HEART BREAK ON SILENT ICE

Chapter 3: Dangerous Lessons

LEAH

Three outfits sprawled on my bed, and they all sucked. The blue sweater's got that weird piling thing that makes it look annoying, the green one makes me look like I'm trying too hard, and the white one screams "My daddy's a minister!

God, what does someone even wear to tutor the hottest guy on campus? Especially when you've got boobs that won't behave and hips that definitely weren't made for skinny jeans.

Dad yells something about dinner from downstairs. If he knew I was freaking out over clothes to meet Maxon, he'd probably start quoting Corinthians at me. He mustn't even know I’m meeting a boy at his house.

Well, screw it! Green sweater it is, with good jeans, and a prayer that Maxon Shivanski doesn't look at me too closely to notice how it accented my boobs.

"Going to study group, Dad,"

I called, grabbing my keys. It's half-true though. Tutoring is kinda like a study group, right? Just... one-on-one. With Maxon Shivanski. At his house. Alone.

Dad lowered his Bible, giving me that look over his reading glasses. "Study group on a Friday night?"

"Big test coming up on Monday." I avoided his eyes to avoid spilling the truth.

"Remember what we talked about, Leah Marie." His voice suddenly took on the pastor-tone. Boys in college only want one thing. Graduate first, then think about dating."

I mumbled something that sounded like agreement and bolted before he asked more questions.

*****

The Shivanski estate made other estates around them look like public housing. Stone lions guarded a driveway longer than my moral compass.

Fountains spewed water in patterns that probably spelled "wealth" from above. My rusty Honda cowered between the Bentleys and BMWs cars like it was having an existential crisis.

My knuckles went white on the doorbell. Brain screaming: Abort mission! Abort! But my finger pressed anyway because apparently my survival instinct took the night off.

The door swung open before the chimes finished their fancy-ass melody. Some woman with a spine straight enough to use as a ruler appeared. Her black outfit looks expensive though dressed as a maid. Her eyes scanned me before murmuring.

"Miss Patterson?”.

“Yes.”

“Mr. Shivanski is expecting you."

She led me through rooms that belonged to museums, not homes. Crystal chandeliers that could kill a family if they fell. Paintings where the frames alone could fund my education. My boots left little betrayal marks on the marble floors that had probably never seen anything less than Italian leather.

Funny how six years ago, Dad would've been right at home here, sipping scotch with Richard Shivanski, laughing about golf scores or whatever. Before he found God and decided the Shivanskis and Williams represented "worldly temptation."

Before he started calling our old family friends "morally bankrupt." Now he'd rather die than set foot in this house, even though Mom still secretly meets Mrs. Shivanski for coffee sometimes, claiming she’s going to the store to keep Dad from freaking out.

Every step screamed: You don't belong here anymore, church girl. Run home to your hymns and your Target clearance rack.

"This way, Miss Patterson." The woman in black pushed open massive wooden doors. "Mr. Shivanski is waiting for you in the library."

Before I could thank her, she vanished—literally disappeared like some butler-ninja, leaving me stranded in the doorway.

And there he was.

Maxon Shivanski, sprawled in a leather chair, hair still damp from what must've been a recent shower. The Henley he wore clung to his chest in ways that made my mouth go dry. He glanced up from his phone, one corner of his mouth lifting when he saw me.

"Patterson." He finally looked up, one corner of his mouth lifting. "Long time."

My throat went dry. How was I supposed to form words when he looked like... that?

"Hi," I managed. Brilliant conversation starter, Leah. Really earning that scholarship.

"You can set your stuff anywhere." He gestured vaguely at a table covered in books that probably weren't for show.

"Though I should probably tell you something before we start."

I froze, half-bent over my backpack. "What?"

"I don't actually need tutoring." He shoved his phone in his pocket and leaned forward. "I have a solid B+ in Literature."

My brain short-circuited. "Then why am I here?"

"Raya has this idea that I need academic help." He rolled his eyes. "I just didn't correct her."

"So I came all the way here for nothing?" My voice came out sharper than intended.

"Not, nothing." His eyes met mine, and something shifted in the air between us. "It's been what….close to seven years since we actually talked? Before your dad decided my family was the devil's playground?"

The memory really stung. Dad burned bridges after his conversion. Mom sneaks Christmas cards to Mrs. Shivanski and me watching Maxon from across cafeterias and classrooms instead of swimming in his pool every summer.

"Six years," I corrected, because apparently that mattered. And he didn't say devil's playground. Just... morally compromised."

Maxon laughed, and muttered, "How've you been, Leah? Really been? Still singing in church?"

He remembered I sang. Why did that make my stupid heart flutter?

"Yeah," I said, sinking into a chair across from him. Still singing. Still disappointing my father by being interested in things like literature instead of seminary."

"And still hanging out with Raya, despite your dad's objections." I looked away. "Some habits are hard to break."

"Yeah." His voice dropped lower. "I know exactly what you mean."

When I looked up, his eyes hadn't left my face. Quickly catching myself, I stood up and glanced around the library."God, this place hasn't changed. Still has that weird portrait of your grandpa giving everyone the evil eye."

Maxon laughed, dropping beside me on the couch instead of across the table. "Remember when we hid from your dad here during that Christmas party? You were what—twelve?"

"Eleven. You showed me your dad's first edition Hemingway and I thought it was the most boring thing ever."

"Yet you still pretended to be impressed." His knee bumped mine. Not accidentally.

"I was being nice!"

"You were a terrible liar." His smile faded. "Then your dad found religion, and suddenly we were the enemy."

I picked at a loose thread on my jeans. "Yeah. My mom still sneaks calls with your mom though."

"I know." He shifted closer. "You were the only one who never treated me like I was just money with a hockey stick attached."

My eyes flicked up, looking at his eyes, which turned out to be a mistake. They were so blue up close.

"I missed you, Leah," he said quietly. "After everything fell apart."

His fingers brushed mine on the couch. Deliberately "Maxon…." I started, but words failed as his hand covered mine.

His hand covered mine. Not just touched—claimed.

"Raya's not what you think," he said, his voice dropping low.

My reply died as his thumb traced circles on my wrist. Small, hypnotic movements.

"This is stupid," I whispered, but didn't move away.

"Probably." His eyes dropped to my mouth.

One second we were talking, the next his lips pressed against mine. Warm. Soft. Then not soft at all.

I kissed back like I was starving. His hands tangled in my hair, mine clutched his shirt. Ten years of wondering answered in seconds.

He tasted like mint and expensive coffee. Smelled like soap and something darker. When his tongue met mine, I made a sound I didn't recognize.

"Wanted this," he muttered against my neck. "So f*****g long."

My body arched into his without permission. Brain screaming warnings my skin refused to hear.

His hands slid under my sweater, rough palms against soft skin. My brain screamed warnings my body ignored completely.

"This okay?" he asked, fingers tracing the edge of my bra.

I nodded, beyond words. Beyond thought. My sweater vanished. His shirt followed. The first press of skin against skin pulled this sound from me I didn't know I could make.

His mouth moved lower, across my collarbone, down to where my breasts strained against black lace. When he looked up at me, asking permission with his eyes, I almost died.

I nodded again. His hands made quick work of the clasp.

"Jesus, Leah," he breathed, like I was something beautiful. Something worth seeing.

Then his mouth was on me and the world narrowed to just a sensation. His tongue, his teeth, his hands everywhere at once.

My hips moved without permission, seeking friction against his thigh. The pressure was delicious torture.

His fingers found the button of my jeans….And my brain seemed to start functioning again.

Raya.

Oh God, Raya.

I froze, horror washing over me in an icy wave.

"I can't," I gasped, pushing away. "She's my friend." We shouldn't."

I yanked my sweater on the wrong side, not caring I ran. Just f*****g ran.

My boots skidded on marble as I took a wrong turn, and ended up in some wing I'd never seen. s**t s**t s**t. What did I just do?

A door opened ahead. Voices. I barreled around the corner and nearly crashed into two people.

"Sorry!" I gasped, barely looking up.

But I caught flashes. Paricia Williams, Raya’s mom with smeared lipstick, hair wild and Maxon’s dad fumbling with his belt, shirt half-untucked.

They looked as startled as I felt. I pushed past them, muttering something that might've been "excuse me" just as fresh air hit my face as I burst outside.

That was when I remembered my bra…oh God, my bra was still in there. On his library floor. Who on earth forgets her bra after a hot tutoring session…guess it's only someone as crazy as me.

A car peeled away from the side entrance, tires spitting gravel and at a dangerous speed. Who the hell was that?

My hands shook so badly I dropped my keys twice before managing to unlock my crappy Honda. Already feeling guilty about how I was ever going to look Raya in the face again.