It's an embarrassing admission, but Alex just tilts his head and nods.
“That makes total sense to me. Like, I wouldn’t say I’m afraid of playing football, but I never seriously played. If you asked me to suit up and stand on a field while a couple of three-hundred-pound linebackers barrel towards me at top speed, I’d probably be freaking out, too.”
“Right,” I laugh. “Except it's not the hockey playing that I’m scared of. I could handle the pucks and the fights. Roller hockey, I could handle. Field hockey, no problem. It’s ice hockey with the sharp, bladed shoes and the slippery surface that has my stomach turning.”
“It doesn’t make a difference which part of the game it is that makes you nervous, El. Apprehension is apprehension, no matter how you look at it.”
It's such a simple notion, but it resonates with something deep inside me, anyway. Maybe it’s theway Alex accepts my irrational fear without judgement. Maybe it’s the way he grips my hands a little tighter in his when I talk about my fears, a subtle reminder that he’s here and he’s got me.
Or maybe it’s the way my entire body is shaking with the urge to lean in and get another taste of those perfect, pink lips. Either way, that biting apprehension is slowly being replaced by Alex’s warmth, spreading through me like ice cream melting down the side of a cone.
“You’re right, Goat. Let’s go.”
He starts gliding backwards again, never taking his eyes off mine, and its magic. I can’t think about the knives on my feet or the ice melting under them. I can’t think about rolled ankles or torn ligaments or any other injury when I’m so entranced by the gleam in Alex’s eyes and the way our gloved hands fit so perfectly together.
“Look at you, skating like a pro. You’re doing amazing, El. Next, I’ll teach you how to handle a stick and dribble a puck and before you know it, The Thunder will be trying to steal you away from The Redwoods.”
I blush at the compliment, ignoring the fact that I’m not doing anything but letting him drag me along while I take deep, soothing yoga breaths, but that doesn’t matter.
“Just call me Gretzky,” I say, then immediately stumble on a choppy patch of ice. I lurch forward, stomach swooping as I accept my fate. This is how I die, being dragged around an ice rink like a toddler by a beautiful man.
I suppose there are worse ways to go.
Alex lets go of my hands as I fumble and wraps his arms around my waist. Instead of falling face first into the ice, I fall face first into his chest. I’m too busy trying to keep my feet steady to have the good sense to pull away, so I bury my face into his hoodie as my hands find purchase on his shoulders. I try to right myself, but the frantic movement of my feet and the skates on the ice has me losing my balance even quicker. I scramble but I can’t seem to get myself straightened out, even with Alex doing his best to hold me steady. I whimper, terrified of both eating shit and of embarrassing myself in front of a bunch of kids and adults who can skate circles around me like it’s nothing. My left foot slips and my knee buckles, and I let out a small sound of terrified protest.
“Please don’t let me fall, Goat,” I murmur into his chest while my feet continue to dance on the ice like out of control cartoon characters.
“I’ve got you, honey. I’ve got you. I won’t let you fall,” Alex whispers, his voice so quiet that it’s easy to convince myself I’ve misheard him. He slides hishands down my back and to the crease where my thighs meet my ass and lifts, pulling me off the ice and into the air. I wrap my hands around his neck, holding on tight as he skates away, carrying all one hundred and ninety pounds of me like I weigh nothing.
I don’t open my eyes until my ass is planted safely on a bench inside the penalty box, and when I do, Alex is in front of me, crouched down so we’re at eye level. My breath is heavy, and despite the cold air I have a sheen of sweat covering my skin. I am…humiliated.
“Well,” I say with an exaggerated sigh. “That was a little overdramatic, don’t you think?”
Alex snorts, shaking his head before pulling me in for a hug.
“No, El. That was really fucking brave. You faced a fear today. Most people aren’t strong enough to do that, but you did. I’m proud of you.”
His sweet words hit me right in the chest, leaving me with the overwhelming feeling of wanting to cry. He’s so unbelievably kind and understanding. So sure of himself, so completely Alex. Like a mirror reflecting back the version of myself I want to be back at me.
“Do you ever think it’s kind of crazy, how wemesh?” I ask against his shoulder, not wanting to break the hug when his arms feel this good around me. “We’ve only known each other a few weeks, but when I’m with you, I just feel like you…you just see me, you know?”
“I do see you, and I know that you see me, too. We just get each other. I think the universe brought us together for a reason, El.”
We stay in the hug longer than necessary, but I don’t want to be the first one to break away. I want to live in this moment, memorizing the salty, woodsy smell of Alex’s skin and the feel of his breath on my neck.
Ah, fuck. I am a lying liar who lies.
I need to be more careful, because I am totally running the risk of falling head over heels for this man.
“There’s something I want to talk to you about,” he mumbles against my neck. His lips brush my skin and I shudder.
“Yeah, I want to talk to you about something, too,” I say. Because as good as he feels in my arms, as much as I want to wrap myself up in him and just hold him close, I can’t lose myself in the sensation when my heart is at risk of joining the chat. I need to tell him that we’ve got to cool it with the physicaltouch or I’m going to revert back to the twenty year old version of myself who convinces himself that he can change a straight man if he just tries hard enough.
Alex hums, pulling away from the hug. I miss the warmth of him immediately, and I can’t stop the way my eyes roll to the back of my head, annoyed at my own pathetic urges.
I’m so fucked.
He helps me pull the death skates off and we decide to ditch the rink and go for waffles. We find a hole in the wall diner two blocks away and settle into a brightly lit, linoleum lined corner booth. A middle-aged woman who introduces herself as Polly and who has three pencils tucked behind her ear takes our order—two coffees, a chocolate chip waffle for Alex and a whole wheat Belgian waffle with berries and cream for me—and when she’s gone, Alex folds his hands on the sticky tabletop.
