“To skate.”
“We’re skating on this?”
“Yep.” He drops the bag he brought inside with us onto the floor, then falls to one knee and unzips it. “You wear a size nine, don’t you?”
“Okay, one, it’s creepy that you know that, and yes, I’m a size nine. Why?”
“Uh, for your skates, obviously.” He pulls out a pair of ice skates that look brand new. “I got a few different sizes because skates are funny sometimes and don’t always align with your shoe size. Try the sevens first and see how those do.”
He holds them out to me, and I take them, inspecting them. I have no idea how I’m going to fit into these, since they’re two sizes smaller than I normally wear.
But that’s not the real issue here.
“Noah, these are really nice and all, but I ... I don’t know how to ice-skate.”
He grins up at me as he pulls out another pair of skates for himself, this style different from mine, and I know right away they’re the skates he used to wear when he played. “I guess it’s a good thing you came here with a retired hockey player, isn’t it?”
“We’re really doing this? You’re really teaching me how to ice-skate?”
He shrugs, pushing to his feet. “If you want, yeah. But if you don’t feel comfortable, then no. We can just sit here and take it all in.”
“I want! I want!”
He laughs at my excitement, then points to a bench. “Take a seat. I’ll get you laced up.”
I do as he says and only slightly panic when the bench nearly gives way.
He winces, helping to steady me.
I watch in awe as he rolls his sleeves, effortlessly laces my skates, then settles beside me and pulls his own on.
“How do those feel?” he asks, nodding toward my skates, and I pretend I wasn’t just admiring how hot he looks right now.
“Good.”
“Not too loose?”
“Nope.”
“Good.” He hops to his feet, then holds his hand out to me. “You ready?”
I let him pull me up, then shrug. “I guess.”
He senses the apprehension in my voice. “I’ll hold on to you the whole time. I promise I won’t let go until you tell me to.Ifyou tell me to.”
I nod, letting him lead me out onto the ice.
As expected, it’s slippery, but not as much as I thought it’d be.
Still, Noah holds on to me as we keep moving. He lets me clutch onto the wall and him, not irritated at all over the fact that I’m going too slow, especially when he was a literal pro at this.
“Ah, whoa!” I yell as I almost go down.
To my surprise, he doesn’t even laugh at me. He just tightens his grip and helps steady me.
“You’re doing great,” he says, watching my form.
“I’m not, but you talking helps. Tell me something else to distract me. Like what the hell it is we’re doing at this derelict place.”
