“Should I get you one of the penguins so you can keep your balance?” I ribbed, indicating the row of plastic penguins in bright red hats for the young children to use so they wouldn’t fall.
Mason gave me a withering look. “I’m sure I can keep up.”
We took a step onto the ice and Mason immediately started flailing. He held on to my arm so tightly that I began to lose feeling in my fingers.
“Just take it slow—”
“Whoa!” Mason yelped, his legs coming out from underneath him. He fell onto the ice with a thud, taking me with him. I hit the ice hard, probably bruising a few bones in the process. We lay in a tangled heap as people skated around us.
“I’m so sorry,” Mason apologized, running his hands along my arms, my face, looking for injury.
Our eyes met and we both started laughing. And we couldn’t stop. We were grinning madly, not caring that our asses were numb.
Mason leaned over, his hand cupping the back of my head, pulling me toward him. He kissed me firmly. With intent. Possessive but oh so tender.
“Should we try this again?” he asked, sounding a little breathless. Was that from me?
“Just hang on,” I replied, just as breathless.
I got to my feet, a lot more confident in my abilities than Mason was. He clung to me and I didn’t care that his fingers hurt as they dug in.
“Slowly pick your feet up like you’re walking—”
Mason fell again, once more taking me with him.
“This is just sad,” he moaned as I cracked up again.
“Mister, I think you need this.” A little boy, no older than eight or so, stood beside us, holding on to one of the plastic penguins.
I glanced at Mason, wondering if his pride was hurt. Wondering how he’d react to publicly humiliating himself. Some men would get angry. Some would storm off.
Not Mason Kohler.
He slowly got to his very unstable feet and smiled. “Thank you. I really appreciate that,” he said.
“Maybe I should help you. You’re really bad at this,” the boy suggested, frowning as Mason struggled to hold on to the penguin.
Mason glanced at me and I hid my smirk behind my hand. “I think you should take him up on it, Mason.”
“I’ve been skating since I was five. I’m eight now. I’m on the hockey team and everything. I’m really good too,” the boy professed, his chest puffed out with pride.
“Well, it sounds like I couldn’t ask for a better teacher,” Mason agreed seriously.
I held out my hand, waving them on. “Don’t let me stop you. I’ll be over here,” I said. Mason smiled softly, kissing me before being led away by the boy as he rattled off directives.
He looked back at me periodically. I laughed when he fell, cheered when he stayed on his feet for longer than thirty seconds.
I noticed the looks people gave him. The women who watched him. The men who envied him. They all wanted what wasmine.
Mine.
Was he? Did I want him to be?
Yes. I did.
I grinned at Mason as he started to become more confident. The boy finally left him alone, obviously bored with playing instructor. Mason started to skate back toward me and I pushed myself off the side, out onto the rink.
We met in the middle, my hands reaching out to take his.
