Millie busts out laughing.“Should’ve figured it was something way more barbaric and basic and not some cosmic play or shift in the atmosphere.”
Her laugh is contagious. Ican’t helpthe deep chuckle that comes from the pit of my stomach.“Definitely not.”
I look over at her and watch as she throws her head back in another bout of laughter. Something in my chest loosens at the sight. This has been the most fun I’ve had in a long time. Her enthusiasm for the game reminds me of all the reasons I fell in love with it to begin with.
I don’t know what it is about her, but I feel like I could fucking tell her anything—or everything, depending on how you look at it. I’ve never felt like this before, so damn comfortable with someone so quickly. I thought I felt it with Stella, but that doesn’t even compare to the ease and comfort I feel with Millie.
Our laughter dies down, and I realize we’re one of the few people still left in the stands. It’s almost go time.
“Shouldn’t we be leaving?”she asks as she shifts in her seat and notices the empty stands as well.
“I think we can stay a few more minutes. I like to watch the Zamboni clear the ice.”
She turns and watches the machine meticulously go row by row down the ice, taking it from a scraped-up mess to a clean, slick slate. Too bad we’re about to mess it up again, but I’ll fix it before we leave. Another part of the deal.
“It is soothing in a weird way.”
She settles back into her seat, a comfortable silence surrounding us. It’s nothing but the calming hum of the Zamboni. When the lights up by the concession stands start to shut off, neither one of us moves, both caught in the quiet aftermath of a great game.
It’s not until the Zamboni runs the last pass on the ice that I stand. Millie follows suit, and once we reach the aisle, she turns to go up the stairs toward the exit. I catch her elbow to stop her movement.
She looks back with a confused expression on her face and asks,“What is it?”
“I’ve got a surprise for you.”
I feel almost giddy with the anticipation of what’s to come. I reach for her hand, something that I’ve found myself doing a lot tonight. As soon as her small palm slips into mine, I feel a surge of warmth shoot up my arm, and I have to stop myself from pulling her closer to me.
I lead her in the opposite direction. We only have a few stairs to go down until we reach one of the many swinging doors that lead directly onto the ice.
The giddiness I felt before turns into pure excitement at the thought of what comes next.“You ready to learn how to skate, Daredevil?”
I hear a small gasp—or gulp of air, I’m not sure which, and when I look up to see her facial expression, I’m met with the cutest look of shock I think I’ve ever seen.
“Wha—why?” she sputters.
“Because it’s on your list, silly.”
“But how?”
“I may know a few people.”
“You know a few people,”she repeats, dumbfounded.
I walk over to the players’ bench and grab the skates I stored here before the game. She still hasn’t moved, and she’s staring at the ice like it might eat her. Her expression has me chuckling.“You scared, Daredevil?”
My playful taunt must zap her out of her shocked state.“I thought we already went over this.”
Her sassiness only encourages me more.“Might have to remind me, then. I don’t remember you saying anything about being too chicken to get out there on the ice.”
“I’m not chicken! I told you I was up for anything.”
Ah, now it makes sense.“No time like the present, then. We’ve only got an hour, though.”
Her shoulders bunch up around her ears, and she starts wringing her hands like she’s nervous. The little wrinkles across her forehead only add to the picture that Millie St. James is a freaking chicken.
This is going to be so much fun.
When I sit down to pull off my tennis shoes and put on my skates, she just watches intently. Once I’m all laced up, I lean over and grab her skates.“Your turn.”
