"I can't believe you put your feet in those," Beck said. "We could've let them thaw out in the car, or at least warm up a bit." He knocked on the frozen leather.
"I forget my skates in the car on a regular basis." It was true. I was used to cold skates, but not wet ones. But I’d be damned if I was going to let Beck's skating comment go unchallenged.
My toes were numb, and my skates were stiff, but as soon as my blades hit the ice, it all disappeared.
Beck stepped onto the ice beside me and then he was gone. Damn him. He was still that good.
"Not bad for an old guy," I called out, pushing off to follow him.
The patch of ice was too small for any real speed, so we just messed around. It felt like we were kids again, sneaking onto the rink before Donnie unlocked the doors.
Beck grabbed the shovels and handed one to me. "Race you to the end."
With the shovel in hand, I pushed off with my toe-pick. Snow billowed out from the blade of the shovel as I picked up speed. Behind me the clatter of Beck's shovel banging on the ice fueled my competitive fire. Breathing hard, I bent my knees and focused my gaze on the bank at the far end of the rink, beating Beck there by a millisecond.
"Ha!" I dropped the shovel and raised my arms.
"Best two out of three." He picked the shovel up and handed it to me, then rocketed off down the ice.
"Hey!" I giggled. There was no catching the man. He’d totally let me win the first time around. Snow sparkles swirled in the air behind him. There was nothing like a hockey player's ass, and the one in front of me, in the jeans, was magnificent.
On our third round, Dash joined in, barking as we got combative. An elbow here, a hip check there, ending in full belly laughs as we hit the bank at the end.
He panted. "Look at how much we've cleared."
I turned to look but was bodychecked from the side. Beck's arms wrapped around my waist and we tumbled into the fresh snowbank. I'd landed on my back and Beck was on top of me, his weight sinking us even deeper into the snow.
"Is this where you snow me?"
"Do kids still do that?" he grinned.
When we were in highschool, it was a dead giveaway that a guy liked you if he pushed you into the snow and then planted a handful of snow directly in your face. "I'm not sure—"
I was interrupted by snow. Lots of it. "Ack." I spat out the snow and wiped it from my eyes.
Beck took off his glove and used his thumb to wipe the snow off my cheeks.
"Do the lutz."
I brushed the snow from the front of my coat. "What?"
"Your triple lutz. That's the one you did at the beginning of your long program.”
"I teach lutz's now. I don't do them."
"Why not?"
"Because I haven't landed a triple in years, Beckett. I'm a coach, not a competitor. I might be about to do a double. You saw me the other day. I fell on my ass."
“It’s in your head. You’re scared."
My chin went up. "I am not. I'm just out of practice. How about you go nail a slapshot from the blue line, big shot?"
He crossed his arms. "Get me a puck. Are you scared you're going to fall in front of me?"
"I've fallen in front of you a million times."
"So what's one more? If you land it, I'll buy you dinner."
