“I’ll take you down with me.”
“Then we’ll both end up on our asses. That’s what the helmets are for.”
She laughs, taking my hands. “We’re not wearing helmets.”
“Details.”
I guide her through a slow turn, her body pressed close to mine. She’s a natural athlete, her body toned and lithe. She adjusts her balance automatically, quickly picking up the mechanics.
“You know,” she says, concentration etched across her face, “this is kind of like dancing. Except more dangerous.”
“Everything fun is dangerous.”
“Is that the Emmitt Buckley philosophy of life?”
“One of them.” I spin us gently, and she laughs as she nearly loses her balance. “The other is that if you’re not falling, you’re not pushing hard enough.”
She stills, not meeting my eyes. “Or you’ve gone too far.”
I let the observation pass. We both know at this moment, I don’t have the answer. I can’t assure her everything will work out.
We spend the next hour with me teaching her the basics. How to start, how to stop, how to turn without windmilling her arms as if she’s trying to flag down an aircraft. She falls exactly seven times. I manage to catch her for five of the falls. Creative cursing that would make the guys in the locker room proud accompanies the other two tumbles.
By the time she manages to skate a full lap on her own, she’s flushed and breathless and absolutely radiant.
“I did it!” she exclaims, coasting over to where I’m waiting by the boards. “Did you see that?”
“Pretty impressive for someone who claimed to be terrible at this.”
“I had an excellent teacher.” She beams at me, tendrils escaping from the ponytail to frame her face. “Though I still think you were showing off with that backward skating thing.”
“That wasn’t showing off. This is showing off.”
I push off into a series of crossovers around the rink, building speed before cutting to a stop only inches in front of her, spraying ice over her legs.
“Okay, that was definitely showing off,” she says, with her hands on her hips.
“Maybe a little. But I wanted to impress you.”
“Mission accomplished.”
There’s something different in her voice, something that makes the air between us feel charged.
“McKenna,” I start, but she’s already moving closer.
I catch her before she can crash into me, my arms wrapping around her waist as her hands land flat against my chest. We’re both breathing hard, her face tilted up toward mine, and the space between us feels electric.
“Nice save,” she whispers.
“I told you I’d catch you.”
The words hang in the air between us, loaded with meaning that has nothing to do with skating. Her eyes drop to my mouth, and I feel the moment everything shifts.
But before I kiss this woman again, I need to come clean with her. “There’s something I need to tell you,” I say, cupping her face, my palms rough against her soft skin, as I trail my thumb along her cheekbone.
Wrinkles crisscross her brow. “What?”
“I made sure your past won’t interfere with whatever this is between us. This evening, before I picked you up.”
