I shake my head. “Victoria, this isn’t half of what I lift in weight training.”
Her gaze cuts to mine, and that defensive look falls away.
Now that she’s in my arms, I suddenly feel responsible for her in a way I haven’t before. It’s not just about technique now; it’s about her trusting me to keep her safe, even though most of the time we’re at each other’s throats. For someone who swears she doesn’t need anyone, she’s placing a lot of faith in me right now.
“See? Not so hard,” she murmurs softly. “You good?”
“If you count balancing another human without falling, then yes,” I say, setting her back down gently before she feels my pulse hammering. This partnership is going to kill me—and not because of the skating.
“You did it,” she says with a smile. Her hand lands on my arm, friendly and casual, but it’s like she flipped a switch inside me. My skin turns electric.
I step back like I’ve touched a live wire. “Don’t.”
“What?” she asks with a frown.
“Pretend we’re...friends.” I glance away, rubbing the back of my neck. “I’m just here to get the job done.” The words feel like a blatant lie, and they are. Under no circumstances can I let her see that she’s the only woman who can make me lose control like this.
Her hand falls back to her side as she tilts her head, studying me. “Why? Afraid I’ll see past those walls of yours?”
I look at the floor. “What you think you see and what’s real are two different things.”
“Keep telling yourself that, Ego,” she says. “We’ll see who’s right.”
EIGHT
victoria
At our next practice a few days later, Leo strides onto the ice, wearing joggers and a fitted T-shirt that clings to his chest and arms in a way that feels almost unfair. The man is a walking distraction, and I hate that I notice.
For a moment, I forget that he’s here to annoy me, hiding behind that mask he often wears—the grumpy, growly tough guy with a chip on his shoulder. I know what’s really underneath, even though he pretends there’s nothing to hide. He might be all rough edges and scowls, but behind the facade, he’s like the soft center of a chocolate truffle, gooey and sweet.
“You ready to get started?” he asks, catching me mid-stare as he skates backward on the ice.
I snap my eyes away. “Of course.”
Pull it together before he notices you’re staring... or worse, drooling like a St. Bernard.I turn away and discreetly swipe at the corner of my mouth, just in case.
One deep breath.Then I whirl back around, ready to work. “Alright, let’s see if you can manage a basic three-turn.”
He’s got confidence and speed, which is impressive—until you realize that hockey players are used to stopping and starting like bullets. Graceful transitions? Not their thing.
Leo smirks, stopping inches from me with a little ice spray. “A three-turn? That’s it? I thought you’d give me a challenge.”
I skate in a slow figure eight, looping around him. “You mean like not tripping over your own feet? Because I was getting to that.”
His grin widens, and for a split second, I forget why I’m keeping my distance. Then I remember: this is Leo Anderson—the guy who made me believe in fairy tales back in college. And now? He’s just mytemporaryskating partner.That’s all.The ridiculously handsome, grown-up version of the boy who always knew how to hold my attention—like every part of me was drawn to his every move.
I clear my throat, pushing the memory aside. “Watch closely,” I say, demonstrating the turn with ease. My left skate carves a graceful curve in the ice, my arms balanced as I rotate smoothly onto the opposite edge. “It’s all about control—shifting your weight, staying on the correct edge, and controlling the rotation.”
He nods, watching me with an intensity that makes my stomach flip. His mouth slowly hitches up on one side. Why does he have to look at me like that—like he’s enjoying taking me in from head to toe?
“Got it,” he says, getting into position. I catch the way his biceps flex under his fitted shirt, and for a moment, my brain blanks.Nope.Not going to go there.
“Alright, your turn,” I say, stepping back to give him space. “I know you can skate. But I want to see you do it gracefully.”
Leo lifts an eyebrow before pushing off and attempting the turn. He has to slow down his speed, and his skate catches at the wrong angle, causing him to teeter. He barely manages the turnbefore he finds his balance. He reminds me of the kids I teach on Saturdays—the only difference is that I know he’ll nail it on his second try.
“Okay, that was...” I pause, searching for an honest answer. “Not great.”
