“Take off your coat,” I say, pulling down his hood so his blond hair is in view. Light filters in from the glass doors near us. Through them, I can see various world flags circling around The Rink. No sight of any fans from that direction, either.

Emmitt blinks at me but immediately starts unbuttoning his coat. As he does that, I pull my sweater out of my bag, quickly slipping it over my head. Hopefully that will throw off anyone pursuing us.

“Here,” Emmitt says, reaching for my pigtails and tugging free the hair ties. I nod, running my fingers through my dark waves and airing them out.

Then I reach forward, unhooking his earrings quickly. He startles at the touch but bends so I have easier access.

I tuck the earrings in my pocket, shove his coat in my bag, and start to run in the direction of the Rainbow Room. But he suddenly reaches out to stop me, his fingers tight around my wrist and his gaze intent behind me.

Emmitt’s eyes meet mine again, his gaze warm and steady. “Can I kiss you?”

My mouth falls open. “What?”

Emmitt keeps staring at me. “Can I kiss you?”

When I don’t respond, his eyes flicker over my shoulder again, a hint of panic in them.

Oh. He’s trying to—oh.

“Yes, you can,” I say, though I can hardly believe the words.

Emmitt swoops forward in the next moment, burying his fingers in my hair, whirling me around so my back is against the wall and his is to the people passing by.

His lips meet mine, soft but frenzied. My own hands hang uselessly in the air, but he reaches down with one hand, leading them to his collarbone.

I wrap my arms around his neck accordingly, even though I have to stretch on my tiptoes to maintain our kiss. At least I have something to do with myself.

There’s a low burning in the pit of my stomach, something sharp and jagged running through me, knifing along my ribs.

“Do you see him? Are you sure it was really Emmitt Ramos?”

“I could have sworn—”

Emmitt’s lips shift lower so he’s kissing the edge of my jaw instead, giving me a moment to breathe. My heart skips an uncertain beat, my hands trailing up to cup his cheeks, shielding him further from view.

“He had three earrings,” the first voice insists. “It had to be him.”

“Maybe he’s still downstairs,” the second voice says, far too close for comfort. “Wasn’t he with some girl?”

A nervous jitter runs through me, and I tilt Emmitt’s head up, meeting him for a kiss again. His lips taste like pomegranates, which is something I never thought I would know.

Again, something pierces my gut, sharp and prickly.

“Yeah,” the first voice says. “Maybe we should check near The Rink?”