“Do you?”
“Timing. Commitment. Trust. You hesitate; you fall. It’s intense. I see that.”
I purse my lips, nodding. “So, you were paying attention to more than just…” I gesture up and down my body.
His cheeks go red and he swallows hard.
“So, what’s the verdict then, Mister…”
“Roman Callahan.”
“Roman Blake Callahan. What a name…”
“You’re Nico Laurent.”
I laugh, noting the way his gaze goes to my mouth. “Yeah, that’s me. So, verdict? Think you’ll be out there with me tomorrow, or what?”
“I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”
“I’m sure you’re comfortable on the ice.”
“With a stick and a puck and my teammates.”
“So, no one-on-one thingies for you?” I ask.
“One-on-one thingies?” he questions, frowning.
“Yeah, you know… the duel. At the end of the game. One player against the goalie.”
It takes a second, but then he laughs, just a quick low sound.
“A shoot out.”
“That’s what I said.”
His smile stays, and I decide right here and now that I like it.
I shift my weight on my feet. “I never understood hockey. It’s very violent.”
“The opposite of figure skating.”
I nod. “Exactly.”
“I’m not a violent person,” he says adamantly.
“No,” I say carefully. “You’re not. I can see that in your big green eyes. So how do you deal with shoving all the small guys around—and don’t you dare tell me they aren’t small, because compared to you, I bet they are.”
I watch him for a moment as he gathers his thoughts, his eyes so full of emotion.
“Just because they’re small doesn’t mean they can’t hold their own. We’re taught to take hits and how to give them. It’s technique.”
“So, you think I could body check you, Roman Blake Callahan?” I ask with a smirk.
“You could try,” he says, his words low and sounding like there is some other kind of meaning to them that I’m missing.
“Hey, Roman!” someone shouts, coming down the steps toward us. It’s the guy that was standing with him earlier. Teammate, I guess. Maybe just a friend.
Roman doesn’t look away from me.
