“Waterproof gloves with some sort of lining would be better, but they’ll do for today.”
He frowns, making his forehead wrinkle in concentration. I want to wipe away each one of those cute creases. Or kiss them smooth. Dammit, there I go again, not learning a damned thing from my biggest mistake.
“I don’t think I have anything like that,” he says.
“I’ll bring you one of my extra pairs next time.” I usually have a spare pair in my cubby, but I loaned them to Lex last week.
“Thanks.”
Kolby puts on his mittens and we head out to the rink. He’s not great at walking on skates, even with the guards on, so it’s slow going. I’m getting the impression that eight weeks might not be enough to get him ready for this audition, but I don’t say anything. I don’t want to doom our little project even before we’ve gotten started.
When we get to the edge of the rink, I stop, take the guards off my skates, and instruct Kolby to do the same.
“Do I have to?” he asks, looking down at his feet doubtfully. “I’m barely upright with them on.”
“They’re not allowed on the ice. Besides, it’s better to get used to the feel of the blades.”
He reluctantly takes off the guards and puts them on the floor next to the boards with mine. I unlatch the door, pull it open, and step through the gap, skating backward a few feet and motioning for him to join me.
He shuffles forward and stops at the edge of the ice. “I didn’t realize it would be so—big.”
“Haven’t you ever been to a game?” Hockey is king at Moo U, thanks to the team’s Frozen Four appearances. And students get discount tickets in the sections behind the goals.
He shakes his head. “I’ve never been much of a fan of organized sports.”
“We’ll have to change that.” I skate back another foot and crook a gloved finger at him. “Come on. We don’t have all night. I’m sure the Zamboni guy wants to get home to his kids.”
“I was hoping I could ease into this a little.”
“Skating’s like improv. You can’t learn it standing on the sidelines. Trust me, it’ll be easier this way. Like jumping into the deep end of the swimming pool.”
“I’m not sure that’s the best analogy. Isn’t that how people drown?”
“Not when there’s a lifeguard on duty.” I put a hand on the center of my chest. “Consider me your lifeguard.”
He puts one skate tentatively on the ice. “All right, but if I kill myself, make sure the eighty-two dollars and fifty-nine cents in my bank account goes to my sister. Her address is in the top left drawer of my desk.”
“Deal. But you’re not going to kill yourself. Not with me as your teacher.”
“You really think highly of yourself, don’t you?”
“It’s a gift. Now quit stalling and get out here.”
It takes him five minutes to get both skates on the ice. Another five to let go of the boards. With anyone else, I might get frustrated. But Kolby is so clearly out of his comfort zone, I can’t help but admire him for trying. He reminds me of me that first improv class. Plus, he’s so stinking adorable, with his deer-in-the-headlights expression and his rainbow mittens, it’s hard to get mad at him.
We work on falling first, which he finds hysterical until I explain how important it is to learn not only how to fall so you don’t hurt yourself but how to get up again afterward. Then I teach him the easiest way to stop—the snowplow—and get him step, step, gliding.
“That’s it,” I call encouragingly, skating backward in front of him so I can watch his progress. “Small steps, then glide. Don’t forget to bend your knees.”
He grimaces but follows my instructions. “Ugh. Why is there so much to remember?”
“Because if it was easy, everyone would do it.” I circle around him a couple of times, checking his form. He’s a little stiff and he needs to work on pushing off on the inside edge of the blade when he glides, but he’s not doing bad for a beginner. Especially for one who didn’t even want to set foot on the ice half an hour ago.
“Okay,” I say. “Now let’s see you stop.”
I pull up in front of him, giving him what I think is plenty of stopping room. He pushes out on his blades and points his toes inward to form an inverted V, like we’ve practiced. But he’s going faster than I expect, and instead of slowing to a stop he plows right into me, and we both wind up on the ice.
Or I wind up on the ice. Kolby lands on top of me. My padding doesn’t let me get the full body-on-body experience, but I can still feel his chest against mine, his hands bracketing my head, his breath hot on my cheek.
