Page 69 of Offside

Friday arrived the way anticipated things always did. Too slowly and then all at once.

I’d showered and done my hair, and then I stood in front of my open underwear drawer for a long moment before I reached past everything in it and opened the bottom drawer of my dresser instead.

The silk was exactly as good as I remembered. I put it on and stood in front of my mirror. The bralette fit like it had been made for me—a fit that didn’t happen by accident, which meant he’d paid attention to more than the color and wrapping. I thought about how he could have known my size and decided not to think about it too hard, because it would short-circuit my brain.

Then I pulled on jeans and a nice top, the standard going-out attire for a woman trying to look cute but casual, and a light sweater over it. It wasn’t particularly cold, but the air conditioning in some places would freeze me out, and I knew it.

He was exactly on time. I opened the door and he was standing on my porch in dark jeans and a gray henley with his hands in his pockets, and I had the same thought I always had when I saw him outside of a professional context. That he was unfairly good-looking, which still caught me off guard, even now.

“Hi,” I said.

“Hi.” His eyes moved over me. Quick, thorough, landing back on my face. “You look pretty.”

“Thank you.” My face was heating, so I turned around to grab my purse. “Where are we going? Am I dressed okay?”

“You’re perfect. You’ll see.” No, you look perfect, but you’re perfect.

“Ryan—”

“Get in the car, Callahan.”

Then he stopped while opening the car door for me.

“What?” I came to a halt too.

“This.” He let go of the car door handle and stepped into me, grabbing the back of my neck and pulling me in for a heart-stopping kiss. His tongue slid along mine, and all my thoughts left me. The silk of my new panties went damp as heat pooled low in my core, and I kissed him back, meeting his energy.

It was over too soon, and when Ryan pulled back, he shook his head as he grinned at me before opening the car door. Momentarily stunned, I stood there for a moment, wanting him to abandon this surprise and come back in my house to fuck my brains out. Bossy style.

“Get in the car, Callahan. If we keep this up, I won’t be able to stop. And I have a surprise for you.”

I got in the car silently, a playful grin on my face.

He drove us west and about five minutes into the drive, reached over and took my hand in his, intertwining our fingers while I watched the city go by and ran through options in my head. A restaurant I didn’t know, somewhere on the canal, maybe a place downtown. I tried not to stare down at our joined hands, once again thinking back to the time we’d spent together in Minnesota when he’d done the same thing but hid our hands in his lap where Griffin couldn’t see them.

He turned into the Sidewinders facility.

I stared at the parking lot as he pulled in. Empty. The building dark except for the security lights along the perimeter. My building. Where I worked. Where we worked.

“Ryan.”

“I know.”

“This is where I work.”

“I know. Coincidentally, I too work here.” He smirked at me. It was what I’d call devilish. I wanted to roll my eyes at him, but he was so fucking hot, and he had charm I found irresistible. He enjoyed giving me shit, but not in a mean way, and I felt properly put in my place but also happy about it? What the fuck.

He cut the engine and got out of the car, completely unbothered, and I sat there for a moment before he opened my door and I followed him.

He took me through the player’s entrance, down the corridor that smelled like rubber and cold and the mineral sharpness of the ice plant running underneath everything. I’d walked this corridor a hundred times; well probably not a hundred, but a lot. I knew exactly where it led and I had no idea why he’d brought me here on a Friday night until he pushed open the door to the rink.

I stopped.

The overhead lights were off. In their place, the ice was lit from below and along the boards. A warm amber glow I’d never seen in here before, soft enough to be atmospheric, bright enough to skate by. Music was playing low on the loudspeakers, relaxing and chill, not quite a slow song but close. On the bench, a thermos and two cups. And a box that appeared to be skates.

I stood in the doorway and took it all in.

“You talked to the lighting guy,” I said.