I nod, gingerly working to my skates and pacing in slow circles as I assess if I'm injured or not."That's me.Morgan Wheeler, klutz extraordinaire."
He chuckles."Dunno about that.Accidents happen.Watched you skate, and it's obvious where your girl got her moves from.You're a hell of a skater."
"You know my daughter?"I ask."You've seen her skate?"
He nods, shrugging."She drops in with Bill’s boys for scrimmages once in a while.I've seen her play.Girls got some killer moves—better than most of the boys I've ever coached, but she says she's not allowed to play."
“She's not."
He nods, shrugs."Shame.She's talented as hell.Spend a few months working on team-play stuff, and she could walk onto a girls’ team at any college.She's damned good, Mrs.Wheeler."
"I'm not married," I say, trying and mostly succeeding at not snapping."And that's not happening.She's about to make the US women's teams for the Olympics."
He nods."Gotcha."I sense he doesn't agree in one way or another, but is too smart to argue."Well, speaking for Bill, she's always welcome to drop in with the boys any time."He eyes me."I know he makes sure the boys know not to check her too hard, but she insists they don't take it easy.She's a tough little scrapper."
I sigh."Tougher than she is practical, I think."
"Kids that age have no sense of self-preservation, do they?"
I laugh and shake my head."No, they do not."I'm not hurt, just sore and embarrassed, and I coast backward away from him."I'm sorry again, Captain Austin."
He glides after me."No harm done.I think we both thought we'd have the ice to ourselves."
My hand, for reasons I refuse to examine, drifts toward his rugged, handsome face, and I dab at the trickle of blood on his lip and chin."You've got a little…um…here.Must've caught my elbow."
He dabs at it, tongues it."Ah, yeah.I think it was your head."
I rub the back of my head, realizing it's a little tender back there."I didn't loosen a tooth, did I?"
He probes his teeth with his tongue.“Nah.All good."
I hear the chatter of voices and startle."Oh, crap.My girls are here."
He shakes his wrist to look at his watch.“It’seight?Holy shit.I'm late as hell.Lost track of time."
I grin at him."We both did, I think."
"See ya 'round, Morgan."
"See you around, Captain Austin."
His grin is breezy, effortlessly charming, and devilishly attractive."Call me Noah."He tosses it over his shoulder as he skates for the exit that will take him to the locker room.
I do the same, but I leave my skates on, pausing just off the ice to slip guards on the blades.The locker room is full of squealing, chattering, preteen girls lacing up skates and showing each other things on their phones—I realize this is just my personal opinion, but giving nine-year-olds smartphones just seems like a poor choice to me, given the research about their effect on developing brains.
"Girls!"I call, clapping my hands.“What's my rule?”
"No phones during lessons!"they respond in unison, and there's a flurry of activity as they rush to put their phones in purses and bags and lockers—devices aren't allowed on the ice.
It's a long-standing rule because I've had more than one girl land on her phone during a fall.
I get lost in the flow of work, then, checking and adjusting laces, making sure skates are sharp, ensuring the girls are wearing proper layers—lately, it's become a fad to wear hoodies with nothing underneath them except a camisole or bralette at most and usually nothing; once they warm up it becomes necessary to shed layers, so I require my girls to show up for lessons properly attired.
As I take the girls through dynamic stretches and the rest of the warmup routine, my mind—and my eye—returns again and again to the other end of the ice where Noah was skating.I see his deep blue eyes and his easy grin.
It's not a distraction, exactly.
Or maybe it is.
Nothing will ever happen, but it's nice to know I can still flirt a little, at least, right?
