Play With Me ✔️|| 2 || Off the Ice Series

08 | Arden

The dream feels too real.

The night is warm, the kind that lingers on your skin like an embrace. The glow of the city lights stretches across the terrace, the hum of the party distant now, muffled by the night. And then there's Jason, standing close, too close, his dark suit catching the faint shimmer of the stars.

He watches me like I'm the only thing here, his gaze steady and unrelenting. "You're hiding," he says, his voice low and warm, threading through the quiet.

"I'm not hiding," I whisper, though it feels like a lie even to me.

His lips curve into that maddeningly familiar smirk, and he steps closer. Close enough that I can feel the faint heat radiating off him, the clean, sharp scent of him pulling me in. "You're hiding from me."

I should argue, maybe even laugh it off, but I don't. I can't. Because it's true.

Jason doesn't give me the chance to decide what to do next. His hand brushes mine, barely a touch, but it's enough to make my breath hitch.

"Dance with me," he murmurs.

I shake my head instinctively, but he doesn't pull back. "Come on," he coaxes, his voice softer now. "Just one dance."

I should say no. I know I should. But my hand moves to his before I can stop it, and the way his fingers close around mine is steady, sure. He pulls me into him, his other hand settling at my waist, and suddenly the world tilts.

The music drifts through the open doors, a slow, sensual melody that matches the rhythm of my heartbeat. His touch is firm but unhurried, guiding me into a gentle sway.

"You're tense," he says, his voice teasing but soft.

"I'm fine," I mumble, though my body betrays me, stiff and unwilling to let go.

Jason's thumb moves in a slow, deliberate circle against my waist, and the warmth of it spreads through me like a slow burn. "Relax," he whispers, his breath brushing against my temple.

I try. I try not to notice the way his hand feels against my back, the way his chest rises and falls with every breath. But it's impossible.

When I finally dare to look up, his eyes are on me, dark and unwavering. The smirk is gone now, replaced by something quieter, something I don't know how to name.

"Arden," he says, my name low and rough on his lips.

I can't speak. My chest tightens, and the only thing I can focus on is the way he's looking at me. Like I'm something precious.

He leans in, slow and hesitant, giving me time to pull away. But I don't. His forehead brushes mine, and my breath catches.

I should pull away. I should be more concerned with being caught out here with him at my brother's wedding. I should pull away.

"Tell me to stop," he murmurs, his voice barely audible over the thrum of my heart.

I can't. I won't.

When his lips meet mine, it's soft at first, tentative, like he's afraid I'll disappear. But I don't pull away. Instead, I melt into him, my fingers clutching the fabric of his suit, grounding myself in him.

The kiss deepens, slow and unhurried, his hand sliding up my back, holding me to him like I might slip away. The rest of the world fades—the terrace, the party, everything but him.

And just as I start to lose myself completely, the dream shifts, dissolving into a haze of light and sound.

I wake with a start, my heart pounding, the ghost of his touch still lingering on my skin.