Oh dear.
“Why Doc.Plum. I do believe you’ve been keeping secrets.” Exhausted but not yet willing to leave the ice, Dylan happily piled his long legs into the skate sled I’m pushing, snuggling beneath the blanket, while the ever cheeky Cory glides backwards alongside us. He’s tried to get me alone several times over the course of the morning, and I’ve avoided each attempt like I would a sex talk from my Nanna. “You used to play hockey?”
Ignoring his scent, which today for some reason is giving fresh raspberriesandmint, I nod. “I did, yes. A long, long, long, time ago.” This confirmation has Cory practically levitating. “And I wasn’t keeping secrets, it just seemed irrelevant.”
“Irrelevant? How could hockey ever be irrelevant? That’s like saying Spider-Man’s web slinging is insignificant.”
The mask of indifference I struggle to maintain around this infuriatingly likable man, slips. “Careful, Mr. Malkovich. Your inner nerd is showing.”
“I know.” He grins. “Just giving you the authentic experience you seemed to enjoy it last night.” Noticing Dylan raising, opening and closing his hand, I come to a gentle stop and pass the water bottle sitting in the holder down to him.
“He does that when he’s thirsty?” Cory asks.
“Yep, it’s that fordrink, and he’ll tap his chin when he’s hungry.”
“Hungry and thirsty,” he says, repeating the gestures. “Thirsty, hey Dyl. Ya know, I get that feeling a lot around your bro.”
Ignoring his flirting, I point my right index finger and poke it into my left palm. “And this one, means toilet.”
Back at the handles, we set off again albeit a little haphazardly as I use one hand to dab the perspiration building on my brow. Not an impending anxiety attack. Or fatal heart infliction, I remind myself. It’s the too close presence of a certain blonde. “About that, last night I mean. How were things when you got home? Did you have the chance to talk to your mom?”
“Nope. She was asleep, or pretending to be, and she was gone before I woke up. Pops, my grandpa, basically lives with us, but he’s suddenly taken a vow of silence. My sister Cherry’s as clueless as I am and Billie is a baby and can’t talk.”
“Billie is Cherry’s daughter, and she’s the one that called to check on you?” Much to Dylan’s delight, Cory nudges me from the sleigh handles, and pushes off on another lap of the rink.
“He is. It was, and yeah, she’s my twin sister.”
“I have a sister!”You’re a fucking idiot.
Doing an impressive job of suppressing his laughter, Cory simply smirks, and points to Faith. “I know. I’ve met her. Many times. You’ve met mine too. At O’Reilly’s, actually. In the parking lot.”
“That was your sister? But you?—”
“Called her sweetheart? Yeah. Your affection for Faithy inspired me. And hey, you can’t blame a guy for trying to make another guy jealous now, can you?”
It’s perhaps for the best that Dylan chooses this moment, as I ride the precipice of return flirting, to declare he wants out of the sled. Discontent humming can quickly escalate so I nod towards the bench, and follow Cory who gets the message and leads us off the ice.
I’m incredibly impressed, and to be honest, kind of turned on by Cory’s obvious talent for working with people. He oozes empathy and there’s been no hint of patronization in his conversations with those he’s supporting. I have questions a plenty concerning how he came to work here, and regarding his family, but none of it’s verbalized because Faith stops before us and gets to work un-bundling Dyl from the blanket he’s cocooned in.
“How was that, Dyl?” she asks as the first skate thuds to the ground. “I can’t believe how long you lasted. Would you like to come back next week?” Pleased to almost be free, he rocks back and forth in his seat, eyes bright as he nods.
“You held up much better than your brother did,” Cory adds. “I thought we might have to roll you out of the sled and lift him in.” Dylan and Faith find this hilarious of course, but in truth he’s not far off the mark.
“Skating is harder than I remember. The ice is, too. My ass is killing me.” It’s out before I can stop it. There’s some gentle snorting, and no one says anything, but if Cory’s right eyebrow goes any higher, it’ll be the first inhabitant of Mars.
Even though Dylan wanted out of the sled, he also doesn’t want to walk, so after a mad dash to Faith’s car, I return with the wheelchair we carry for such an emergency. The three Green Line staff help us carry our things back out, Lotte and Brady helping load the trunk while Faith and Sue help Maria, and Cory assists me to transfer Dyl from the chair into the backseat. Once that’s accomplished, everyone seems suitably exhausted.
“Thank you for being our first clients,” squeaks Lotte, who’s clearly fatigued but also beaming and bouncing on the balls of her toes. “The grant we’ve received allows each participant ten free sessions, so we hope you’ll all be back for lots more fun.”
“And if you’re ever interested in a private session, let me know,” Cory whispers, foot tapping against mine. “Maybe I can help loosen those glutes.”
“How slutty a short can I get away with at an official team event? I mean, Coach did mention Speedos, but I’m pretty sure he was joking.” Wiping the drool from Billie’s chin, Cherry looks me up and down, her disapproving scowl rendering reply unnecessary, yet unstoppable.
“Not that slutty.” She holds Billie with one arm, and wriggles on her stomach to the now substantial pile of clothes littering my bed, digs around, and pulls out the red pair of Adidas shorts James saw me jogging in. The ones I bought purely because Harry Styles was wearing a pair on Instagram. “Try these.”
“Can’t. Wore them the other day.”
“Who cares. No one will remember. Besides, the vertical stripes might make your legs look longer.”
