Chapter 19
Scotty waves at me as he skates past, but I don’t wave back.
Instead, I give him the smallest chin tip.
He’s already on the ice, busy teaching a little kid.
It’s just the two of them on the ice, but I can’t stop scanning the rink for any of his teammates.
Deep down, I’m terrified that someone is going to find out we’re together and rumors will start.
Wait, we aren’t together. Never really were, but the sentiment is the same. I don’t want anyone knowing I’m accepting help from the guy who slapped me with his hoagie dick.
I lift my foot up to the bench in front and start to tie my laces.
How did Noelle do this again?
Crisscross? Bunny ears? I don’t remember. Doesn’t matter if I get it right, though. My hands are shaking so badly, they'll still be tied awfully.
When the laces are finally acceptable, I lean back on the bench and lift my gaze to the rink. Of course my eyes immediately land on Scotty. He’s crouched beside the little boy he’s been coaching, saying something that makes the kid grin before guiding him off the ice.
He gives the kid a high-five, then spends a few minutes talking with his parent. I can’t deny he’s good at this—patient, encouraging, annoyingly competent. But that doesn’t mean I’m convinced he should be teaching me.
Although, like Noelle said before she left, it’s not like I have a choice. I do need help, and he’s the only person with the skill—and the actual desire—to give it.
I just wish my stomach didn’t flip every time he looks over and smiles at me.
Which he’s doing right now.
Fantastic.
The worst part is it’s not just my stomach betraying me—it’s my heart. The beats kick up the closer he gets, and my fingers itch with this stupid urge to reach for him. I mentally slap myself for even thinking it.
Scotty and his friends humiliated me. I know he’s trying to apologize with all this effort, but it doesn’t change the fact that when I get too close to him, I get burned. Badly. Embarrassingly.
“Hey, Laure,” he calls.
Laure. That’s what Noelle calls me. Why does it sound so good when it’s coming out of his mouth?
“Are you ready to come on the ice?” he asks, his voice warm with one arm braced against the boards.
“I guess,” I say, forcing any kind of confidence into my voice. “I suppose so,” I say, masking my nervousness with pride. The same thing I always do.
The moment I try to take a step, my ankles buckle. I catch myself on the boards, pretending it was nothing. Admitting I’m struggling would feel…weak. Especially in front of him.
He doesn’t buy it. The moment he pushes through the door, I can tell he’s already seen through me.
“Before I forget, I've got something for you.” He rummages through his bag sitting just at the side and pulls out a pair of white figure skates. Brand new and pristine, I stare at them in disbelief.
“They're for you.”
“M-me?”
“Yeah.”
“Why would you buy me skates? They're so expensive.”
The guilt is immediate. This is only the second time we’ve seen each other in a year, and he’s already showing up with gifts… smiling at me with that soft, dimpled smile that makes it impossible to think straight.
“I didn't buy them. I went home over the weekend and asked my sister if I could borrow hers. My mom tried to force Amelia into figure skating for years—she even made us compete in a couple of competitions together.” He winces. “Thank God Amelia hated it. Otherwise we might’ve ended up as one of those brother-sister ice skating duos.”
“Would’ve been great drama for the show,” I tease.
“Oh, please. There’s enough drama on that show as it is. I’m not even on it anymore.”
He says the last part so casually, I nearly miss it. He’s not on the show? When did that happen?
Before I can ask, he continues, “But yeah… these were just sitting in the back of her closet. You’re the same size, so I figured you could use them.”
He dangles the skates in front of me, the blades catching the rink lights.
“How’d you know my shoe size?”
He doesn’t answer right away, forcing me to look up at his pinked cheeks.
He visibly swallows. “I, uh… still have your broken shoe.”
“Y-you do?”
“Yeah.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I, uh, thought I could give it back to you eventually.”
“Wow. You were optimistic.”
His mouth twitches. “I’ve always been when it comes to you.”
Why? Why couldn't Scotty be an asshole when I need him to be? Why does he have to be so freaking nice all the damn time?
“Can I help put them on you?”
I raise my brow, and he points at my current skates.
“If I let you tie them, you're no doubt going to break your ankle and blame me.”
“I wouldn't—” I shake my head. Not bothering to finish that sentence. He’s right. I probably would blame him. “Fine,” I say with exasperation.
He shifts in front of me, lowering his body down until he's kneeling in front of me. He pulls his gloves off and then he gives me a dimple-popping smile.
“Can I?” he asks softly, his fingers hovering near my left foot.
I lift it before I can think better of it. His big hands close around my calf and pull off the rental skate.
The pad of his thumb brushes the arch of my foot as he adjusts the laces, and a shiver runs up my thigh and straight to my core.
Shit. I should not be getting turned on from the tiniest of touches.
He unties the skates and holds my ankle as he slides it on.
He checks my reaction, holding it all in place for just a second as his eyes connect with mine.
“Does it fit?” he asks.
I gulp.
Fuck, this is far sexier than I thought it would be in a damp ice rink.
“Yeah,” I rasp out. “It fits.”
“Good.”
I watch as he starts to tie up my lace, taking in his nimble fingers. I shiver at the memory of his thumbs skirting across my breasts while we were on Lyss’s porch swing.
It felt so good and—
Stop it, Laura. That is not a memory I should be thinking about right now.
I glance around the rink, searching for anything to look at that isn’t him, but we’re alone. Just me, and Scotty, and the sound of my heart beating like it’s trying to escape my ribcage.
He pulls the laces tight and I suck in a breath far too sharply.
Did he notice that?
If he does, he's being a gentleman and not saying anything.
Then his hand slides under the skate and up my leg, guiding the angle of my ankle. You’d think the thick leggings between us would make the move less erotic.
It doesn’t.
I feel every inch of him like he pressed his palm directly to my skin. My legs actually tremble. Perfect. Love that for me.
He sets my foot down carefully and moves to the next skate. I cross my arms, desperate to regain some kind of footing—literal or otherwise.
“You know,” I say, aiming for casual and landing somewhere closer to breathless, “I never thought I’d see the day King Scotty would be on his knees for someone.”
That was the best I’ve got?
I cringe, thinking for a reason why I would say anything like that. I guess it’s some desperate reflex to hide the fact that I actually like the view.
Scotty freezes mid-lace and looks up at me.
And—God.
That look could melt the entire hockey rink.
Searing. Focused. Hungry.
“I’d get on my knees for you anytime, Princess,” he says, his voice so low it rumbles down my spine. “All you have to do is ask.”
Did he just say that, or is my heady brain playing tricks on me?
He’s still watching me, so I’m guessing he did.
I gulp, desperately trying to maintain a straight face, but that's hard to do when his declaration makes my clit throb. Literally, throb.
No.
Absolutely not.
I am not falling for Scotty Hendricks. Again.
No. I’m not that stupid. Every single time this man has entered my life, I have gone through something monumentally embarrassing. I'm not doing it again.
He's helping me. That's all this is and all it will ever be.
I’m spiraling so hard I barely process that he’s finished lacing my skate.
“Oh, before I forget,” he says, leaning to the side and digging in his bag. He pulls out two small black plastic pads and holds them up.
“They're for your knees.”
“I got that, but you want me to wear them?”
“Yeah, after your performance on Friday, I think it will help with your confidence.”
“You can't be serious?” I ask, snatching them from him and putting them to the side.
“Yes, I am serious. I need you to put them on because being comfortable with falling is the first lesson in skating.”
“Comfortable with falling?”
Is that a euphemism?
“I’m comfortable with falling,” I answer.
The smallest of smiles grows on his lips. “No, you’re not. I only rushed over because you were yelling, and I’m not gonna lie—I usually like when a girl gets a little loud. Just maybe not in the middle of a public skating session.”
“I, uh.” I blink a few times, trying to make sure I heard him right. “Did you just tell me you like it when girls are loud?”
“Yeah.” He shrugs, nonchalant. “You'd know that if you ever let me apologize.”
“Uh...”
When did Scotty lose his manners? I was fully prepared for us to pretend nothing happened, and now he’s out here casually referencing things that he wanted to happen.
This is not good.
I’m in more trouble than I thought.
He rolls his shoulders back, completely unbothered. “I coach, Princess. I like feedback, and if I’m not making a girl fight to keep quiet…” His eyes drop to my mouth. “Then I’m not doing my job.”
I swallow hard.
The phrase echoes in my head. Not doing my job. Suddenly, I’m right on Lyss’s swing. I was close. So close to an orgasm even though we were both fully clothed and he'd barely touched me.
Can I just wither away now, please? Because I have no idea how I'm going to get through being this close to Scotty without losing my sanity.
“Let's just get this over with,” I grumble, reluctantly strapping the pads to my knees and pushing myself upright.