Once Upon a Sure Thing (Heartbreakers #2)(19)

“Ribbons and Positions. Can that be our name?”

I screw up the corner of my lips, thinking. “Positions with Ribbons?”

“Other Uses for Ribbons?” he posits, and I giggle. Because it’s honestly not a bad name.

“That’s a little bit naughty.”

He brings his face closer to mine, like he did when we sang. “You’re a little naughty when you’re Honey.”

Heat unfurls in me, spreading from my chest to my arms. Normal reaction, I remind myself. It doesn’t mean anything at all, so I keep going with it, volleying the flirting ball right back at him. “You’re naughty when I’m Honey.”

He whispers a hoarse, “I know.”

I swallow roughly, and before the moment veers into another kind of thirty-day arrangement that would be far too dangerous for either one of us, I push off, skating again. “C’mon, friend,” I say, emphasizing the role he plays in my life.

We’ve been friends for six years, and it’s hard to imagine anything getting in the way of that, even playing music together.

We met at a retro arcade in Brooklyn one evening. He saw me kicking butt on Donkey Kong and recognized me from my YouTube videos.

During a break in my game, he introduced himself and told me how much he enjoyed the Zimmerman Duo, especially our performance of “Somewhere Over the Rainbow.” Naturally, that delighted me. I’m not spotted often, and I’d liked it coming from someone like him, since I was familiar with his success as a Heartbreaker.

He’d returned to his game of Joust but was failing miserably at it. I’ve always been good at arcade games, so I gave him a few pointers and then showed him what to do to reach the next level.

He followed my tips and was successful.

The funny thing is, I felt a little spark that first night, especially when he thrust his arms up in victory, wrapped me in a hug of thanks, and asked me if I wanted to grab a beer.

I’d been tempted to act on that spark. To slide in next to him on his side of the table. To flirt and then some. But I had a crystal-clear vision of what would happen if I did.

I saw us hooking up, kissing hot and heavy. I saw me inviting him to my place and us spending the night tangled up together.

I’d thought of Lindsay, home with her daughter. I wasn’t worried about an accidental pregnancy, per se. But I was worried about never seeing Miller again, like Lindsay never saw Chloe’s dad again.

Miller and I got along so well I knew right away I wanted him in my life. I didn’t want to risk losing him to the end of a fling. I liked him so much as a person that whatever flicker of attraction I felt, I forced out of my mind, sweeping it away.

“Do you want to be friends?” I’d asked him.

He’d flinched, like he was taken aback, coughing on his beer. But then he’d nodded. “Yeah. Let’s do this again.”

I’ve seen him through girlfriends; he’s seen me through boyfriends. We’ve leaned on each other through heartache and heartbreak, sorrow and joy, side by side.

Miller helped me through my own grief when my sister died, and then he rose to the occasion over the years, helping Chloe whenever he could. All because we made a choice years ago to put friendship first.

Of course, I don’t know if he felt the same spark I did that night at the arcade, so perhaps it was easy as pie for him to keep me in the friend zone.

It’s mostly easy for me to keep him there, except for moments like this. Like now, when my heart races in overdrive, and my hormones remind me they want attention now and then.

But there’s too much on the line to give in. I have bills, and work, and a kid to raise. She’s my focus, and she’s why I wanted to do this in the first place.

We skate and review the plan to write and record, since Jackson will be shooting videos of our sessions for his documentary. All we have to do is not be jerks, we decide.

He holds out his hand and we shake. Happiness spreads through me, and I love how this day has worked out, so I spin around on my skates and issue a challenge. “Catch me if you can.”

I take off around the ice, but soon enough, he picks up speed and flies past me. His arm darts out as if he’s going to grab my waist, but I don’t fall.

He does.

Flat on his ass, the side of his head whacking the ice.

My heart hammers as I jam the blade of my skate into the ice, stopping in a spray. Quickly, I bend down next to him. He’s flat as a board, head against the ice, blades up.

“Are you okay?” I ask, visions of concussions and bruises haunting me.

“I’m wounded,” he mutters.

“What’s wounded?” I ask as I look him over from head to toe. He’s wearing jeans and a sweater and—wait.

His belly is moving up and down.

He’s laughing. The fucker is laughing.

He clutches his chest, moaning. “It’s my pride though. It’s never going to be the same.”

I straighten, shaking my head in amusement. “Male pride is so fragile.”

“You’re telling me. Can you see if I can get a new shipment of it?”

I tap my mitten against my lips. “I’m pretty sure all the stores are closed, and Amazon doesn’t offer Prime shipping for that product.”

His lips curve up into a grin, and that’s when I spot a slight bruise on his cheek. Instinctively, I reach out, yanking off my mittens and brushing my thumb across the wound.