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Famous Last Words: Chapter 33


I stare at the ice, willing my foot to step forward. It really wants to stay on solid ground.

“Hayes, I can’t teach you to skate on ice while you’re standing on the mats.”

I place one blade on the ice, sliding it forward a tentative inch. It glides about a foot, leaving me half on the ice and half off it as I quickly grab the door to stay upright.

Conor sighs, then skates closer.

“Don’t you trust me?”

He’s using his soft, cajoling voice, the one I’m a complete sucker for.

“I trust you. Not my own feet.”

“The faster you move, the easier it is to stay upright.”

“Yeah, that logic just does not track. I’d rather just stand—shit!”

Conor ran out of patience, I guess. He grabs my hand and pulls me into his body, away from the safety of the bench. And then we’re moving, flying across the ice at a much faster pace than I anticipated working up to.

“Keep the blades straight,” he tells me.

He’s doing all the work, pulling me along and keeping me upright. I’m clinging to him like a barnacle, glad the rink is empty and no one is around to witness this.

“Bye, Coach Conor!”

“Bye!” Conor calls back.

Never mind. People are witnessing this.

I forgot about the kids in the locker room. The PeeWee practice Conor helps coach only ended a little while ago, so I’m surprised they’re already changed. Or maybe that means Conor wasn’t that impatient and it took me longer to get one skate on the ice than I realized.

“Okay, now you try.”

Conor spins so he’s skating backward, still holding both of my hands with his.

“Show-off,” I grumble. I knew his skating was impressive, but I’ve gained a new appreciation for it since being out here myself. He makes it look easier than walking, while I would argue it’s like walking blindfolded while juggling.

“Don’t look down. Lean forward. Separate your skates. Little to the left, little to the right. Get a rhythm going.”

“I’d like to stay upright, actually, not do a split. Just keep pulling me.”

“C’mon, Hayes. Do a little of the work instead of relying on me.” He smirks. “Feel like I’ve said that to you before…”

“That must have been your other girlfriend giving you a blowjob this morning, then.”

Conor’s grin widens. “Is that the incentive you need? The locker room will be empty pretty soon. We’ll go in there, and I’ll pull these”—he pinches at the black leggings I’m wearing—“down. And then I’ll yank off whatever little thong you have on and have you sit on the bench in front of my locker and spread your legs to show me how wet you are. And then—”


I blink at Conor, dazed. He’s smirking as he looks to the left. I follow his attention to where Hunter and Aidan are standing by the home team’s bench, right next to the open door where I stepped onto the ice.

Hunter is attempting to hide his amusement about how Conor is pulling me around like I’m a small child.

Aidan’s grin is huge.

And I really wish Conor had finished what he was saying. Wish we could skip past the rest of my skating lesson and straight to that.

“Wonderful.” I sigh. “More witnesses to my humiliation.”

Conor chuckles, carefully turning us so we’re headed toward the bench instead.

“Hey, Harlow.”

Hunter greets me first. I feel like he’s warmed significantly toward me since Conor and I officially started dating. Maybe I just didn’t spend enough time around him before. Or maybe he—along with every other guy on the hockey team—is glad Conor has been in a great mood lately.

I’m not projecting that. Robby Sampson flat-out thanked me for “fixing Hart.” I guess Conor wasn’t exaggerating when he called himself a moody asshole.

“Hey, guys,” I greet.

“What are you guys doing here?” Conor asks.

“I’m meeting with Coach. I mentioned it earlier, remember?” Aidan rolls his eyes when Conor shakes his head no. “I asked you for a ride. You were ‘busy’ later.”

“I am busy.”

“Yeah, yeah, looks like you’ve got Boyfriend of the Year in the bag. But Hunter’s my new favorite best friend, because he actually drove me here.”

“I left my favorite sweatshirt in my locker, actually,” Hunter says.

“Eyesore broke down?” Conor asks.

Aidan sighs. “Yeah. I don’t know what’s wrong with it. I need to call a garage and get them to take a look at it.”

“I’ll text you the name of the place I used,” Conor says. “They did a good job.”

“Great, thanks. See you guys later.”

Hunter and Aidan continue walking toward the locker room.

“If I’d taken you up on your incentive, Aidan and Hunter would have walked in on us.”

Conor scoffs. “I would have locked the door, Harlow. No one gets to see you like that except me.”

I experience an erotic thrill at the possessiveness in his voice. Turn into him, pressing my lips against the hollow of his throat and then slowly working my way higher.

“This isn’t going to work, Hayes. I’m not—” My mouth moves to his jaw. He hasn’t shaved for a couple of days, so there’s a light layer of stubble rubbing roughly against my lips. I imagine that rasp elsewhere and have to clench my thighs together.

“Not what?” I whisper, then kiss his mouth.

“Damnit, Hayes.” But he doesn’t sound mad. Not really.

His hands move to my hips, and he lifts me like I weigh nothing, setting me on the wall that separates the bench from the ice.

“Not getting distracted?” I tease.

He kisses me, greedy and hot and possessive. I twine my fingers into his hair, tugging at the short strands. I can’t wrap my legs around his waist with the clunky skates on, so I settle for squeezing my thighs.

We’re acting like this is the first and last time we’ll ever get to touch each other.

I keep waiting for the draw toward Conor to fade. It always has, with every other guy I’ve been attracted to. There’s an initial spark of interest, some intrigue, and then the novelty disappears.

That hasn’t happened. I don’t think it will happen.

He’s like the ocean for me. No matter how many times I see it—it’s never enough. I never want to look away. I never think Okay, I’ve seen it.

I never want to stop kissing him, even if his stubble is scratching my chin.

We’re both breathing heavily when we separate. Conor’s fingers brush along my lower lip. I’m not expecting the regret that flares in his eyes. “I’ll shave tonight,” he tells me.

“I liked it.”

He shakes his head, then presses one final, soft kiss to my lips, careful not to brush the irritated skin. “Make it a lap around the rink, and then we can spend the rest of the night however you want.”

Clearly, Conor figured out the incentive he mentioned earlier was responsible for this moment.

“You promise?”

“Have I ever not followed through on fucking you, Hayes?”

Giggling, I shake my head. He’s as insatiable as I am.

Conor helps me down from the wall, then moves out of my reach. I pull in a deep breath, staring at the scuffed surface in front of me. Holt’s team practiced before the PeeWee practice, so there’s barely an inch of ice not marred with a scrape from a skate.

I force myself to focus, because I know sharing this means something to Conor, just like it meant something to me when I took him out on Sam’s boat. And as much as I love touching him, it would be nice to be able to get around the rink on my own.

“Hey, Conor?”

“Yeah?” His tone is resigned, like he’s waiting for me to step off the ice or ask him to pull me around again.

“I love you, Hart.”

His expression softens, the same way it’s done every one of the fifteen times I’ve told him. Then he tells me “I love you, Hayes,” and I’m sure I’m looking at him the exact same way.

I take another deep breath, then push away from the boards and start skating as fast as I can.

It feels like I’m flying.

In more ways than one.


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