Chapter 15 #2
It’s not a simple process. Not when Cole turns a skate rental into a twenty-minute inquisition.
The poor high-school kid working behind the desk remains bewildered as Cole grills him about the brands they carry, throws around phrases like optimal instep height, and compares the sharpness of various pairs of skates.
His presence garners attention from onlookers, the scrutiny making me squirm so violently I hop awkwardly from foot to foot like a backup dancer.
He’s either completely oblivious to the looks he’s getting or he’s so used to it that it doesn’t register for him.
Once he’s narrowed the skate choices down to three options, I try them all on. I’m like Goldilocks—the first pair is too big, the second pair is too small, and according to Cole, the third pair is just right.
“These are the winners,” he announces with a satisfactory grin.
“Are you sure?” I ask, trying and failing to wiggle my toes. “Because my toes feel suffocated.”
The only indication he’s heard me is the harsh breath of air that slips through his nose. Rude. Regardless, I sit still as he finishes the laces.
“The skates should be snug,” he says as he ties the laces into bunny ears. “They have to be a lot more fitted than regular footwear. You want the least amount of negative space.” With that, he taps my calf muscles. “Stand up.”
I obey, a little wobbly as I go, and immediately, my toes brush against the end of the skates. With a grimace, I eye Cole, who’s still squatting on the ground. “Yeah, they’re definitely too small.”
Ignoring my complaint once again, he wedges a pointer finger into the gap between my ankle and the back of the skate.
Okay, invasive, much?
“Nope. They’re good.” Standing, he rests his hands on his hips. “Now bend your knees just a little and make sure your ankles and hips are in line with your head.”
I awkwardly finagle my body into said position, but when I look at him for approval, he shakes his head. “Keep your weight forward and your head up.”
Softening my knees, I bend forward. As I go, my face heats.
I feel ridiculous, considering I’m not even on the ice.
The only other people on the rubber floor outside of the rink are a group of what looks to be six-year-olds tying up their skates with practiced precision, which makes me feel marginally worse.
With an exhale, I force myself to look away from them and zero in on Cole to gauge his reaction to my form.
Rather than assessing my stance, he’s focused on my behind like it’s a homing beacon.
“Cole,” I choke out through a laugh. “At least pretend you’re not checking out my ass.”
He snaps to attention, his head whipping around violently enough to cause damage to his neck. At least he has the decency to look embarrassed. “Yup. Got it. Staying focused.”
Stepping behind me, he places his hands on my hips and tilts them forward a tad. Then, with a hum, he takes a step back and walks around me so he can observe from every angle.
“Good,” he comments eventually. “Now stand up straight and try again.”
I salute him. “Yes, sir.”
Brows lifting, he smirks. “I like you calling me sir a little too much.”
Dirty thoughts dance across my mind, every one of them involving Cole without a shirt. I’m not into anything too kinky, but I don’t mind ceding control in the bedroom, and based on the way Cole’s eyes sparkle, he knows exactly where my thoughts have strayed.
With heated cheeks—again—I bend into the skating position, avoiding eye contact like it’s my job.
He uses two fingers to lift my chin. “Head up,” he gently reminds me.
We do this a few more times before he’s fully satisfied. Rather than admit that my thighs are already burning from the weird little skating squats, I shoot him a thumbs-up.
“Let’s talk about falling.”
I scoff. “Okay, wow. Rude. You’re just assuming that I’m going to be a sucky skater?”
“Everyone falls,” he states calmly. “And if you’ve never been on the ice before, there isn’t a doubt in my mind you’re going to fall. But I’d like to avoid broken bones and bruises, if that’s all right with you.”
“Yeah,” I mumble, properly admonished. “Okay.”
I listen with the patience of a saint as Cole goes over what to do when I fall.
Because it’s a when, not an if. Don’t tense up, try to land on my butt if possible, and use my hands to cushion the fall.
My eyes aren’t the only ones tracking his every movement as he talks.
I’m going to believe it’s because he’s a famous hockey player and not because he looks edible in his Bobcats sweatshirt with day-old stubble covering his jaw.
In my experience, women tend to end up with one of two guys: the hot bad boy or the cute nice guy.
But Cole? He’s a hot nice guy; a peacock among geese.
Not that we’re together. Simply an observation.
“You ready to skate?” Cole asks, bringing me back to reality.
I flash him what I hope is a confident smile and nod. Ready as I’ll ever be. Then, awkwardly, I waddle across the rubber floor. There’s a chance I walk better in heels than skates, and that’s saying something.
Cole steps onto the ice and holds out a hand for me. Without giving myself time to read into the motion, I slide my palm against his. Nothing about it feels forced or awkward, and that thought lights me up inside. More than anything, it feels natural. Like it was inevitable.
The moment my skates touch the ice, it’s as if every single tip Cole gave me was spoken in a foreign language. Don’t lock my knees? Oh, too bad, because they lock up tighter than Mona Lisa’s security at the Louvre. Keep my head up? That’s impossible when I’m wobblier than a newborn foal.
“Relax,” he chuckles. “I’ve got you, bean.”
Holding my breath, I grip his hands like they’re a damn lifeline, which they essentially are.
Cole glides backward with ease and pulls me along with him, his lips twitching in amusement.
“I’m doing it!” I squeal as we glide across the ice at a slow but steady speed. “Look!”
He picks up his pace, and a cool breeze kisses my cheeks. The smoothness of each movement lulls me into a sense of security. We glide to the left, then the right, and before I know it, we’ve been around the rink a couple of times.
Cole slows gradually, eventually bringing us to a stop. “Ready for me to let go?”
My fingers immediately tighten around his. “Um, no. Absolutely not.”
“C’mon, you can do it.” He gives me an easy, reassuring smile. “I’ll be right next to you. Trust me, okay?”
His words hold a request that extends beyond the reach of the ice rink.
Trust him. Over and over, he’s shown me that I can. So I take a deep, steadying breath and pull my hands away from his.
Bad idea.
One moment I’m standing upright, and the next I’m flat on my back, the air knocked from my lungs. I burst out laughing; if I don’t, I’ll cry. And here I was thinking he was a jerk for assuming I’d fall.
Cole stares down at me with a dumbfounded expression on his face. “Fuck. Did not see that coming. Are you okay?”
“Weather’s great down here,” I force out between giggles. “Did you know that figure skating rinks are slightly warmer than ice hockey rinks?”
“I did know that.” He holds out a hand and pulls me up onto my wobbly feet. “Softer ice makes for easier landings. Have you been doing hockey research?”
“If by hockey research, you mean reading a romance where a figure skater and hockey player fall in love despite the odds against them, then sure.”
Cole takes a step back as he chuckles, and I latch on to him like a starfish. I do not want to fall on my ass again so soon. A girl can only take so much embarrassment.
“You’ve got this,” he reminds me. “Take baby steps.”
“Obviously,” I huff. “I’m not about to attempt crazy Blades of Glory type shit after I just bruised my butt.”
He rolls his eyes. “I mean literal baby steps.” He demonstrates by taking two tiny steps, then gliding forward a bit. “It’ll help you transition into skating.”
“Oh.” I mimic his moves, my feet clunking against the ice in a very ungraceful way. “Like that?”
“Good enough,” he says, biting back a grin. “Now alternate lifting one foot and then the other.”
Despite the cramping in my calves, I do what he says with a strained smile on my face.
Soon enough, I’m gliding forward on my own.
The squeal that escapes me should be embarrassing, but I’m too proud of myself to care.
My motions aren’t nearly as smooth as Cole’s, but considering he’s a professional hockey player who spends the majority of his time on the ice, I’ll take the win.
I don’t make it very far before I’m flat on my ass once again. And again. And again. My respect for hockey players goes up tenfold. Not only do they skate with amazing accuracy, but they’re playing a sport while doing it.
“I think you’re done skating on your own for a bit.” Cole takes my hands in his once again and glides forward slowly so we’re side by side as we make our way around the ice. “Although you do look good in skates.”
I blush under his intense gaze. “You look good… always. It’s kind of annoying, actually.”
He throws his head back and laughs. “It’s been a while since I skated for fun.”
“Yeah, I can’t imagine getting chased around the ice and aggressively slammed into the boards is a lot of fun.”
“Hardy har-har.”
We do a couple more laps before I give in and suggest a breather. I’m not sweating—not much, at least—but my toes and calves are cramping from keeping the skates upright and I feel every edge of the insoles.
At the boards, we stop next to a group of kids. Their eyes all widen at their proximity to Cole, no longer giving a rat’s ass about what their instructor is teaching them. I get it. It’s impossible not to be a fan of this man.
One of the bolder kids breaks away from the group and skates up to us. “Hi. You’re Nicholas Berrett.”
Cole bends down so he’s closer to the kid’s height and leans in conspiratorially. “I am. But my friends call me Cole. What’s your name?”
“Andrew Garrett Klein, but my friends call me Andy.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Andy. Are you a Bobcats fan?”
He nods enthusiastically, his blond curls flopping against his forehead. “The biggest. I’ve been to six games. I was there when you beat the Tigers during overtime last year.”
“I’m our team’s goalie.” Andy’s attention drifts to me, his head tilting. “Are you his girlfriend? Because his Wikipedia page doesn’t say he has a girlfriend.”
Heat creeps up my neck, but Cole only grins at the innocent question. Rather than answering, he weaves his fingers through mine and pulls me against his side.
The youth hockey coach skates over and shoots me an apologetic smile while squeezing Andy’s shoulders. “He’s a great goalie, but not so great at subtlety.”
Clearly.
I give Andy a small smile, ducking a little deeper into my jacket. “I’m Maya, Cole’s friend. He’s teaching me how to skate.”
Andy’s jaw practically touches the ice. “You do private lessons?” He drops his head back, eyeing his coach. “No offense, Tom, but you’re totally fired if Nic—Cole—can teach me.”
“I’d stick with your current coach, bud,” Cole says with an apologetic chuckle. “Private lessons with Maya take up most of my free time.”
I elbow him in the ribs, which likely hurts me more than him. “Do you want a picture with Cole? I’m sure he’d be happy to take one.”
“Yeah!” Andy shouts. He waves for his teammates to gather around us. “Let’s get—”
A blurred figure approaches in my periphery, stealing my attention.
If I were a more experienced skater, I could’ve braced myself for impact.
Instead, when the skater crashes into me, all the air whooshes out of my lungs and I’m tossed backward.
My body hits the ice, a chill reverberating through my bones, followed by my head thumping against the slippery surface.
Starbursts cloud my vision, and then the world goes black.