The word causes her eyes to widen, butMacy?
She is not having it.
“Poetry doesn’t make me lose feeling in my face,” Macy snaps, her voice muffled by her scarf as she rubs her hands together furiously. “Seriously. I’m going todieof frostbite if I have to stand here one more second.”
“It’s not cold in here!” I laugh, gesturing at the rink. Seriously—they keep the temperature between fifty-five and sixty degrees.
“Maybe you don’t think it’s cold,” Macy grumbles. “This is your second home. Meanwhile, I’m turning into a Popsicle.”
“A cute Popsicle.” Harper stifles a laugh, biting her lip to hide her amusement.
Macy throws her hands up. “Great! Good to know I look adorable whilefreezingto death. That totally makes me feel less cold.”
Harper laughs, which adds fuel to her friend’s fire.
“You know what, Harper?” Macy has had enough. “Stay here and freeze with your dumb hockey hottie.” She stomps toward the exit, her boots squeaking against the damp rubber floor. “Text me when you’re done with your Disney on Ice moment!”
Her voice echoes through the rink as the heavy doors slam behind her.
Harper snorts, shaking her head as she watches Macy’s exit. “We really know how to clear a room, don’t we?”
“Not my fault Macy has the cold tolerance of a cactus,” I reply, shrugging. “Now it’s just you and me.”
“Lucky me,” she whispers.
I skate to the boards where she’s leaning, planting my elbows on the half wall and tilting my head as I study her. She meets my gaze, and for a moment, it’s like the air between us shifts—quieter, warmer, charged with something unspoken.
“You talk a big game, you know,” I say, my voice low, unmistakably teasing.
Flirty, even.
She crosses her arms. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means…” I inch closer. “You’ve got a lot to say about hockey for someone who’s never been on the ice.”
“When did I say I’ve never been on the ice? I said I’ve never handled a stick.” Her expression doesn’t falter and her lips twitch. “Are you calling me out?”
Yes.
Obviously.
I straighten and lift my stick behind me, resting it across my shoulders. “What are ya gonna do about it?”
Her eyes narrow, her lips twitching again like she’s trying not to smile. “You’re serious?”
“Dead serious,” I say, curling my elbows over the stick as I smile at her. “What’s the worst that could happen? You fall, I laugh, I help you get back up.”
“I don’t have skates.” Her chin has notched up.
“They have them up front,” I counter smoothly, gesturing toward the rental desk at the far end of the rink. “Pick your size, lace them up, let’s go.”
She presses her lips together, like she’s weighing her options. Then her gaze flicks to the ice and back to me, and I swear I see the faintest hint of nerves flash across her face.
“Fine.”
Chapter 27
Harper
