Iced Out (Leighton U #1)(51)

I know it won’t. That’s half the problem, though. Because Quinton has this air about him, making it almost impossible to not smile or laugh in his presence. He’s like…fucking sunshine sometimes. Or whatever other bullshit people wax poetic about. Which is hilarious considering he looks like every father’s worst nightmare with the ink and the leather and the I don’t give a fuck attitude he usually has plastered around him like a shield.

But he’s shown me another piece of himself I doubt many others have seen. The part that, despite his persona, does give a fuck. About a lot of things. About people.

Maybe even about me.

And maybe that’s why I agree to yet another one of his cockamamie ideas.

Letting out a long sigh, I mutter, “And what does the winner get from this little display of masculinity?”

Dimples pop some more. “Winner can decide.”

“Those are some high stakes.”

He licks his lips. “Then don’t lose.”

Too bad for Quinton, losing isn’t in my nature. A fact I prove when I win our little race by a landslide, skating past our makeshift finish line a good two seconds before him. He’s caught up by a group of little kids who serve as the perfect roadblock, but still, victory is victory. And when I get one over Quinton, it always tastes that much sweeter.

“Damn kids,” he mutters as we skate off toward the side, getting out of the way for everyone else passing by. “I would’ve won if it weren’t for them getting in the way.”

“Whatever helps you sleep tonight knowing I’m better than you, both on the ice and between the sheets.”

He leans back against the railing in front of me, a sly little smirk sits on his lips. “I’m still winning the day, though. You know that, right?”

“Care to elaborate?”

“You’re having fun.”

I don’t even bother trying to lie, instead shrugging in confirmation. “I’m having fun.”

His smile is instant. “Why does it feel like you’re surprised? I’m pretty much the master at having fun.”

It takes everything I have to not roll my eyes. “It’s more like I was expecting you to annoy me eighty percent of the day and end up wishing I never asked you to meet up.”

There’s a slight nod before he raises his brow. “But…”

“Like I said,” I mutter. “I’m having fun. So, I guess…thanks for agreeing to hang out.”

He grins more. “Eh, you’re not so bad. Most of the time, at least.”

God, those fucking dimples. They do something stupid to my brain. Short circuit it or something. Plus, his smile and laugh, a killer combination not many people could withstand.

Or maybe it’s just…him.

Everything about him.

To the point where the urge to kiss him is overwhelming. Stupidly so. And even though I know there’s no reason to act on the urge other than pure desire, I still want to.

I ache to.

And that’s all it takes.

“Fuck it,” I mutter.

My hand slides around the back of his neck, and I haul his mouth to mine in a scorching kiss. One that…fuck, it makes me want him all the more. And in all the ways I know I shouldn’t.

His tongue slides past my lips, warring with mine in a way that makes my toes curl inside my skates. My body crowds against his, crushing him to the wall of the rink so our bodies align. Even through our jackets and clothes, I feel the strong, powerful lines of his muscles pressed against mine.

His arms weave their way up, wrapping around my neck, my hands moving to cup his face, tilting his chin for better access. Deeper, because nothing seems like enough.

I’m drowning in him. So much so, I don’t care if it might go against the rules we’ve set out. Nor do I give a flying fuck about kissing him in public, where anyone can watch or judge or feel forced to shield their children’s eyes.

It’s not like we’re fucking it out right here on the rink. It’s a kiss.

One I couldn’t not steal while the opportunity presented itself.

And if any of them knew Quinton de Haas the way I’m starting to, they’d understand exactly why.

I pull back before too long, not wanting things to get so heated we can’t skate out of here without putting on a show for everyone more than we already have. His forehead presses against mine, the puffs of air leaving our lips intertwining in a single cloud.

“What was that for?” he asks, slightly breathless. When he pulls back, his blue eyes shimmer with a mixture of amusement and desire. “And how the hell do I get more of it?”

“It was…a thank you,” I whisper, deciding that would be the best way to label it.

“For letting you win?”

A soft laugh escapes from me, because I won fair and square. “For making me live a little. Let loose. All the crap you seem to think is so important.”

A small smile tilts the corners of his lips. “Well, I’m just glad we discovered you know how to.”

Boy have we ever discovered. I don’t think I’ve smiled or laughed as much as I have today, and it’s only just begun. It’s almost as if spending time with him outside the arena has lightened my soul somehow, allowing me to step back and breathe. Enjoy myself, if only for a moment, instead of being weighed down by the pressures I’ve put myself under.