down at the table.

  “I didn’t know you were bringing him.” She looks me up and down, unimpressed.

  “Him? Do you have amnesia? You know my name.” I don’t bother taking off my jacket because it’s more trouble than it’s worth and I’m not planning on staying long.

  “We were coming from a doctor’s appointment,” Skylar says, hanging her jacket off the back of the chair.

  “I’ll gladly leave,” I comment, and Chelsea shoots me a look that says yes please.

  She glances over my shoulder for a second and then her narrowed eyes widen, a smile overtaking her entire face. “No, it’s okay. Stay.”

  “Stay?” I ask.

  Skylar’s busy looking around the place and then she suddenly grabs my arm, her fingers digging into my flesh even over my jacket.

  “Whoa, let’s keep this my good arm.” I slide it out from under her.

  She doesn’t glance over at me, instead she slides closer, her voice low. “It’s Layla Andrews,” she whisper shouts.

  The name sounds familiar, but I can’t place it. Please tell me this isn’t another fucking friend that’s going to put her back in her feeling bad about herself depression.

  “Hello, that’s why I summoned you here.” Chelsea glances over, and waves.

  “You know her? Is that the manny guy?” Skylar who obviously hasn’t let her US Weekly subscription wane sounds like she’s about to scream and attack the poor woman with two kids hanging off her.

  “Yes and YES!” Chelsea leans back. “The magazines did not do him justice. Wait until you see his ass.”

  The woman—Layla—waves back and they make their way over.

  “Well, I have nothing better to do all day.” Skylar leans back, her legs kicked out in front of her with her ankles crossed.

  I glance over to get another look at the guy. I don’t know what Sky’s going on about. He looks average to me.

  “Who are they?” I ask, mindlessly picking up the plastic triangle thing in the middle of the table with the specials and an advertisement for Tavern Meats on it.

  “Put the Powder magazine down once in awhile, Beckett. It’s Layla Andrews and her boyfriend.” Chelsea says this like I’m an idiot for not knowing it already.

  “I thought you said he was the manny?”

  “Jeez Beckett, come back down to Earth.”

  I stand, figuring while I’m here I might as well get a sandwich. Just as I move, Skylar grabs my wrist, stopping me.

  “Why are they here?” she whispers.

  Chelsea leans over the table. “My new boss is funding his script and Layla is the star. They have a meeting with her and wanted lunch. She already had something on her calendar for lunch and we’ve yet to hire her an assistant, so guess who she asked?” She’s beaming.

  “Oprah?” I guess.

  Chelsea rolls her eyes.

  “I’m so jelly you have connections like this. Who is this woman you’re working for?”

  “I’m getting a sandwich.” I glance down to my wrist that still has Skylar’s hand around it.

  “Sorry. Yeah, I was stopping you from leaving.”

  “I wish I could, but you’re my driver. Want anything?”

  Skylar looks over her shoulder to the chalkboard behind the case full of artery clogging meats.

  “I’ll be there in a minute.”

  The case is filled with sandwich meats that I’ve never even seen before and from the names of them, I’m assuming they’re Italian. As I wait in the line, I investigate why a place with a Chicago flag painted on one wall and pictures galore is named simply The Sandwich Place.

  The line moves quickly and most of the patrons are dressed in suits or dresses. Women in heels with fashion computer bags hung from their arms with phones pressed to their ears.

  A woman about my age is at the register. A soft smile plays on her lips when I step forward, a pad of paper in her hand. “What can I get you?”

  I check the chalkboard to see what number I want from the thirty different sandwiches they offer. “I’ll have the thirteen.”

  She jots it down. “Chips, drink, cannoli?”

  “Drink, no chips and maybe I’ll be back for cannoli.”

  She places the pad down, ringing me up, her pleasant smile turning coy. “I can’t promise they’ll be any left. They’re our specialty.”

  Normally, I’d lean over the counter, give her some lame line asking if she’s on the menu. She’d giggle, I’d say how I just got back from the Classics and casually throw in how I claimed silver. Hell, I might even exaggerate, okay lie, about my injured arm. But what happened a few nights ago with Skylar is still fresh in my mind. Something has shifted. The fact that I keep my good hand in my pocket when we’re near says how uncomfortable things have become between us. The last two mornings, she’s showered and dressed before coming downstairs.

  When we arrived home from the club that night I grabbed her mom’s first aid kid from the laundry room, bandaged her up, and watched her go to bed. It was all I could do not to follow.

  That’s when that damn light bulb in my head not only lit up, it shined like a fucking spotlight. Our relationship, er, friendship was on the cusp of collapse and I needed to do something to keep that from happening.

  “What did you get?” Skylar peeks her head over my shoulder.

  “The Italian one.” I point up to the board.

  She laughs and pats my stomach from behind. “You do realize that sooner or later you’ll have to watch your diet.”

  “You know I commit to a full year of eating whatever I want.”

  Not really, because I wouldn’t grab any air to do my tricks if I had a gut the size of most middle-aged husbands, but it’s only been a few weeks. Skylar should be living it up, too.

  “Splurge,” I say, and her arm doesn’t leave my stomach.

  The cashier is eyeing the closeness between us.

  “Okay.” Skylar rushes over to stand in front of the cashier before a line forms again.

  I let a relieved breath go now that her hand isn’t on my body any longer.

  A minute later, she’s got her number and is standing next to me again.

  “You’re not going
to ask for an autograph?” I eye the celebrity couple and their kids clearing off their table. The boy’s pretending he’s flying an airplane from his coloring page, weaving up and down the rows of tables.

  The little girl pulls down her mom’s blouse, exposing part of her bra. The man, rushing over, murmurs something to the woman. She laughs and he buttons up her blouse, snatching the baby from her arms. I watch for no reason other than fascination because the guy looks like he’s having the time of his life. She rises up on her toes, placing one hand on his cheek and bringing her lips to his other cheek. He circles his hand around her waist, pulling her as close as he can and the two sneak in an inappropriate kiss, although my stalker self might be the only one who saw it.

  A hand waves in front of my face. “I think maybe you’re the one who wants the autograph.” Skylar giggles and I snap back to attention.

  Two days ago, that scene wouldn’t have warmed my insides. I need to get the hell out of Chicago.

  A cold rush of winter air ignites goose bumps along my neck and Skylar and I both turn our heads, but it’s not the celebrity couple that catches our eye as they leave.

  “Holy...” Skylar’s voice breaks, but her gaze doesn’t shift.

  A man walks in, and yeah, I’ll reluctantly admit that he might be what some girls would call hot. He rounds the case of meat and heads to the back of the shop, the scent of cologne drowning my nostrils in his wake.

  “Obviously knows the owners,” I mumble, sparing a glance at Skylar, who practically has drool running down her chin.

  “Whoa,” she says, looking more star struck than she did a bit ago when she saw the actual fucking movie star and then heads back to the table.

  I chuckle the emptiest laugh I’ve ever had, trying to play it off.

  “Mama!” The man’s voice booms out from the back and through the entire place.

  “Mauro.” A woman’s voice follows, sweet and endearing and rolling the r in his name.

  A twinge of jealousy stabs my insides. It’s funny how you can tell so much by the way someone says a person’s name. There’s no denying she loves her son.