PLAYBOY PRINCESS (gxg) ✓

14. Rory Preston

           "You were what?" 

           Rory pretended not to hear that. "We found the bubble-wrap down here and while we were looking, I . . . well, I found these." 

           From the pile of dusted clothing and old shoe laces, Rory produced two pairs of ice skates.

           "You found shoes," said Paris, unimpressed.

           "No, no," Rory said, grinning. "Skates."

           "Skates," Paris repeated.

           "Skates—and do you know what that means?"

           "It'd be nice if you could tell me."

            Rory wheeled her chair back towards Paris, dangling the skates by their greyed laces. "It means we can go skating."

            Paris took a step back.

            "You know I can't skate," she said.

            "And didn't I say I would teach you?"

            "Oh, why didn't I think of that? Maybe it was the broken leg."

            Rory felt it, then—both of her dimples piercing her cheeks. Paris was right. Her smile was real only where there were two dimples.

             Damn it.

             In the dim basement shadow, with cold light cutting against the room, the particles of dust glowed like silver flecks of the moon. As though someone had taken it upon themselves to unwind the stars and spin them into silver thread.

             With soft, liquid light, Paris seemed almost ethereal.

             She was too beautiful to be real.

             "Trust me," Rory said, looking away. "Tonight, you'll be a pro."

             "Tonight? We can't—"

             "You're going to meet me outside at midnight," Rory said. "And we're going to go skating on the lake right outside."

             "That's—"

             "Insane? Crazy?" challenged Rory. "I know. You don't have to come. Maybe you won't. But I'll be waiting for you at midnight."

             "And what about your leg? You can't even walk, let alone skate."

             Rory flashed her a charming grin. "Leave that to me."

             "And . . . what is this? A date?"

             "If you want it to be," Rory said easily. "But think of it as a lesson. I'm going to be your teacher, and by the end of the night, I promise you'll know how to skate."

✫✫✫

              IT WAS DANGEROUS, AND PROBABLY INCREDIBLY STUPID.

              But Rory had once went cliff diving at La Quebrada. She had tried cage-diving in Shark Alley. And she had even once went sandboarding down an active volcano.

              The thrill of danger sang in her bones.

              That wild, desperate need to feel alive called to her blood.

              And her heart? It never stopped aching for a constant rush, for the ever-present numbing of adrenaline . . . or liquor.

              No partying or drinking, Simon had said.