I lifted the ice from my temple, testing a small turn of my head. “No problem there.”
The second man, taller, broader, stepped forward as I adjusted the ice on my ankle. I felt both men glance down as I lifted the pack. For some unknown reason, I kept my gaze fixed on my ankle, a sharp awareness preventing me from looking up.
“That’s not too bad,” I said, trying my best impression of ‘totally fine’ while smoothing my sock with fingers that were absolutely not trembling under their scrutiny.
“Let me see.” The second man’s voice rumbled through me.
He crouched in front of me, confidently taking my ankle in his hands. His touch was cool and sure, making me wonder if hemoonlighted as a twisted ankle doctor. His fingers moved gently along the joint with the kind of certainty that made you trust him before you had time to wonder why.
“It’s not bad now, but it’ll swell,” he said, fingers pressing lightly. “Keep it elevated and ice it. Twenty on, twenty off.”
I held my breath. His smooth touch, the calm in his voice, and the care he showed—they all steadied more than my ankle.
When I finally looked up, his eyes were already on mine—brown, intense, with the heat of a July sidewalk. The perfect color of hot cocoa on a winter’s day, unhurried, almost as if he knew I’d look away first. My heart did a triple flip and landed in a puddle.
“Mel?”
I flinched slightly at the sound of Andrew’s voice. A jarring reminder that I was, in fact, on adate,still sprawled on a makeshift medical bench, and still smelling faintly of ice rink and embarrassment.
He stepped into the room.
“Are you with her?” Frank asked him.
“Yeah,” Andrew replied, sounding bewildered. “They thought I was one of the teens and pulled me off the ice. It took a minute to clear it up.”
Frank gave a short laugh. “Well, get her home so she can ice that ankle before it looks like a Thanksgiving turkey.”
The two men stepped out.
Air rushed out of me in a shaky stream; I hadn’t even realized I’d been clamping down sincehetouched my ankle.
“What a crash to end a date night,” I said to Andrew, still feeling the ghost of the other man’s hands against my skin. It was ridiculous.
We left the arena and started the drive back to my place.
Andrew cleared his throat, breaking the silence that had settled between us. “This wasn’t my idea of a date—getting youknocked down. I wanted it to be fun, especially after you lost your job.”
I kept my eyes on the blur of streetlights, unsure how to answer.
“I used to think Tahoe was all hockey and ice skating. Turns out, there’s a whole underground of people doing cool stuff. On my way back from that corner area where security took us, I passed a post looking for someone to help run youth clinics, teaching kids how not to faceplant on the ice. I thought of you.”
I made a noncommittal sound. My ankle throbbed and my head pounded. The last thing I wanted to think about was résumés and cover letters. But the words lodged somewhere I couldn’t quite shake.
What a day—losing my job and getting physically knocked on my ass. A constellation of bruises was already blooming beneath my jeans, but none of that stayed with me.
Not the job. Not the fall. Not Andrew.
It was the other man.
The one whose warm chocolate eyes locked onto mine, piercing straight through me. That man had exposed me.
I leaned my head against the window and closed my eyes.
Way to go, Mel, thinking about a stranger while your date sits three feet away, probably wondering if he should take you to the nearest cold-plunge spa.
Maybe I’d hit my head harder than I thought, or maybe it was easier to blame the ice than admit that what lingered had nothing to do with bruises and everything to do with a man who touched my ankle as if he knew how to take care of things.
Chapter two
