Icebound (Boundless Players)

Yes, Rhode, don’t stop. Please don’t ever stop.

My eyes fly open, but instead of seeing Rhode’s head buried between my thighs, the only thing greeting me is the morning sunlight slanting across the hardwood floor.

Panting, I jolt up from bed, right on the brink of orgasm, only to realize I’m completely alone in my bedroom.

“Dammit,” I growl into my pillow.

This has been happening all too frequently over the past two weeks. The man’s edging me in my dreams. I can still feel the ghost of his fingers as I twist in bed each night.

When I slip my hands beneath the sheets to ease the ache between my legs, it’s always Rhode’s handsome face that pops into my mind—uninvited. I know he’s too old for me, but ever since the kitchen, he’s all I can think about.

With a huff, I throw off the covers and get ready for class. It’s infuriating because I don’t have the mental capacity to pine after a thirty-three-year-old man who’s probably forgotten my last name. I have classes, a speech to write, and I still haven’t booked my flight to Argentina.

I don’t even make the footnotes of Rhode’s love life, but nothing helps erase the visual of his body moving against mine. Not even my art history class—which I typically find fascinating—can delete the memory.

“Can anyone discuss how the Inca and Columbian civilizations’ artistic expressions differ in countries like Brazil, Argentina, and Peru?”

Professor Bennett scans the crowded lecture hall. Papers rustle. Everyone in class shifts, looking around the room. “Anyone at all? We went over this last week. How about…” He scans his computer screen, and my heart rate kicks up. “Rowyn?”

I slump in relief.

Someone in the back row clears her throat. I let my gaze drift, and it lands on a striking girl—her long, raven-black hair contrasts vividly with piercing blue eyes. “Um, no. Sorry, but I don’t think that’s something I can discuss.”

I chuckle along with a few other people. Professor Bennett peers down the bridge of his nose. “We went over this in class last week, Rowyn.”

She twirls her ponytail. “Yes, but unfortunately, I wasn’t here because my older brother had a game I had to be at, and he’s been in a bad mood for over a week now. Not to mention he was hungry, which makes him really grumpy, so it was this whole thing, and then our dad—”

“Okay,” our professor interjects, holding up a hand, which is good because Rowyn seems like she could talk to a goldfish. “Can anyone else in class provide an answer?”

My heart’s been pounding relentlessly because someone took my regular aisle seat by the exit sign, my preferred spot in case I need to run out, but I still raise my hand. “The Incas excelled in geometric architecture, which is evident in places like Machu Picchu while Colombian cultures are more known for pottery.”

Professor Bennett nods. “Excellent. Well done…?”

“Nina,” I finish.

Rowyn meets my stare and mouths, Thank you. I smile back at her. Something about the gesture gives me déjà vu, but I shift my focus back to my notes.

The rest of the class blurs in a haze. When our professor finishes the lecture, I grab my backpack and bolt outside into the frosty February air as students flurry around like snowflakes.

I saunter down the brick steps but almost slip on an icy spot when I see Gwen huddled on a bench with her nose stuck between the pages of The Philosophical Ethics of Money.

Their sex noises reverberate in my head like an annoying gong, and I can’t help but flinch. Now, every time I see her, all I can hear are those ridiculous sounds. I thought I’d be crying tears of sadness, but all I feel is secondhand embarrassment when I look at her.

I glance over my shoulder. Maybe I can make a run for it before she sees me.

“Nina! Wait!”

There goes that plan.

She parts the sea of students like a runway model in her chic cream petticoat that matches the snow. She looks gorgeous, and only Gwen could manage to keep it stain-free all day. The arctic wind prickles my cheeks, so I tug Rhode’s extraordinarily soft beanie over my hair.

I scan her coat. “What are you wearing? You look like a snowball.”

She smooths her hands over her cream coat. “It’s cashmere.”

“Hm. Why are you here? I need to go to my next class.”

“I wanted to stop by because I haven’t seen you since—”

“Since I heard you having terribly lackluster sex in the kitchen two weeks ago?”

A blush stains her cheeks as she scans the icicles on the benches. “Can we talk, Nina? Please? I swear, I really thought you were gone when that happened.”

“I don’t care.” I hitch my backpack over my shoulder. “Let’s just agree to never speak about that again. I have to go.”

“Where are you going? I’ll drive you if you need a ride,” she offers.

“Thanks, but I’d rather watch a slow-motion video of grass growing than sit in a car with you.”

I start to spin around, but she shoves a brown paper bag in my face. “Wait, please? I overheard you saying you had to pick up your prescriptions, so I figured I’d do it for you. I know you have class on Thursdays, so here.”

I exhale a deep breath, feeling weightless for a second. The looming thought of running out of my medication always adds to my stress, even if I don’t take them every day. Gwen knows this because she knows me, but sometimes, I wish she would stop doing nice things, so I could hate her in peace.

“You didn’t have to do that.” I reluctantly snatch the bag from her grasp. “But thanks, that was nice.”

Awkward silence grows between us.

“So, how’re things with Rhode?” she blurts.

I wave a hand, keeping it vague. I’m never talking to my sister about my love life again. “We’re kind of fighting right now, but he’s completely obsessed with me, so we’ll be fine.”

She doesn’t need to know the sexy-as-sin hockey player is currently treating me like radioactive waste. Gwen extends her arm like she’s going to touch my shoulder.

I cringe back. “Stop. What’re you doing?”

“I was going to hug you.” She lets her hand fall.

I nearly gag. “No. We don’t hug. Ever.”

Her smile wilts. “Fine. Do you want to talk about it? I know I said he was too old for you, but I still want you to be happy. What happened?”

There’s no way I’m telling her the truth, so I make a sarcastic comment instead. “I said his dick was only nine inches instead of ten. He didn’t like that.”

She snorts, then slaps a hand to her lips like she’s embarrassed by the noise. “A ten inch dick? That sounds painful.”

“No. It’s amazing,” I drawl. “He actually hits my G-spot, unlike other romantic partners.”

She rolls her eyes but smiles. “Really? Because I’m convinced the G-spot doesn’t actually exist. There’s no scientific evidence.”

Gasping, I grab her shoulder on instinct. “Did I tell you about the time I slept with this guy, don’t worry, a rebound, and he said it was all about the curve of the finger. He fingered me for like an hour, an hour, Gwen, and then I got in my own head about it because I felt like it was taking too long, but he kept saying I had to push through to have some earth-shattering orgasm, which I never did. I just felt like I had to pee.”

“Holy shit. That’s happened to me too.”

We blink, then burst into a fit of giggles. Our laughter echoes in the courtyard until we notice every eye on us. The weight of those stares drags me back down to the moment, reminding me that I’m laughing with my sister.

That’s forbidden.

I clamp my lips together. “We’re not supposed to be laughing.”

“Why? Because you hate me?” She arches a microbladed brow. We both share the brow-arch gene, and I started doing it to match Gwen until it became a habit, and now I can’t stop.

“Exactly.”

“Hate me all you want. I’ll still love you.” A soft smile spreads across her lips. “And don’t think I didn’t notice that you called me Gwen and not Gwendolyn.”

I stare at my nails. “Did I? You must’ve heard wrong.”

“I heard what I heard.”

I want to ask why, if she loves me so much, she slept with Isaac, but maybe love has nothing to do with her choice. Maybe it was all based on lust. After all, they’re completely separate emotions.

Only the luckiest of people find both in one person. Isaac had neither. Rhode is all lust. In the corners of my heart, I know Isaac and I were never built to last.

He loves sushi. I can’t stand raw fish.

He coasts in the slow lane. I’m an aggressive driver.

Isaac’s always ten minutes late, and I’m always ten minutes early.

Love is built with little moments, and we didn’t have enough of those, so our relationship crumbled. I’ve seen the way Isaac kisses Gwen like a reflex, but he always kissed me like an afterthought—if he ever kissed me at all.

“Do you want to talk more over drinks, maybe?” Gwen asks. “There’s this new rooftop bar that opened on Eighth that has a whole mocktail menu. Rhode’s playing a game tonight. Maybe we can watch?”

The thought of watching Rhode brings up all kinds of images I need to push away, so I want to tell her no, but I stare at her genuine grin, trying to remember the last time she smiled at me like that.

I can’t.

“Okay, fine. Let’s go.”

I loop my arm through hers and start telling her about my day. We leisurely amble to the bar, and despite the frigid air, neither one of us picks up the pace.