Chapter Fourteen
I shouldn’t be disappointed that Liam is here again when I walk on board the stupid two-pilot plane the next morning, but I am. This is the part of the week I enjoy the most, the quick trip to Lake Placid, but instead of feeling excited, my skin feels tight and itchy, like I’m on edge.
I know what Wyatt’s doing, too. Telling my father the Phenom needs to be checked over on the off chance there’s storm damage. Biggest load of bullshit.
It’s the lodge all over again—him unwilling to be alone with me.
He’s using Liam as a buffer, hiding behind his co-pilot like that would make a single bit of difference. I have no problem talking to him whether Liam is here or not. I don’t care. I’m Phillipa Cartwright, for fuck’s sake. I’m no stranger to hard work. I wouldn’t be on podiums, winning medals, making a name in skating if I was.
The problem is that not only do we have another person on the jet with us—a sweet, bubbly young man who is interested in my profession—but they lock themselves away in the cockpit as soon as they know I’m on board, only coming out to do whatever they need to do before takeoff.
I’m grumbling to myself, finishing lacing up my skates as a high pitched voice rings around the changing rooms.
“Miss Pippa! Miss Pippa!” A girl with white-blonde hair tied in high pigtails whirls around the corner, her jacket sleeve hanging haphazardly off her shoulder, her bag dragging along the ground behind her. “Miss Pippa, they came back!”
I grin, holding out my hand and beckoning with my fingers. “Let's see then.”
Daisy skids to a halt and lifts the bag onto the bench next to me, unzipping it with shaking hands. “They look so good, Miss Pippa.”
As she carefully lifts one out, my heart squeezes. My old boots look amazing. The pink is brighter, the decals are more defined, and they look brand new, making the fresh laces pop against the leather.
She points to a drawing of something that wasn’t there before. “Look,” she beams proudly, poking a small daisy on the boot's heel. “The lady added it just for me.”
Daisy’s excitement is contagious, and my cheeks ache from smiling. “It’s gorgeous. Did she draw one on both?”
She nods quickly, her pigtails bouncing. “Yeah.” She then proceeds to take out the other one and shows me the same flower on that one, too.
“A special flower for a special girl,” I tell her, placing the boots on the floor beside mine. “Did they sharpen the blades too?”
She shakes her head. “No, they’re new.”
I need to make a mental note to thank Evan’s cousin for doing this for me. I know I shouldn’t have favorites out of the group of little girls I teach how to skate, but there’s something about Daisy that I can’t help but love. Plus, my old skates are too small for me now, so why not give them to someone who can benefit from them?
“Very lucky,” I coo, watching her sit on the mats and take off her sneakers. “Be careful with them, though. They’re a lot sharper than your old skates.”
“I know,” she says in that tone kids do when you’ve told them something obvious.
“Cheeky.” I get to my feet and teasingly tug on one of her pigtails. “Put your stuff away, and I’ll meet you on the ice, okay?”
She doesn’t answer me as she sticks out her tongue in concentration, lacing up the skates. My stomach flutters as I walk out into the rink, the nine other girls chatting by the side as Gigi, my assistant, watches over them.
“Morning, girls,” I call out as I approach them.
“Good morning, Miss Pippa,” they echo back, their faces filling with smiles.
“Who’s ready to learn some spins?”
“ Meeee ,” they squeal. Loudly. And I glance at Gigi, smothering a laugh.
“Okay then,” Gigi says. Clapping her hands, she opens the door to the rink. “Let’s do some warm-up laps while we get One Direction on.”
“No, Miss Gigi,” Delilah scolds. “We like Taylor Swift now.”
Gigi gasps in mock horror, her hand flying to her chest. “How could I forget? Okay, well, let me see you shake off those arms and wiggle those hips. We’ve got a spring recital to practice for.” She joins the girls on the ice as I connect my phone to the arena’s Bluetooth and click on the playlist for my girls, which mainly consists of the biggest pop star in the world right now.
By the time our hour-long lesson ends, the girls are rosy-cheeked and exhausted. They file off the ice, each high-fiving me and Gigi as they make their way back to the changing rooms.
“Remember to come back here when you’re ready so we know you’ve left with your parents,” I shout out, earning a round of “ Yes, Miss Pippa.” I love that I can do this… that I can come to Lake Placid every Saturday and dedicate an hour of my day to teaching kids who might otherwise not have the chance to learn how to skate.
I pay for the ice time, I pay for the rink maintenance afterward, and I pay for Gigi’s time through tickets to my competitions because she won’t accept my money. She’s just happy to be involved in the sport after deciding that skating professionally wasn’t for her.
“Daisy, sweetie,” Gigi says, stopping the little girl with bright pink skates as she approaches the door. “Your mom’s gonna be a little late, so do you want to skate around for a bit longer?”
With a wide grin showing her missing front tooth, she takes off down the rink. Gigi grimaces, looking at me. “Do you mind staying with her? I would, but Daniel’s picking me up.”
I step onto the ice and touch her shoulder, squeezing it. “Of course.” It’s not like I’m in a rush to get back to the closed door of the cockpit and my frustration at being ignored anyway. Spinning backward, I pump my eyebrows suggestively. “Say hi to Danny for me.”
She looks behind me before quickly flipping me the bird and takes off down the chute. Daisy’s gloved hand slots into mine, her green gaze shining up as she says, “Can we change Taylor Swift now?”
“Do you not like her?” She screws up her nose, and I can’t help but laugh. “Okay, what do you want to listen to?”
“AC/DC,” she replies without missing a beat.
I nearly stumble over my blades—an excellent quality in a competitive skater—chuckling at Daisy’s serious expression.
“AC/DC. Sure. Any song in particular?” Pulling my phone from my hoodie pocket, I bring up my music app.
“Thunderstruck.”
The girl sure knows what she likes.
The song's recognizable cords boom around the arena, and Daisy launches forward, dragging me with her. She headbangs each time the band yells “ thunder ,” and each time, I throw my head back with a laugh.
As the album continues to play, Daisy displays as much enthusiasm for every song as she did for the first one. I show her some midair turns and intricate footwork, and she tries to copy them, eventually giving up. Her attention turns to her air guitar, and I join her, rocking out on the ice, my eyes closed, my hair swinging as I nod in time to the beat.
That is, until she stops me, tapping my arm and looking worried, “Miss Pippa. There’s a man in a suit watching us.”
My stomach drops with dread. This is meant to be a closed practice. No one should be able to just walk inside from off the street. I whip around, nudging Daisy behind me, ready to protect her, but my relief is as quick as the dread was.
It’s like seeing an animal in the wild as I stare at Wyatt. On the plane, his uniform looks normal, part of his everyday attire, belongs there. But seeing the man on the other side of the boards, dark navy pilot’s hat on his head casting a shadow over his face, the pressed white shirt and tie peeking out from the suit jacket…it makes my mouth water. I want to drag my nails down his front, over his clothes, before stripping him bare, licking him from head to toe.
A uniform that good should be illegal on a man like him.
“It’s okay, sweetie,” I tell her, remembering where I am and crouching to her level. “Let me speak to him, and I’ll be right back.”
“Do you know him?” Nibbling on her lower lip, she peeks around me. “Mommy said not to talk to strangers.”
“Yeah, I know him.” I brush my hand over one of her pigtails, and she nods, seemingly happy, skating across the rink as a new song begins. I hold my breath as I glide over, trying to calm my racing heart as Wyatt removes his hat, toying with the edges.
“When I said I’d give you a free show, I didn’t mean for you to sneak in and watch like a creepy voyeur,” I tease when I approach the side. “I usually like knowing when I’m being watched.”
“You’re late,” he replies, and I fight not to roll my eyes. Of course, he wouldn’t rise to my bait.
“I have to wait until Daisy’s mom gets here,” I say, thumbing over my shoulder. His blue eyes look behind me before returning to mine.
“How long will that take?”
I shrug. “Maybe another fifteen minutes?” Smirking, I lean on the edge of the boards, propping on an elbow and holding my chin in my hand. “Why don’t you sit and wait?”
“And watch you rock out to AC/DC?” he deadpans, curtly shaking his head. “I’ll wait outside.”
“Stop being boring, and sit your ass down and watch me skate, Wyatt,” I say, somewhat commanding. His eyebrows arch, and a thrill of delight rushes over me. “Don’t pretend you don’t want to see what I can do.”
Like a shot, I reach forward and snatch the hat from his hands, plopping it onto my head. A muscle in his neck ticks as he stares at me for one long second, my arms prickling with goosebumps beneath my hoodie sleeves, his gaze cooler than the AC pumping around the rink.
I tap the bill of the hat with my finger. “You can have this back when I’m done.”
He swallows, his eyes narrowing as I skate backward, pointedly looking at the stands. Then he turns, storming over to the first row of seats and dropping down.
Grinning, I spin and skate like I’m competing. Only the moves are unchoreographed and random but precise and accurate. I let the music fuel me and take me wherever it wants as I pirouette, leap, and glide across the ice, my blades and I becoming one.
Daisy laughs as I tip Wyatt’s hat to her, trying her best to copy me until I take her hand and whirl her around. Her eyes light up as the air whips around us, our hair flying around our heads the faster we go.
“Watch this,” I whisper, letting go. Starting to spin, I lift my leg and pull it behind me and over my head. I hear Daisy squeal with delight, clapping wildly. I don’t get a chance to look toward the stands when I land before Daisy sprints over, her small hands latching onto my wrists as she bounces in place.
“Teach me! Teach me! Teach me!!”
“Maybe one day. Got to keep practicing for an advanced spin like that.” A woman leaning over the boards catches my attention, and I wave, bending down to speak to Daisy. “Look, there’s your mom. Why don’t you show her what you were working on?”
“Okay,” she cries out, waving back frantically before launching into the small section of the routine we practiced today. “Did you see me, Mom? Did you see?”
“Yes, baby, you were amazing,” she gushes. Meeting us at the rink door, she drops to her knees and engulfs her daughter in her arms. She glances up at me, an apologetic look on her face. “I am so sorry I’m late.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I say before turning to Daisy. Bringing my phone out of my pocket, I turn off the music. “We had fun dancing to AC/DC, right, kiddo?”
She nods. “Miss Pippa is going to teach me to skate on one leg.”
“Really? Your dad will love that,” her mom laughs. “Why don’t you go get your stuff and let Miss Pippa have her day back, huh?”
Daisy takes her mom’s hand, speaking a mile a minute as they disappear down the chute. I close and lock the rink door behind me, glancing over my shoulder at Wyatt, my mouth drying when I find his eyes are already on me.
Balancing on a knife’s edge, we stare at each other, so many words that need to be spoken filling the space between us. Only, I can’t voice a single one even though now’s my chance. There’s no buffer for him to hide behind, no loud music he could feign not hearing me, no distraction of another skater dancing on the ice. We’re the only two in this place, with me still wearing his pilot’s hat.
Slowly, he gets to his feet, his steps as loud as the pulse in my ears. “She has your skates.”
“What?” I croak.
“The hideously bright pink skates with the princess crap on them...” He tilts his head toward the locker rooms, never taking his eyes off me. “That little girl has them. Why?”
“Because I don’t need them anymore.”
“Turning the young ones into ice princesses,” he murmurs, the edge of his lip twitching. But irritation flares in my veins at the nickname he’s unaware that pisses me off.
No, I didn’t get that moniker because my childhood skates were princess themed. And no, the nickname isn’t cute.
I square my shoulders, puffing my chest out. “New blades that are half decent cost a fortune. Her mom works three jobs, her dad is on disability, and she has two older siblings,” I growl. “Where would they find the money to buy them?”
“So this is what you do every Saturday?” he asks, his eyes flitting around the arena, ignoring my sudden outburst. “I thought you came here for extra training?”
I open my mouth, about to say something snippy, but think better of it. “It is extra training, just not for me.”
“Why?”
“Teaching my girls how to skate reminds me why I fell in love with it.”
“You are not what I expected,” he mutters, more to himself than me. “What about winning competitions? Doesn’t that make you love the sport?”
I half-shrug. “Doesn’t hurt. But seeing the kids' faces when they land a jump, even if it is sloppy...it’s a different sort of love. No one questions if your lesson was good enough that day.”
“Yet you still compete?”
I’m suddenly very aware of the boards pressed against my back, the plastic rim digging in as we stand, barely a whisper apart. When did he edge forward? He’s so close that I can see his eyes are blown, the blue almost non-existent as he stares down at me. I lick my lips, the movement out of my control, and Wyatt’s gaze drops to them, watching the sweeping of my tongue like it’s the most interesting thing he’s seen since walking inside the rink.
And I did a Biellmann spin just for him.
I hesitate, unsure—or unwilling, maybe—to answer the question he asked. His face becomes serious as he waits me out and eventually, I sigh, asking, “If you had people saying you couldn’t do something, would you do it just to prove them wrong?”
His eyebrows dip quickly before relaxing. “Am I good at what they say I can’t do?”
“The best,” I whisper.
His eyes search mine, and when he speaks, I can feel his breath on my lips with each word. “Yes. I’d do it and win every single fucking thing to prove they’re all fucking assholes. I would prove them all wrong.”
My heart hammers against my ribs as he leans forward. An unmistakable current thrums low in my body, the undeniable tingling everywhere that’s been a quiet hum since the pool sparks to life. He’s close enough that he can kiss me. We’re alone, and no one would know. I want it—the feeling of his lips on mine. Would they be cold because of the AC? Would the facial hair he keeps neatly trimmed tickle my skin?
“And with how you skated out there, I think you already have.”
I swallow, my lips parting, the heat from his body radiating across me. “Wy—”
“Good afternoon, Miss Cartwright,” Frank yells out from the other side of the rink as he unlocks the large storage room containing the Zamboni. “You all done?”
Wyatt snaps upright, plucking his hat from my head and stepping back like he wasn’t mere inches away from me a second ago.
My pilot’s hard gaze never wavers as he puts his hat back on and clasps his hands behind his back. “There’s a car outside ready to take you to the airfield, Miss Cartwright.”
I suck in a shaky breath, nodding quickly as he walks away.
“Everything alright, ma’am?” Frank calls out, his beanie hat pulled down to cover his ears. “Did practice go okay?”
“Practice was amazing,” I say, hiding my trembling hands at my sides. “The girls are so excited for their springtime show.”
“I bet. It’s such a nice thing what you’re doing… Y’know, giving them free lessons and all.”
I shake my head and wave off the compliment. “Anyone would do it.”
“Not true,” he insists, making my neck prickle with discomfort. Most wouldn’t because they either don’t have the means to or wouldn’t bear to part with their cash.
I thumb toward the door. “I better get going. I’ve got someone waiting outside.”
He gives me a gloved thumbs-up and disappears inside the storage room. I move as quickly as my skate-clad feet allow, my body buzzing with a charged intensity. I can’t keep doing this, this back-and-forth of want and lust, building up to near-detonation levels, only for it to be wrenched away from me, taking my entire breath along with it.
One and done. That’s what we need. Like Evan said, get it out of our systems so we can go back to normal.
Yet somehow, I worry once with Mr. Sexy Pilot Man won’t be enough.