Her lips fall open in surprise. We never set times that she and Spencer could use the rink for practice together or on their own. They both have access to the schedule and keys to the building to come and go as they need.
“I’m fine,” she says as she shifts, lifting herself onto one knee. Her gloved hands land on the ice to steady her. “I mean, I’m out of shape, but otherwise, I’m fine. I’ll have a nasty knee bruise, but nothing I haven’t dealt with before.”
I reach for her on instinct, but stop before making contact. I don’t know what the fuck I was thinking, but watching her fall to the ice sent my heart into my throat.
Isla watches my hand awkwardly retreat from her.
“Do you need help?” I ask, trying to hide the sting of embarrassment flooding my cheeks. She’s set me off kilter again, self-conscious in a way I haven’t been since I was a teenager. I stumble to my feet and stuff my hands into my pockets to avoid further embarrassment.
She uses the boards to hoist herself into a standing position, not bothering to respond to my offer for help. “What are you doing here?” she asks while shaking out her leg.
“What am I doing at the rink I own?”
She rolls her eyes, a tic of hers I like way more than I should. “Oh, do you own this place? I had no idea.”
She hops in place, and I swear I try not to look at her, but my eyes won’t fucking listen to reason. Her naval piercing glints in the light with the movement, drawing my gaze. I blame my exhaustion from this morning, a combination of not sleeping well and arguing with a teenage girl. I have no idea how parents handle it.
“Your time’s up on the ice,” I say to redirect my focus and wrest control of this situation. “We’ve got a hockey game scheduled this morning.”
“Is that why you’re here? To play hockey?”
“Yep.”
“What position? No, wait, let me guess. Second line center.”
I scoff. “Center, huh? What makes you think that?”
Isla waves her hand in front of me. “It’s a vibe you give off. Bossy, and all me-me-me. I could also see you being a goalie to mark your territory.”
“Right. Well. Hate to burst the bubble of your supposed hockey knowledge, but I play defense.”
“Which pair?” she asks, trying to identify the level of my talent.
A sharp whistle cuts through the air, followed by a couple of shouts of my name. Some guys from my team sit on the bench, lacing up their skates and getting ready for our game. Our league exists forfun, but that doesn’t mean we aren’t competitive. I hold up a hand to wave, then turn to Isla.
“Stick around and find out, Red,” I tell her, before turning ninety degrees and making my way across the ice to the bench.
Max stands as I approach, knocking his hand into my shoulder when I’m within reach. “Who isthat?”
I shrug off his hand, annoyed for a reason that I refuse to admit to myself. Not giving a name to something makes it easier to ignore. The strategy hasn’t failed me yet. “My brother’s new skating partner.”
I follow his sharp, focused gaze to Isla, who still hasn’t left the rink. She’s skating back and forth in quick bursts, likely testing out her legs after that fall. I wonder if she’ll stick around to watch the game. The idea sparks something in my gut, a nervous anticipation I haven’t felt since my college days.
“She’s a smokeshow.” Max’s voice fills with awe. I fight a grimace at his choice of term, but I can relate to that dazed feeling coming over him. Isla brings it out of me, too—always has. “She single?”
“No idea,” I lie.
Isla has no plans for a relationship, which I know because Spencer brain-dumped information about her when he was using me as a sounding board. Sucker that I am, I cataloged every piece of information.
“Hey, boys,” she calls in a sing-song voice as she skates by the bench to exit the rink. Her presence elicits an appreciative whistle from Max and a chorus of hellos from the other guys who’veappeared in the last few minutes. Isla winks at me before disappearing down the tunnel out of view.
Max scowls in my direction. Little does he know that little gesture of hers was meant to taunt me.
One of my oldest friends, Sam, elbows me in the gut. “You got something going on with her?”
“Fuck off,” I say, shoving his shoulder. “She works for me and is a complete pain in my ass. And she’s Spencer’s new partner.”
“Lucky dude,” Max says, gaze still locked on the tunnel Isla vanished into.
