Page 54 of My Last Dance
Rolling my eyes, I conceded and petted him awkwardly.
We left the ice together that day and sat side-by-side as we unlaced our skates.
He stood and lifted his hoodie off, making his t-shirt ride up, showing off his abs and—
I gasped. “You have a tattoo? When did you get that?” I pointed at his right peck, right over his heart, where I spotted some black ink.
He laughed as he smoothed his t-shirt down. “I havetattoos, plural.”
My eyes widened. “Since when? Show me,” I demanded.
“No.” He laughed.
I sucked in a shocked breath. “Yes.”
He licked his lips and came closer. He bent toward me, his hands going to the sides of the table so that he caged me in where I was sitting. “Don’t worry, you’ll see…” The corner of his lip tipped up in a grin. “Just…not yet.”
I immediately shoved his chest. “You asshole!” My face flamed. “Never mind, I don’t even want to see.”
He picked up his skates and strolled to the door. “Already told on yourself, Viper,” he said, shooting me a wink over his shoulder.
My cheeks heated with anger. “I hate them!” I called out. “And your slutty little earring!”
His loud laugh rang out in the empty rink. “Keep lying to yourself, baby. It’s cute.”
I hated his overconfidence, and his stupid charisma, and I especially hated how the way he called mebabysent a little shock to my core.
________
The next week, Patrick joined me at morning practice because we needed the extra time to work on new choreography.
At the end of the session, Patrick and I watched Kappy.
He stopped suddenly on his side of the red line and lifted his helmet. “Out with it,” he demanded. “What are you two whispering about?”
“Your chest, you’re dipping too low,” I called out.
Patrick rubbed his jaw in thought. “Anyone ever tell you that you’re kind of a butt kicker? Your stride is wild, it’s making you lose speed.”
His shoulders dropped. “Wait, really?”
Crossing my arms over my chest, I nodded. “Your stride could use some work,” I echoed.
His eyebrows raised. “Can you guys show me?”
After that day, it became a routine: We would spend the last fifteen or so minutes of every session messing around together on the ice. Sometimes Patrick joined us, sometimes it was just the two of us. Sometimes I tried to teach Kappy more advanced moves, like twizzles, other times he brought extra sticks and tried to help us with wrist shots at the net. I hated to admit it, but Kappy wasn’t half bad at the skating moves I showed him. I had a feeling he’d nail them if he had a toepick, whereas I was completely awful at hockey.
When I tried to replicate the wrist shot he showed me, he had to stifle a laugh.
“Oh c’mon, that was better!” I complained.
His face cracked into a grin. “Debatable, P.” Skating closer, he wrapped his arms around me, and his clean laundry scent enveloped me. “Hold the stick like this,” his deep voice rumbled against my neck as he wrapped his cold hands around mine on the stick. “And then move your wrists like this.” He helped me shoot. The puck actually lifted off the ice and hit the net.
“Goal!” I burst out. “Count it!”
His laugh tickled my skin. When I turned to look up at him, his heated gaze dipped down to my lips, making my heart beat rapidly in my chest. It felt like everything else in the world drifted away. It was just me and him, absorbed in the hum of the rink. And I wanted him to kiss me,God, Ireallywanted him to, but I couldn’t let it happen.
I broke contact first, smoothing away from him and skating over to retrieve the puck.
