“Oh, I remember perfectly, Joe,” she says sweetly—sweet enough to rot teeth.
“I also remember you laughing instead of helping me. But mostly, I remember that if I fell, it was becauseyourbalance was terrible. Not mine.”
She tilts her head.
“I can skate just fine. So… good luck.”
Then she steps into my side like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
She looks up at me and winks.
God, I love her.
I mean—
I like her. A lot. Like, catastrophically.
Okay. I’m screwed.
“READY… SET… LOVE!”
Tina’s whistle cuts through the air.
Sloane and I press into each other, the balloon wedged tight between our chests.
My arms stay wide—hands off the balloon—but our bodies move as one. I feel her breath, her warmth, the soft weight of her breasts pressed into the red latex and my chest.
“Left,” I order.
We pass Chad and Kiki immediately.
They’re fast, but Kiki breaks formation to take a skating selfie. Chad doesn’t stop. The balloon drops.
We move in perfect sync. I played hockey as a kid—I know ice. Sloane is agile, matching every shift like we’re hardwired together.
We’re fast.
We clear the slalom through the giant Cupid arrows, our faces inches apart.
“We’re killing it,” she pants, locking eyes with me.
“Don’t distract me, or I’ll kiss you and pop the balloon.”
“Hold it together, Becker. Win first.”
We pass Tiffany and Brent.
Tiffany is screaming because Brent is too slow. “Move! You’re wrinkling my fur!”
We skate by. Sloane can’t resist.
“Love the outfit, Tiff! Very aerodynamic!” she calls as we fly past.
Tiffany whips around, loses her balance, and—POP.
Their balloon explodes between her sequins and his zipper.
“NOOO!” Tiffany wails.
