“There were fourteen of us today, and we could not have been a more motley crew. Some of us had more skating skills than others, but none of us had ever played before except for this one girl named Maude Forbid who transferred from somewhere in Michigan, I think?”
“Maude Forbid?”
“Yeah. We get to pick derby names, if we want. Violet is called Violet Rage, and KO is Knockout. I actually don’t even know her real name. It’s kind of awesome. I’ve never had a nickname before. I’ve always just been Carson. I mean, the only real way to shorten it is to call me Cars, and that’s sort of…I don’t know, it lacks something. So I need to do some thinking. If you have any ideas, definitely let me know.”
He nods, his full attention still on me. So I go on.
“We practiced a bunch of skating skills and finished with a speed test and an endurance test. For endurance, we had to do twenty-seven laps in under five minutes, which I definitely did not do. But then we did a sprint, which was supposed to be a single lap in under thirteen seconds, and I did it. I freakingdid it. On my first try! And when I crossed the finish line, everyone was cheering, and I don’t know, it was just cool to be in this room full of badass women cheering each other on. I just…I just loved it.”
He smiles, and it’s a real one—I can tell because there’s a dimple in his left cheek that I’ve never seen before. “That’s amazing, Carson.”
The sound of my name coming out of his mouth nearly sucks the air from my lungs. Thank god I’m already sitting or my knees might have given out.
“It really was,” I say. I clear my throat and continue. “I mean, it was really hard. My body is definitely not used to doing this stuff, and I haven’t even gotten hit yet. I have a feeling my muscles aren’t going to know the difference tomorrow, though. I’m going to besore.”
He nods. “Taking up something new is always an adjustment. My arm was exhausted after the first couple of weeks of tattooing. Holding the gun steady, the physical concentration. I had to ice my shoulder every night.”
I eye his arms, his sleeves still rolled midway up his forearms. He’s obviously jacked, his arms carved and veined. Woe betide the pickle jar that tries to best him.
“I can help you out,” Dan says, and my eyes suddenly jerk away from the wonder that is his arms.
“With what?” I stutter.
“I can take you to the gym. Teach you how to lift.”
I grimace like he just suggested I eat my neighbor’s cat. “Ugh, I fucking hate the gym.”
He laughs. “That’s the first time I’ve heard you swear.”
“Hazard of teaching five-year-olds. Your vocabulary becomes decidedly PG.”
“Funny that the gym is what brought it out of you.”
I sigh. “It makes me think of my mother saying, ‘A moment on the lips, a lifetime on the hips.’ As if my weight were something I could control and not, you know, part of my genetics.”
Dan’s jaw clenches, and he’s silent for a long moment. Too long. Long enough that I start shifting in my chair under the force of his glare. When he finally speaks, it’s only after a long, slow inhale and a harsh exhale. He leans across the table, and the heat of his gaze is enough to make me sit back in my chair, like his attention could actually burn me.
“Carson, I don’t want to take you to the gym to make you smaller. I want to take you to the gym to make you bigger,” he says, like he can’t believe anyone would ever suggest anything else. And then his full lips curve into the most devilish grin. “Weput a little more muscle on that ass, you’re going to knock girls into the stands. And that’s something I want to see.”
I blink, swallowing hard to keep from choking on the chunk of pineapple lodged in my throat.
“I, uh—” I sputter. “Okay.”
“Yeah?”
I nod.
“Monday?”
Oh crap, I thought I’d have more time to try to get out of this.
“Sure,” I concede, even though I’m far from it.
“Seven a.m. okay?”
I grimace. “Do we have to?”
He grins. “Best way to start your day.”
