This might be the strangest date I've ever been on. Eros is handsome. Almost too handsome with his dark blond hair and chiseled jaw. He looks like he could have stepped right out of a male modeling magazine. What's a guy like that doing, living in my apartment building?

Despite all his charm and apparent good looks, there is something off about him. I just can't put my finger on what it is. Maybe it's the way he seems to know things about me I haven't told him yet. Or the way he sometimes stares at me with those brilliant blue eyes. They're so blue they almost seem supernatural.

Maybe he really is a serial killer. Or a stalker. A stalking serial killer?

But would a serial killer have bunnies? Maybe they would, to disarm their victims, because no one would suspect an owner of a fluffy package of joy to be a murderer. I am now convinced every serial killer is also a bunny owner.

It's something else though; watching a tall, handsome man cuddle a bunny. Stroking its little head with his thumb. We'd picked out a companion for Leonard at a rescue center earlier, with a promise to come back after the weekend to bring him home.

Eros. I watch him surreptitiously over the rim of my cup of hot chocolate as he observes the people skating on the ice. He's been tight-lipped about himself, our topics of discussion limited to bunnies and my usual incessant rambling. Maybe he can't get a word in edge-wise. I babble when I'm nervous, and a man this handsome definitely makes me nervous.

Most men still cut through my word vomit to talk about themselves. Mostly about themselves. But not this one. I know nothing about him other than his name and where he lives. And that only on account of him literally living across the hall.

"Would you like to try?" he asks as he turns his face back towards me, nodding at the ice rink.

I nearly choke on my chocolate. Do I want to fall and break a leg? Or worse, somehow fall and slit someone's jugular—possibly my own—with the blade of my skate?

I'm accident-prone, as my mother likes to say. I call it clumsy. My sister says I'm equilibrium-challenged. I suppose I'm all the above. In any case, putting potentially deadly weapons on my feet sounds like a terrible idea.

"No, thank you," I politely decline, but when he looks absolutely crestfallen, I hear myself say, "Okay, sure. Let's do it."

Maybe I have a death wish. Or I can't say no to a handsome man. And he definitely is that. As his lips curl into a smile, I can't help but think of how inviting they look, and I have to mentally shake myself. He hasn't made a move today, not even the hint of one. You'd think he was on a date with a male friend. Or a little sister. Maybe he's gay? Or maybe I assumed it was a date and all he wanted was a friend slash bunny expert. I'm not, by the way. A bunny expert. I'm a veterinarian, but it's not like I know all the intricacies of bunnies. I'll help as well as I can though, because I don't mind watching this prime example of male perfection.

He pays for us and gets two sets of skates while I quickly finish my hot chocolate. Once the skates—potential murder weapons—are on our feet, we hobble the few steps from the bench and into the rink. No one looks good when hobbling around on skates off the ice. Yet Eros does. I'm not sure how it's physically possible, but he somehow pulls it off. Once on the ice, he's as graceful as a gazelle. Though I guess a gazelle wouldn't be very graceful on ice. I look more like a ninety-year-old grandma, shuffling along on stiff legs. Even the small children in bright jackets whizz past me.

Eros skates ahead, looking at the other skaters around us. Probably comparing and realizing I'm by far the worst. I'm inching along behind him, and I'm actually quite proud of making it several feet without falling on my ass. I might be the least talented skater, but I have the most handsome date. In case anyone is keeping score.

He appears to have noticed I'm not doing terribly well, watching me as I slowly make my way towards him. His blue eyes almost seem too blue in the sharp winter sun, his cheeks a little pink from the bite of the cold. I don't want to consider what the cold will have done to my fair skin. It's probably all red and blotchy. My crocheted hat with cat ears isn't the sexiest thing either. I tend to forget to dress hot for dates and just stick to my usual wardrobe. That might be why my love life is something of a desolate landscape with the occasional tumbleweed. The tumbleweeds being the few dates my sister usually sets up for me.

I feel my cheeks flush as Eros skates back towards me. At least he doesn't look annoyed at my lack of skating prowess. He's smiling, an amused sparkle in his eyes.

"I forgot you—" He cuts himself short before starting over. "I forgot to ask if you know how to skate."

"I know how. I'm just not very good at it."

He grins. "I can tell."

Before I can reply, he slides in close behind me, putting his hands on my hips, steadying me. My balance. Definitely not my pulse. This close, the fragrance of his body spray tickles my nose and whatever it is, it smells divine. Dark and manly. Dangerous to my senses. If that's a smell. His hands on my jeans are warmer than they ought to be in the crisp winter air, and the touch feels more intimate than it ought to, too. I swallow, trying to steady my nerves.

"Here," he murmurs, his voice a soft timbre close to my ear, sending goosebumps along my skin. "I'll help."

"Th... thank you," I manage as he gently guides me along the ice. Get a grip, Penelope. He's only a man. A very handsome man, but it's not like I've never been around men before. Just... maybe not quite this attractive.

I throw a glance at him over my shoulder, only to find his face is right there. Close enough that I can see the beginnings of dark stubble on his chin. Suddenly I lose my hard-won balance and I flail like Bambi for a moment before he steadies me by turning me around and pulling me closer. Desperate not to fall and sever someone's arteries, I wrap my arms around him and cling on.

He's so warm and smells so good that I almost lose my balance again as my legs slide backwards, away from him. With a laugh, he pulls me back, this time so close that our bodies are flush up against another, and I stare up into his attractive face. His blue eyes are staring back down at me, an amused glimmer making them seem extra radiant.

"I didn't realize quite how bad you are," he says with a chuckle that reverberates through our bodies.

"I'm sorry." My voice is more breathless than I care to admit. "I should have warned you."

He lifts his head to look at something behind us before smiling down at me again. "No worries. Let's try again."

And with those words, he turns me around, and before I can register what's going on, he's given me a gentle shove and I'm gliding away from him. For a moment, I'm exalted. I'm doing it! I'm moving forward at a decent speed and I'm still on my feet! Then I promptly collide with another skater and we both tumble to the ground in a mass of limbs and blades.

Fortunately, no one's jugular—or anything else—is punctured, and I hasten to apologize.

"I'm so sorry, I—" My words falter as I stare at the dark-haired man sitting on the ice next to me. "Trevor?"