"Yep."
"And embarrass myself."
"Probably."
"And possibly break something important."
"The ice or your dignity?" He's grinning now, and it transforms his entire face. "Either way, I've got you."
His hand is warm even through the glove. I take it, and my pulse kicks up in a way that has nothing to do with the fear of falling.
The moment my skates hit the ice, gravity apparently hates me. My ankles wobble, my arms flail, and I'm pretty sure I just invented a new sport called "interpretive falling."
"Relax," Ryder says, skating backward while holding both my hands. "Bend your knees slightly. Small pushes, don't try to go fast."
"I'm not trying to go at all. I'm trying to survive."
"Same thing in hockey."
We make it maybe ten feet before my skates betray me completely. I pitch forward, Ryder catches me against his chest, and suddenly we're standing very close in the middle of the ice while his entire team watches.
"Hi," I manage.
"Hi." His hands are steady on my waist, keeping me upright. "You good?"
"Define good."
"Not falling?"
"Then no. Definitely not good."
He's smiling, though. We both are. And somewhere in the back of my mind, I register that this is content gold—the clumsy city girl learning to skate from her hockey player boyfriend—but I don't reach for my phone.
"Again?" Ryder asks.
I nod. "Again."
We spend the next hour with me falling multiple times while Ryder patiently teaches me the basics. By the end, I can sortof glide in a straight line without flailing, which feels like a Olympic-level achievement.
"You're a natural," Jax announces, skating circles around us. "By natural, I mean you only fell fourteen times that last round. New record."
"It was seventeen times," I correct. "I'm keeping count."
"Even better. Next week, we'll get you to fifteen."
"There's not going to be a next week. This was a one-time torture session."
"Sure it was," Jax says, winking at Ryder. "Hey, team's hitting The Grizzly later for karaoke. You two should come."
"We should probably—" I start, but Ryder cuts me off.
"We'll be there."
After practice, I head back to my cabin to change into something that doesn't smell like rink sweat and failure. Ryder follows in his truck.
We both park, and I meet him between our vehicles. "That was fun," I admit. "Humiliating, but fun."
"You did great. Most people fall at least thirty times their first session."
