Good trouble though.
She sends back a laughing emoji and I catch myself grinning.
The arena is mostly empty by the time she arrives. A few maintenance staff and security are doing rounds, but the public spaces are deserted. She finds me by the doors to the main rink, curiosity written all over her face. She's wearing yoga pants and a tight Havoc tank top under an open hoodie, her honey blonde hair falling in loose waves around her shoulders. Those moss-green eyes search mine, trying tofigure out what I'm up to. Beautiful doesn't even begin to cover it.
"What are we doing here?"
"Patience, please?"
She gives me a look like she's trying to figure out what I have up my sleeve.
I lead her through the doors onto the concourse and take her down to rink level. The ice stretches out before us, pristine and perfect, Zamboni tracks still visible. The overhead lights are dimmed to maintenance levels, giving everything a twilight quality.
"Are we allowed to be here?" Scout asks.
"I cleared it with management."
"For what?"
Instead of answering, I grab two pairs of skates from the bench. Mine and a pair I borrowed from equipment that should fit her.
She eyes them with amusement. "You're making me skate in street clothes?"
"I've seen you skate in worse."
"Fair point." She sits down and laces up with practiced efficiency. "This better be worth missing dinner."
"It will be."
I step onto the ice first and reach back for her hand. She takes it, gliding onto the ice with easy confidence. Her movements are smooth and natural, the way they always are when I catch her skating between sessions at the rink.
"Show off," I mutter as she does a little spin.
"You're dating an athlete, remember? We do coordination for a living."
"Don't let go," I say anyway.
"Never." I look at her, my heart rate speeding up. "Not ever, Scout."
She tilts her head to the side. "You're being both extremely weird and extremely sweet tonight."
I say nothing, just wipe my spare hand on my pants. It's sweaty and gross. Scout doesn't seem to mind though.
We move slowly, me skating backward while Scout matches my pace with the kind of grace that comes from regular practice. She's not a hockey player, but she's spent enough time on the ice that it's second nature now.
"Look at you," I say. "Making this look easy."
She smirks. "I was born in skates. Same way I bet you were."
"Jett has some polaroids of me in a hockey uniform at four. They're... pretty cute, I guess," I admit grumpily.
"Oh. Now I have to see those."
I grunt. We make it to center ice and I stop. Scout raises an eyebrow at me.
"Why are we stopping? Are you going to make me do bag skates?"
I shake my head slowly, my heart pounding harder than it should. Enforcers twice my size have given me less nerves than this moment.
