He steps back and crosses his arms. “Sure. But next time, if you want to undress me with your eyes, maybe don’t make it so obvious.” Then he gives me a knowing smirk.
I roll my eyes. “Oh, wow, I get it now. I didn’t realize your ego needed a confidence boost.”
He chuckles, unbothered. “I’ll settle for you admitting I’m right.”
“In your dreams,” I say, hopping off the table. That’s when I remember I’m still wearing my skates and can’t walk back to the rink.
His gaze drops to my feet, and his grin widens. “Guess I’ll have to take you back myself.”
“Leo . . .” I warn, shaking my head.
Before I can stop him, he scoops me into his arms and carries me to the rink.
This time, I don’t protest.
NINE
victoria
It’s only been a couple of weeks since Leo and I started practicing together, and he’s already improved so much. The only problem is that the more time I spend with him, the harder it is to ignore this growing feeling inside me.
At least Christmas break gave me a little distance to regroup, or so I thought. Now, on our first practice back, I’m off my game, and all I can think about is the way our last few training sessions have left me reeling.
“Relax, Victoria,” Leo says as we practice our first hand-to-hand press lift in the off-ice training area. The Ice House has been unusually quiet this afternoon since it’s New Year’s Eve, but I insisted on practicing, mostly because I wanted an excuse to leave my freezing cold apartment. We don’t usually get cold snaps like this in South Carolina, and I’ve been trying to keep my heat off to avoid a massive electric bill I can’t afford. Practicing keeps me warmer, even if it means I need to spend most of the day with Leo.
“You have to touch me to do this one,” Leo says, putting his hands out for mine. I reluctantly place my palms in his. The press lift is simple: I jump, while he lifts me over his head and I spread my legs into a V form.
“It’s just my hands on yours,” Leo says. “Not a proposition to go past first base.”
“I know that,” I tell him even though I feel like we’re reenacting an anatomy poster from health class. I give him a pointed look. “No comments from the peanut gallery about having to spread-eagle over your head, okay?”
“You mean I can’t say anything about how this is the most intimate moment I’ve had all year?” he teases.
I shake my head. “Leo, this is asport,not a free-for-all about your love life.”
“Well, if you’re going to take that position over my head, the least I can do is keep things interesting.”
I narrow my eyes. “The only thing interesting will be how hard I kick you if you don’t keep your mouth shut and your eyes down.”
His grin widens. “You’re adorable when you’re threatening me, you know that?”
“Leo, I swear, if you drop me because you’re making jokes about the personal nature of this lift, I’m firing you today!”
“I won’t drop you,” he promises, “but if you blush any harder, you’re going to erupt into flames.”
“I’m not blushing,” I insist, even though I can feel the heat radiating off my face like asphalt in August.
“I promise I don’t bite,” he adds, his eyes full of mischief. “Unless, of course, I’m provoked.”
“Oh, don’t worry, I’ve seen those signs that say ‘Beware of Dog.’ Should I hang one around your neck, or do you only bite when someone gets too close?”
“Get closer and find out,” he says with an inviting smirk.
I mentally remind myself to add it to the secret smile tally I’ve resurrected from my college days. So far, I’ve only added a few new marks, but I’m determined to get more before we’re done.
“Just so you know, I was kidding when I said that about my love life,” he says. “I don’t share personal stuff.”
Which makes me wonder what personal stuff he’s hiding. Jaz dropped the hint that he’s single—probably by choice—because he certainly has herds of fans who’d love to do more than a press lift with him.
