Sighing mightily, Robbie figured the best way forward was visual demonstration. He kicked off and performed a few fumbling crossovers. Robbie might’ve fooled an amateur into thinking he was competent, but he couldn’t put one past Finn.
“Wow,” Finn said.
Robbie scowled. “Look. Crossovers are not really a thing for goalies.” Gaining momentum during wide turns wasn’t a skill required of players who spent most of their time in an eight-by-four-foot zone.
Finn blinked innocent eyes. “Don’t all kids learn crossovers in like Timbits-era hockey?”
“Yes,” Robbie admitted. “But I was always a goalie, and look, you try doing crossovers in goalie pads and then come at me.”
“Goalie pads are big, then?”
Robbie stared. Finn couldn’t actually be this naïve about hockey, surely. The guy grew up in Canada. “You know about Timbits but not goalie pads?”
Finn nodded solemnly. “Imogen was a Timbit. Also, they’re adorable. And tasty.”
Only in Canada, Robbie thought wryly. He wasn’t sure when the branded Tims’ donut holes becamethename for the youngest house-league hockey level, but it was pretty inescapable. He continued to eye Finn’s innocent face and decided to leave the point, for now.
“Right, so we’ve established my crossovers are terrible—can we move on?”
“Um, no? Because we have to fix them.” Finn proceeded to move Robbie through his paces.
Twenty minutes later, Robbie had to admit Finn was a good teacher. He’d walked Robbie back to the beginning, worked him through each building block so he could assess Robbie’s technique and correct as needed. Robbie wouldn’t be winning any awards for his crossovers, but they were currently the best they’d ever been.
“Okay, you”—Finn pointed a no-nonsense finger in Robbie’s face. Robbie fought the urge to bite it—“need to keep practicing those. Crossovers are integral to ice dancing and also a basic move when skating in tandem.”
Robbie saluted and drawled, “Sir, yes, sir.” Finn narrowed his eyes. It was adorable. Robbie wanted to flick his nose. He really needed to get over these childish urges to touch Finn. Unfortunately, something about him made Robbie feel like a kid. Maybe it was the being back in basic skating lessons.
“Time to show me what else you got. Let’s try a few gliding poses.”
First up, standing on one leg and holding the other straight out behind him. Robbie suspected that wasn’t, in fact, a beginner move, but he shrugged and complied. Finn watched with his head cocked to the side.
“Huh. You’re actually good at that.”
“Were you expecting failure?”
“Honestly? Yeah. Hockey players usually suck at it. Must be the yoga.”
Finn and Robbie had taken to warming up together with a series of yoga poses of varying degrees of torment for Robbie’s libido. “I knew it would come in handy someday.”
Finn waggled his eyebrows but didn’t otherwise comment. Instead, he walked back to the actual basics and madesure Robbie knew the proper form for a one-foot glide and stroking. Then he tested Robbie’s swizzle skills—which sounded so much dirtier than the actual move of gliding while separating and reuniting his feet. Of course, Robbie was well familiar with the move, but the arm movements that Finn added were much less hockey-like. Robbie had to admit, though, that the ballet-like flourishes were not only fun but actually helpful with balance and momentum.
After a water break, Finn ran him through side pushes with arm movements—another familiar skill with an unfamiliar motion of lifting his arm up in graceful arc—and then made him do backward side pushes with his arm to the side.
“Okay, so, daily practice on all of that.” Finn sipped from his water bottle. He was much less breathless than Robbie was. Robbie needed to talk to his trainer. He’d only been retired for a couple weeks, and he didn’t exactly feel like he’d “let himself go,” but if he was already feeling this workout this much, clearly his endurance had lagged.
“I’m thinking we talk spins and then give you a cool down and lunch break,” Finn mused.
“Spins.” Robbie’s stomach fluttered at the thought.
“Yeah, spins. You any good?”
Not surprisingly, Robbie had significantly more fun spinning around in circles than he had with any of the more basic drills. He’d always done his best work under pressure. Finn was teaching him to count rotations along with the beat of a song when someone whistled, and Robbie startled and caught a stupid toe pick.
He went down in a heap, cursing and laughing.
Finn helped him up with surprising ease and a wry grin. “Think a friend of yours has a point to make.”
“Quit hogging all the ice time,” a familiar voice shouted from the bench. “The rest of us need a turn too.”
