Chapter Nine
Rowan
“That was so intense!”
I nod my head and chuckle because she isn’t wrong.
That was a particularly brutal game. The two teams have been rivals since the teams were first established.
I also remember there being a rumor going around about how one captain was fucking the other captain’s girl, which probably has more to do with the ass beatings than the actual rivalry.
“Are they always like that?”
We’re still sitting in our seats. She seems pretty content to just sit here, and I need to buy us some time until I can enact phase two of this date/non-date.
The second part is what I’m most excited about. I have a feeling she’s going to take to it like a baby duck to water. Mostly, I’m just honored to be able to help her check something off of her list.
A list that I’m still curious about in terms of its origins and why it’s so important to her, but I have a feeling I’m going to be seeing a lot more of Millie St. James.
“No, not always. Some games are just more violent than others.”
“Why’s that?”
I shrug one shoulder. “It could be anything. There’s a lot of shit-talking that goes on, sometimes that gets out of hand. Or one player has personal beef with an opposing player, and the guys get wind of it. Sometimes it’s as simple as everyone’s all worked up for one reason or another.”
“Like it’s a full moon or something.”
I laugh because I haven’t heard that one before. “Is that a thing?”
She tilts her head to the side. “My mom says it is. She’s always been a little superstitious or whatever you want to call it. She thinks people act differently when it’s a full moon.”
“Huh, I get the superstitious part. Hockey players are notorious for having rituals before the games, but I don’t know about a full moon, though. Do you believe it’s real?”
Her lips form this adorable little pout, one that I’m starting to learn means she’s deep in thought. “I don’t have any reason to believe it’s not. I think anything’s possible.”
I think back to just how damn crazy this past year has been, and I know for a fact that she’s right. Anything is possible.
“Well, full moon or not, I think this one had more to do with one captain fucking the other captain’s girl.”
Millie busts out laughing. “Should’ve figured it was something way more barbaric and basic and not some cosmic play or shift in the atmosphere.”
Her laugh is contagious. I can’t help the deep chuckle that comes from the pit of my stomach. “Definitely not.”
I look over at her and watch as she throws her head back in another bout of laughter. Something in my chest loosens at the sight. This has been the most fun I’ve had in a long time. Her enthusiasm for the game reminds me of all the reasons I fell in love with it to begin with.
I don’t know what it is about her, but I feel like I could fucking tell her anything—or everything, depending on how you look at it.
I’ve never felt like this before, so damn comfortable with someone so quickly.
I thought I felt it with Stella, but that doesn’t even compare to the ease and comfort I feel with Millie.
Our laughter dies down, and I realize we’re one of the few people still left in the stands. It’s almost go time.
“Shouldn’t we be leaving?” she asks as she shifts in her seat and notices the empty stands as well.
“I think we can stay a few more minutes. I like to watch the Zamboni clear the ice.”
She turns and watches the machine meticulously go row by row down the ice, taking it from a scraped-up mess to a clean, slick slate. Too bad we’re about to mess it up again, but I’ll fix it before we leave. Another part of the deal.
“It is soothing in a weird way.”
She settles back into her seat, a comfortable silence surrounding us. It’s nothing but the calming hum of the Zamboni. When the lights up by the concession stands start to shut off, neither one of us moves, both caught in the quiet aftermath of a great game.
It’s not until the Zamboni runs the last pass on the ice that I stand. Millie follows suit, and once we reach the aisle, she turns to go up the stairs toward the exit. I catch her elbow to stop her movement.
She looks back with a confused expression on her face and asks, “What is it?”
“I’ve got a surprise for you.”
I feel almost giddy with the anticipation of what’s to come. I reach for her hand, something that I’ve found myself doing a lot tonight. As soon as her small palm slips into mine, I feel a surge of warmth shoot up my arm, and I have to stop myself from pulling her closer to me.
I lead her in the opposite direction. We only have a few stairs to go down until we reach one of the many swinging doors that lead directly onto the ice.
The giddiness I felt before turns into pure excitement at the thought of what comes next. “You ready to learn how to skate, Daredevil?”
I hear a small gasp—or gulp of air, I’m not sure which, and when I look up to see her facial expression, I’m met with the cutest look of shock I think I’ve ever seen.
“Wha—why?” she sputters.
“Because it’s on your list, silly.”
“But how?”
“I may know a few people.”
“You know a few people,” she repeats, dumbfounded.
I walk over to the players’ bench and grab the skates I stored here before the game. She still hasn’t moved, and she’s staring at the ice like it might eat her. Her expression has me chuckling. “You scared, Daredevil?”
My playful taunt must zap her out of her shocked state. “I thought we already went over this.”
Her sassiness only encourages me more. “Might have to remind me, then. I don’t remember you saying anything about being too chicken to get out there on the ice.”
“I’m not chicken! I told you I was up for anything.”
Ah, now it makes sense. “No time like the present, then. We’ve only got an hour, though.”
Her shoulders bunch up around her ears, and she starts wringing her hands like she’s nervous. The little wrinkles across her forehead only add to the picture that Millie St. James is a freaking chicken.
This is going to be so much fun.
When I sit down to pull off my tennis shoes and put on my skates, she just watches intently. Once I’m all laced up, I lean over and grab her skates. “Your turn.”
She slowly sits and pulls her shoes off one by one. “What if I suck at it?” She slips one skate on, then the other.
I kneel down and reach for her skates before she has a chance to tie the laces. “This part can be tricky. Let me do it.”
I take my time lacing her up right. The last thing I want is for her to get hurt because her skates are too loose.
Once I’m done, I look up to find a sweet but shy smile on her face.
It has my heart pounding in my chest—a feeling I’m not all that accustomed to.
“Doesn’t matter if you suck at it. All you have to do is try. ”
“Yeah, but I don’t want to fall on my ass in front of you.”
I stand and reach for her hand once more, the gesture becoming all too comfortable. “Who said anything about falling?”
“What are you going to do, catch me?” she asks as she bumps into my shoulder while trying to find her bearings on the skates.
“You think I would let you bust your ass out here and risk you never wanting to skate with me again? No way, José.”
She nervously giggles as I lead her out onto the ice.
I don’t know why she’s so nervous—I have a feeling she’s going to be a natural.
Call it intuition, or maybe it’s just from years of growing up on the ice.
You learn how to peg the people who are going to be decent and those who are going to be a disaster.
Millie St. James was born to skate. She just doesn’t know it yet.
Her hand clamps down around mine at the first sign of her right leg pulling away from her body. She pulls her leg in, but as soon as she does, her bottom starts to lean back. Her other hand grabs my forearm to try to correct her balance.
She’s staying upright, but barely. I chuckle again as I pick up my speed a little and start pulling her more toward the center of the ice.
“Where are you going? Shouldn’t we stay by the wall thingies?” she asks in a panic.
“Why, Daredevil, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were being a buk buk buk buk brrr-awk.” I reach up with my free hand, placing it under my armpit and flapping my elbow out over and over in the telltale sign of a chicken.
She laughs, finally pulling herself up into a more upright position. “I am not! I’m out here, aren’t I?”
“I mean, I can’t argue with that, but I’m pretty sure I’m losing blood circulation to my arm with that death grip you’ve got going on.” I raise my eyebrows and pointedly look down at my forearm.
She jolts and suddenly releases her grip. The motion causes her feet to come forward too fast, and before I know it, I’m lunging forward to catch her because she’s dangerously close to busting her ass, just like I said she wouldn’t.
And I would have had her too, if at the same time I lunged forward, she hadn’t kicked her leg out in a last-ditch effort to stay upright.
Her knee connects with my dick. I yelp out in pain, and she grunts in dismay. The next thing I know, we’re both going down. I manage to grab her around the waist and turn her just before we hit the ice so that not all one hundred eighty pounds of me lands squarely on top of her.
“I thought you were going to catch me!” she huffs between spurts of laughter.
I grab my balls and curl onto my side, trying to breathe through the sharp, white-lightning pain that’s currently zipping up and down my spine. “That was before you caused bodily harm. All bets are off then,” I finally manage to squeeze out between deep breaths through my teeth.
She suddenly sits up and rolls over to me. “Oh shit! Did I hurt you?!”
I take it back, I was completely wrong. She’s a disaster on the ice. “Just a little.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have called me a chicken,” she sasses.
“Maybe you shouldn’t have kneed me in my junk,” I sass right back.
She laughs, and I can’t help but chuckle. Once the pain starts to ease, I roll over onto my back. I look over and watch as Millie rolls onto all fours to try to push herself up from the ice.
She manages to get into a half-kneeling position before she brings one hand to her knee and tries to push up. As soon as she shifts her weight, she loses her balance once again. Her hands slam down onto the ice with a hard thud. “Oww.”
She must hear my slight chuckle because her head whips my way. “How do I get up? It’s freezing down here.”
I take pity on her and quickly roll onto my side to push up, much the same way she did, but instead of pushing up on my knee, I use the power in my legs and push up straight from more of a crouched position.
Once I reach her, I reach down and scoop her up from under her arms, pulling her to a standing position. Her chest bumps against mine, and I feel that same flutter of warmth I felt every time I grabbed her hand.
“How did you do that so easily?” she asks, astonished.
“You barely weigh more than a feather.”
She rolls her eyes. “Not that. How did you get up from the ice so easily? You made it look like you were just standing up from a chair, not standing on razor-thin blades on slick ice!”
“It’s called practice, Millie.”
“This can’t be that hard.”
“Says the girl who just fell on her ass and took me out with her.”
“With all that practice, you should be ready for anything. Not my fault you weren’t prepared for flailing limbs.”
“Are you saying it’s my dick’s fault?”
That has her lips slamming shut and her eyes widening. I wink at her and watch in amusement as she tries to sneak a peek at my crotch. This girl doesn’t need to sneak anything—she can look all she wants.
She sputters, “What does your dick have to do with this?”
“He got in the way of your flailing limb, obviously. So it’s his fault. Duh.”
She loses it. She throws her head back, and the sexiest horse-laugh bubbles up her throat. I have to work to keep said dick in control as I continue to watch with complete fascination.
Damn, she’s pretty.
“What do you say—want to learn how to skate and stay off your ass?”
“Why, I thought you’d never ask,” she playfully giggles as she throws her hand out toward me, and I catch it like it’s the most natural thing in the world.