It’s not a simple process. Not when Cole turns a skate rental into a twenty-minute inquisition. The poor high-school kid working behind the desk remains bewildered as Cole grills him about the brands they carry, throws around phrases likeoptimal instep height, and compares the sharpness of various pairs of skates. His presence garners attention from onlookers, the scrutiny making me squirm so violently I hop awkwardly from foot to foot like a backup dancer. He’s either completely oblivious to the looks he’s getting or he’s so used to it that it doesn’t register for him.
Once he’s narrowed the skate choices down to three options, I try them all on. I’m like Goldilocks—the first pair is too big, the second pair is too small, and according to Cole, the third pair isjustright.
“These are the winners,” he announces with a satisfactory grin.
“Are you sure?” I ask, trying and failing to wiggle my toes. “Because my toes feel suffocated.”
The only indication he’s heard me is the harsh breath of air that slips through his nose.Rude. Regardless, I sit still as he finishes the laces.
“The skates should be snug,” he says as he ties the laces into bunny ears. “They have to be a lot more fitted than regular footwear. You want the least amount of negative space.” With that, he taps my calf muscles. “Stand up.”
I obey, a little wobbly as I go, and immediately, my toes brush against the end of the skates. With a grimace, I eye Cole, who’s still squatting on the ground. “Yeah, they’re definitely too small.”
Ignoring my complaint once again, he wedges a pointer finger into the gap between my ankle and the back of the skate.
Okay, invasive, much?
“Nope. They’re good.” Standing, he rests his hands on his hips. “Now bend your knees just a little and make sure your ankles and hips are in line with your head.”
I awkwardly finagle my body into said position, but when I look at him for approval, he shakes his head. “Keep your weight forward and your head up.”
Softening my knees, I bend forward. As I go, my face heats. I feel ridiculous, considering I’m not even on the ice. The only other people on the rubber floor outside of the rink are a group of what looks to be six-year-olds tying up their skates with practiced precision, which makes me feel marginally worse. With an exhale, I force myself to look away from them and zero in on Cole to gauge his reaction to my form.
Rather than assessing my stance, he’s focused on my behind like it’s a homing beacon.
“Cole,” I choke out through a laugh. “At least pretend you’re not checking out my ass.”
He snaps to attention, his head whipping around violently enough to cause damage to his neck. At least he has the decency to look embarrassed. “Yup. Got it. Staying focused.”
Stepping behind me, he places his hands on my hips and tilts them forward a tad. Then, with a hum, he takes a step back and walks around me so he can observe from every angle.
“Good,” he comments eventually. “Now stand up straight and try again.”
I salute him. “Yes, sir.”
Brows lifting, he smirks. “I like you calling mesira little too much.”
Dirty thoughts dance across my mind, every one of them involving Cole without a shirt. I’m not into anything too kinky, but I don’t mind ceding control in the bedroom, and based on the way Cole’s eyes sparkle, he knows exactly where my thoughts have strayed.
With heated cheeks—again—I bend into the skating position, avoiding eye contact like it’s my job.
He uses two fingers to lift my chin. “Head up,” he gently reminds me.
We do this a few more times before he’s fully satisfied. Rather than admit that my thighs are already burning from the weird little skating squats, I shoot him a thumbs-up.
“Let’s talk about falling.”
I scoff. “Okay, wow. Rude. You’re just assuming that I’m going to be a sucky skater?”
“Everyone falls,” he states calmly. “And if you’ve never been on the ice before, there isn’t a doubt in my mind you’re going to fall. But I’d like to avoid broken bones and bruises, if that’s all right with you.”
“Yeah,” I mumble, properly admonished. “Okay.”
I listen with the patience of a saint as Cole goes over what to do when I fall. Because it’s a when, not anif. Don’t tense up, try to land on my butt if possible, and use my hands to cushion the fall. My eyes aren’t the only ones tracking his every movement as he talks. I’m going to believe it’s because he’s a famous hockey player and not because he looks edible in his Bobcats sweatshirt with day-old stubble covering his jaw. In my experience, women tend to end up with one of two guys: the hot bad boy or the cute nice guy. But Cole? He’s a hot nice guy; a peacock among geese. Not that we’re together. Simply an observation.
“You ready to skate?” Cole asks, bringing me back to reality.
I flash him what I hope is a confident smile and nod.Ready as I’ll ever be.Then, awkwardly, I waddle across the rubber floor. There’s a chance I walk better in heels than skates, and that’s saying something.
