“Thanks,” Felix pants, bracing his forearms on the top of his stick. “You’re really good yourself. Where’d a city lawyer learn to skate like that?”
“Northern cities have ice, too,” I say. “And years of ballet. Different stage, similar balance work.”
“Ballet, huh?” Felix grins. “That explains the crossovers. Bet you couldn’t check someone, though.”
“I’ve negotiated with corporate raiders during hostile takeovers.” I arch a brow. “I can check someone, just not the way you're used to.”
Liam chuckles. “I believe her,” he says.
Silas snorts. “Talking and hitting are not the same skill set.”
“Good thing I’m multi-talented,” I say, and don’t bother looking at him.
“Ever shot a puck?” Felix asks, nudging one toward me with his stick.
“Never.”
“Perfect.” He flips his stick around and offers it to me. It feels heavy and awkward in my hands… like a caveman's club. “Okay. Basic lesson. It’s all weight transfer. Think plié, but angrier.”
I smirk. “Did you just compare a slapshot to ballet?”
He shrugs, unbothered. “I have a sister.”
I nudge the puck into place, lining it up with the empty net at the far end.
“Back leg first,” he says. “Then snap through, point your toe where you want it to go.”
Weight back. Coil. Release.
I pull the stick back, let my hips turn, feel the shaft bend against the ice as I shift forward and snap my wrists.
THWACK.
The sound of the puck hitting the back of the net is loud in the quiet rink.
I blink. “Oh.”
Felix’s jaw drops. “No. Way.”
Liam taps his stick on the ice twice, visibly amused. “Remind me not to get on your bad side inanyarena,” he says.
I turn to Silas.
He’s staring at the net, then at me, then at the net again. He catches me watching and straightens, scoffing like he’s offended by his own reaction.
“Beginner’s luck,” he says, tone rougher than usual. He pivots and pushes off toward center ice, and I fight a smile.
Maybe itwasluck. But something tells me I just earned a sliver of respect.
Chapter eleven
Liam
The fireplace cracks and spits, throwing warm light over the four of us gathered around the coffee table.
Felix, who has apparently appointed himself entertainment director for this snow-in, insisted we go for a “little friendly competition.” Which translated to him digging a battered Monopoly box out of a cabinet with way too much enthusiasm.
"Friendly competition." Sure.
