Chapter 2

The neon lights of the retro rink buzzed with a low, electric hum, a sound that seemed to vibrate in my teeth. It was late evening now, the rush of the after-school crowd and the early dinner families having thinned out to a more intimate, sticky-fingered smattering of couples and groups. The disco ball, that giant, fractured sun suspended from the high ceiling, caught the scattered beams of pink and teal light, sending them spinning across the polished wood floor like shards of glittering ice. I stood near the edge of the rink, my legs aching in a delicious, heavy way from hours of gliding and pivoting in those clunky quad skates. He was watching me. I could feel it, a tangible heat radiating from his presence even though he was several feet away, leaning against a pillar adorned with vintage posters of arcade classics. He hadn’t said a word for the last twenty minutes, just held my hand, guided me through the chaotic dance of skating, and watched with a gaze so intense it felt like a physical touch. Now, he was just looking. His dark eyes traced the line of my throat, the curve of my hip where