She grabs my jacket with both hands, eyes wide. “Okay, nope! Too close! Blitzen, stabilize me!”
I try. I really do.
But she’s clutching me, and I’m overconfident, and suddenly, we’re both wobbling like newborn deer on ice.
“Don’t fall,” she warns.
“You’re the one?—”
She yelps, I overcorrect, and we end up chest to chest, her breath warm against my chin, our skates locked in a doomed tangle.
We freeze.
Her hands are fisted in my jacket.
My hand is still on her neck.
Her nose brushes mine. “If we fall,” she whispers, “you’re going down first.”
“Gladly,” I murmur, “but maybe not on the ice.”
Her eyes flare just before she shoves me—playfully, barely—just enough to untangle our skates.
“Focus, athlete,” she says, cheeks flushed. “We’re here to skate, not flirt.”
I grin. “Pretty sure we’re doing both.”
She groans, but she’s smiling. “God help me, you might have the stamina after all.” She shakes her head and looks away.
My hand falls, but I bend my head to try to catch her eye. “Come on, Vixen. Tell me what you really think of me. No bullshit.”
“I’ll tell you this.” She purses her painted red lips and puts her hand on my shoulder. “I like your face. You have a sweet smile and an air of confidence that I’m into. Your eyes are mischievous, which should be a warning sign, but I find myself wanting to know more about you rather than walk away. You’re fun to hang out with, and you follow along with me, even when you don’t know what my plans are. You roll with it, which tells me you’re easygoing and able to adjust your plan when needed. So, I guess what I’m saying is, I’m pleasantly surprised by how my night turned out.”
For a second, something warm hits me right in the chest.
Who the hell is this woman?
I’ve dated confidence before. I’ve met spontaneous. But I’ve never met someone who’s both those things and somehow still impossible to predict. Someone who can make the entire room blur out just by looking at me like she means every damn word. It’s … unnerving. And addictive.
A smile breaks across my face. “Okay, Vixen. I like you too. And I couldn’t be happier with how my night turned out.”
We’re locked in a stare—one of those rare moments where everything goes quiet—and I swear something shifts. Right when I think she feels it too, “Jingle Bell Rock” blares through the speakers. She breaks eye contact, releases my hand, and pushes off, skating away from me backward with that smug little smirk.
The moment snaps in half.
“Hey! You can’t just leave me here on my own!” I shout over the music.
She lifts her chin and laughs—light, teasing, like I didn’t just hand her a piece of something real. “You got this, Blitzen. I believe in you! Come on. Follow me!” she shouts back and waves her hand toward herself.
And just like that, she turns my quietly emotional, chest-tight moment into a chase.
Damn her.
But I go after her anyway.
“I can’t believe I’m doing this. I’d better not hurt myself, or Coach will have my ass,” I mumble as I start to shuffle my feet.
“Just go for it! If you go too slow, you’ll definitely fall. Slide and glide, my friend.” She spins, then takes off at a speed that makes me a little nervous.
