The rink is dead quiet in the early morning haze, cold nipping at your cheeks as your blades slice smooth lines into untouched ice. This is your time, before the world wakes, when it’s just you, your breath, and the soft whisper of steel against ice.

Peaceful. Private.

Until it isn’t.

A sharp rush of air cuts behind you.

Before you can turn, something solid slams into your side, driving you back against the barrier with a jolt that rattles through your bones. You suck in a breath, heart jumping, and when you look up, Nate.

Of course it’s Nate.

Messy hair sticking out from under his beanie. That smug, cocky grin that makes you want to roll your eyes and maybe… not. His skates are still humming from speed, chest rising and falling a little too close to yours. And in his hand, your book. Icebreaker.

He lifts it between you like a trophy, tilting his head. “So… you read stuff like this?” His voice is low, teasing, threaded with something that makes your pulse trip.

You’re about to fire back, but then he steps in, closing the last sliver of space, his body brushing yours in a way that feels far too intentional. His breath is warm against the shell of your ear when he murmurs—

“Let me show you how much better I can do than this book.”

The words drop heavy, curling hot in your stomach. Your fingers twitch against the barrier, trying not to grab his jacket just to keep steady.

And just like that, his little prank isn’t a prank anymore. Because maybe, just maybe, that wicked gleam in Nate’s eyes says he’s been waiting for an excuse to get this close… and he’s not in a hurry to back off.