I shake my head, amused. “Just because I don’t plaster a fake smile on my face doesn’t mean I’m not fun. Maybe you’ve spent too much time around figure skaters. Hockey players don’t do fake—we’re all about the real deal.”
“So, you just go through life scowling at everyone?”
“Exactly,” I say. “Smiling just makes people think you like them.”
She bursts out laughing, and the sound is glorious. I’ve missed her laugh.
“So you’d rather people know you can’t stand them than fake being nice?” she asks.
I nod. “Now you’re catching on. You always know where you stand with me.” Well,almosteveryone. Victoria is the exception. She’s the only one who makes me feel like my defenses might not be enough, and it irks me that she’s so aware of my weaknesses.
She tilts her head and studies me as I stretch my shoulders. “That’s what youwantpeople to think.”
“Trust me, what you see is what you get,” I reply, rolling my ankle in a circle.
She frowns. “I think you act this way to drive people off before they get close.”
“Clearly, it’s not drivingyouoff,” I mutter.
Most women who meet me are more interested in the hockey player they see on the ice, not the person under the uniform. They’re not sticking around long-term, so it works out just fine. But Victoria? She’s not intimidated by me, not even a little.
She shrugs. “You might look like a grizzly bear on the outside, but I think you’ve got something else lurking under there.” She pokes my chest, like she’s trying to get a confession out of me.
I stop stretching. “Hate to break it to you, but I’m entirely a grizzly.” I let the corner of my mouth curve slightly. “Can’t let anyone start thinking I’m warm and fuzzy.”
She raises an eyebrow, looking amused. “Hmm, that’s not what Sloan and Jaz told me.”
“Really?” I cross my arms. “Well, they’re wrong.” If there’s one thing I can’t let her do, it’s get close enough to see how I’ve never gotten over her.
“All right, enough talk,” she says, her expression suddenly all business. “Let’s head to the warm-up mats and try a basic lift before we start skating.”
“A lift?” I raise an eyebrow. “You mean where I’m supposed to pick you up and throw you into the air?”
She rolls her eyes. “There will be no throwing, no matter how much you’d like to drop me on my head.” Then she strides toward the off-ice training area, totally oblivious to how I’m dreading this part.
A lift involves touching her, and that means being physically close—without trying to react. I’m going to love and hate this all in the same breath.
Muttering under my breath, I follow Victoria over to the mats.
She turns to look at me, her expression serious. “Okay,” she begins, “we’re going to try a counterbalance lift. Here’s how it works: you’ll start in a basic squat, place your hands on my side, and I’ll kneel on your lap while leaning away from you. The key is leverage—you’ll need to shift your weight behind your heels to counter mine. Coordination and balance are everything here, so don’t mess it up.”
I frown. “You realize this means I actually have to... put my hands on you, right?”
She gives me a pointed look. “Oh, I’m aware. Try not to pass out from the effort.”
I step closer to her and get into position, ignoring the way my heart skips when my palm wraps around her waist. “Just don’t blame me if this doesn’t go well,” I mutter. “I’m more familiar with shoving people into the boards than being gentle with them.”
She smirks. “Gently lifting is the goal, Leo. Now, hold still while I climb onto your legs.” She steadies herself against me while grabbing my hand and placing it on her knee for support. Suddenly, I’m hyper-aware of every nerve in my body as she settles her weight onto my legs.
Focus, Leo.
I clear my throat. “This isn’t awkward at all.”
“You’re not the only one feeling that way,” she says, moving her body firmly into place. She wraps her hand around my neck, leaning away while extending her other arm in a graceful arc through the air. Her body is close enough that I can smell her strawberry-scented bath gel—and it’s totally distracting. I wobble, struggling to adjust my stance, and her hand tightens on the back of my neck.
“Do I really make you that nervous, or are you trying to strangle me?” I ask, balancing my weight over my feet.
“I’m not nervous,” she says, tipping her chin. “I just know I’m probably heavier than you expected.”
