“You can't be serious?” I ask, snatching them from him and putting them to the side.
“Yes, I am serious. I need you to put them on because being comfortable with falling is the first lesson in skating.”
“Comfortable with falling?”
Is that a euphemism?
“I’m comfortable with falling,” I answer.
The smallest of smiles grows on his lips. “No, you’re not. I only rushed over because you were yelling, and I’m not gonna lie—I usually like when a girl gets a little loud. Just maybe not in the middle of a public skating session.”
“I, uh.” I blink a few times, trying to make sure I heard him right. “Did you just tell me you like it when girls are loud?”
“Yeah.” He shrugs, nonchalant. “You'd know that if you ever let me apologize.”
“Uh...”
When did Scotty lose his manners? I was fully prepared for us to pretend nothing happened, and now he’s out here casually referencing things that he wanted to happen.
This is not good.
I’m in more trouble than I thought.
He rolls his shoulders back, completely unbothered. “I coach, Princess. I like feedback, and if I’m not making a girl fight to keep quiet…” His eyes drop to my mouth. “Then I’m not doing my job.”
I swallow hard.
The phrase echoes in my head.Not doing my job.Suddenly, I’m right on Lyss’s swing. I was close. So close to an orgasm even though we were both fully clothed and he'd barely touched me.
Can I just wither away now, please? Because I have no idea how I'm going to get through being this close to Scotty without losing my sanity.
“Let's just get this over with,” I grumble, reluctantly strapping the pads to my knees and pushing myself upright.
The skates feel different than the rentals—they’re lighter, more supportive, almost like they’re part of my feet instead of two iron blocks dragging me toward death. Not that it helps much, since my legs are still wobbling like that stupid baby giraffe Noelle compared me to.
Scotty steps onto the ice first, holding out his hand for me to take. I hesitate, staring at his gloved fingers, wishing I wasn't having a whole host of wildly inappropriate thoughts.
“I promise I won't let you fall,” he says gently.
That's the problem! He's too kind. Too considerate. Too freaking perfect for someone who was supposed to be a closed chapter in my life.
With a sigh of resignation, I place my hand in his. He laces our fingers together—for extra support, I hope—and then guides me onto the ice. Surprise, I immediately lose my footing.
Scotty doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t laugh. Doesn’t say a single thing that could make me voluntarily lock myself in the penalty box out of shame. He just steadies me, wordlessly, and helps me skate forward.
“For the first couple of lessons, I'm going to let you hold my hand,” he says. “It'll help you find your balance.”
“This isn't how you teach the kids though, is it?”
“No. They have the penguins.”
“And I can't have one of those?”
“You made it clear you didn’t want them on Friday.” A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth and he squeezes my hand. “At least this way, I've got a hold of you, so falling is less likely.”
We move slowly around the edge of the rink, and I spend the entire time focused on my feet, watching as the blades glide across the surface of the ice. We're moving slowly, just a gentle circle around the edge of the rink, but it's more controlled than any of my previous attempts.
“So, Princess Blanca on ice, huh?”
