Page 14 of Date With Skates

He steps closer to me, tilting his head. “I call the shots. Always. I like to be in control.”

“Good thing for you, I like to be told what to do.”

“By a stranger, no less. You still don’t know my name.”

“Is that a requirement?”

“I’d prefer you know what name to call out when I’m inevitably driving you crazy.”

I suck in a sharp breath. “Confident and cocky.” I hold out my hand as best I can with ‌zero space between us. “Hi, I’m Connor McVoy. I play defense for the Colorado Diamonds, and I’m here playing on Team USA.”

I hold his gaze, waiting for him to make a move.

A slow smile crosses his lips, and he steps back to take my hand properly.

“Étienne Laurent. I play zero sports because they tried to kill me. I’m here as my cousin’s—Nico Laurent’s—personal assistant.”

I listen to everything he says, but I repeat his name over and over in my head, trying to figure out how the hell to pronounce his name without it being offensive. He said it so smoothly, in a perfect accent that I could never replicate. I want to ask if there is an American version, but that’s rude as hell. So, instead, I make a joke about it.

“I’m going to need a nickname for you.”

“Why?”

“Because whatever elegant French shit you just did with your name? My American mouth isn’t pulling it off.”

I expect him to laugh. People usually do when I say stupid stuff like that.

His gaze just drops to my mouth, and he says, “Maybe your mouth just needs practice.”

We’re still holding hands. I realize that now.

“Are you volunteering to help?” I question.

“Oh, yes.” His eyes light up with fire. “Who better to teach you how to call out my name than me?”

“I can’t tell if I’m going to enjoy this or be tortured by you.”

“Aren’t they one in the same?”

His gaze holds mine with challenge. We’re going around and around, flirting back and forth. It’s almost as if we’re trying to see who will give in first. Or who can out-flirt the other. Maybe we’re just testing each other out, seeing how hard we can push. I don’t have many limits, and I’m getting the impression he doesn’t either.

I love it. I feel like I’ve met my match. I love it when people can give as much as they can take. But I have better things that Étienne could take. And I’m pretty sure he’d agree.

“You’re trouble,” I finally say.

“So I’ve been told.”

I grin. “I meant your nickname. I’m calling you Trouble.”

“Fitting.”

He squeezes my hand, once again reminding me we haven’t let go yet.

“So, are you going to keep flirting with me all night, or are you going to do something about it?” I ask.

“I thought you were still trying to learn my name.”

“I am.” I step closer to him, our hands still clasped between us. “Pretty sure you said I need practice.”