Chapter 7
TAKE A CHANCE
Winter
I finish my shift at Boones and stop at the grocery store to pick up tortilla chips, sour cream, and a block of old cheddar that’s been marked down.
They’ll complement the crockpot of chili I put on this morning.
I stop for oil at Harry’s Hardware and grab my dad a pack of smokes at the corner store, annoyed that a chunk of my tip money goes to his bad habit instead of things we need, like fresh fruit and vegetables, or to pay bills.
But I know better than to forget two days in a row. It’s not worth pissing him off.
I bust my ass home and tackle the lawn before I have a quick rinse off.
It’s wildly hot this afternoon, and we don’t have the luxury of air-conditioning, so a cold shower is where it’s at.
Then I test the chili and find it’s done enough to have a bowl.
I use whole grain bread slathered in margarine to wipe the bowl clean and barely resist going back for seconds.
I toss a couple of dryer sheets into my hockey bag to help with freshness. It’s only three, so I message BJ to let him know he doesn’t need to pick me up. Better to avoid him coming here if I can help it.
I leave a note for my mom and do something I normally wouldn’t: lie.
I say I’m hitting the library to work on an assignment and not to wait on me for dinner.
The guilt makes my stomach tight as I pedal to the arena.
I arrive forty minutes early, which gives me time to catch my breath and manage my nerves.
I lock up my bike and slide my arms through the straps of my hockey bag.
BJ mentioned teaching me how to tighten my turns. I wasn’t sure if I would need my hockey equipment for that, so I brought everything. If I have time, I’ll stop at the laundromat on the way home.
Once I’m inside, I make my way to rink three.
Muffled music with a heavy bass backbeat filters through the door.
I peek through the window and smile as I spot the artwork spanning the skater’s right arm.
I’ve seen BJ in full hockey gear doing pirouettes, but this is different.
He’s wearing a pair of black jogging pants and a black T-shirt.
His hair is pulled back with a vibrant yellow tie.
There’s a girl with him on the ice. Like most figure skaters, she’s compact and doesn’t even reach BJ’s shoulder.
Unlike BJ, his partner wears black leggings, a black sleeveless leotard, and one of those skirts that’s more decoration than clothing.
When he said he was a figure skater, I didn’t consider that he might skate pairs.
They circle the rink, his expression serious, and he talks with hand gestures. She nods, listening intently. On the next trip around, their fingers link, bodies converging before they diverge again. Everything about the way they move seems effortless.
I wonder what it’s like to be so in tune with someone that to everyone on the outside, you appear to be an extension of each other.
His head bobs with the rhythm, and I can see his lips moving, counting beats of four.
She moves in, and his hands curve around her waist. He lifts her with ease, her body a graceful arc, balanced in his palms. And then he spins, gaining speed.
I hold my breath, awestruck by the level of trust this kind of routine requires.
My heart lodges in my throat as she falters, one hand lowering.
It sets them off-balance, and BJ loses momentum.
He quickly corrects his hold, lowering her to the ice.
I see defeat written on his face, but it’s only there for a second before it’s gone.
When he cuts the music, I push through the doors. His partner notices me first. Her brows pull together and BJ glances over his shoulder, a smile softening his features. He leaves her in the middle of the rink and skates over, spraying ice when he stops inches from the boards.
“Super excited to see your beautiful face.” His grin and his compliment do silly things to my insides.
“Sorry I’m early. I didn’t mean to interrupt your practice. I figured I’d drop my bag and fill my water bottle.”
“Don’t apologize. We’re half an hour over our practice time and not nailing the lifts anymore. I need a reason to call it a day and switch gears, so your timing is perfect. And there’s a fountain right there.” He points to the water station thirty feet away.
His partner skates over and threads her arm through his. “I didn’t see a lesson on your schedule.”
“It’s not an official one so I didn’t add it. Winter, this is Adele, my pairs partner. Adele, this is Winter. She’s a badass hockey player, and she works at Boones.”
I wave. “Hey! Nice to meet you.”
“You too.” Adele smiles, but she’s stiffer than a corpse. She turns her attention back to BJ. “Should we run through the routine once more?”
“The lifts are getting sloppy, and my arms are tired. We’ll start fresh tomorrow. It’d be awesome if you got here close to on time.”
And now it’s getting awkward.
Her nose scrunches, and she ducks her head. “I’m sorry. I’ll set an extra alarm.”
“Maybe set two.” He extracts his arm from hers. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”
“Sure. Okay.” She gives me another tight smile. “Have fun with BJ. He’s a great teacher.”
“Thanks.” I wait until she’s off the ice before I speak. “I didn’t picture you as a pairs skater, but maybe I should have.”
“Choreography can be more dynamic with pairs.”
“You look good out there together.” Aside from the flub at the end, they were in sync.
“Thanks.” He pulls the tie from his hair and gathers it up again, refastening it. “We’ve been at it for hours, though, and sometimes you gotta know when to call it quits.”
“Do you need a break? I brought the fritters.” It was hard not to eat one before I arrived. Boones employees get to take leftovers home with us, and deli items are 50 percent off at the end of the day.
“We can save those for after we skate, if that’s all right with you?”
“Sure. Sounds good.”
“I’m gonna refill my water. Why don’t you put your skates on and we can warm up?”
“Yeah. Perfect.” I lace up while BJ fills our water bottles, and then I join him on the ice.
He matches his strides to mine as we circle the rink. “How long have you and Adele been skating together?” I ask.
“A little over four years.” He does a two-foot turn so he’s skating backwards, facing me.
“Is she your first pairs partner?”
He tips his head a little, his easy smile faltering. “I had a different partner in high school. We started skating together when we were thirteen. But, uh, things got complicated.”
“Sounds like there’s a story in there.”
“There is.” He skates away from me and does a spin.
I never realized figure skaters could be so damn hot. “But you’re not going to tell me?”
“Not today. It’s a downer, and we can’t go back and change the past. All we can do is learn from our mistakes and try not to make the same ones twice.” He skates a circle around me. “What about you? How long have you been playing hockey?”
I shrug. “Since I learned how to skate, I guess. When I was a kid, we had this neighbor with five sons. As soon as the lake froze, they would set up nets and play. I ended up with their hand-me-down skates and fell in love with the sport. It’s my happy place.
My escape.” I motion to the empty rink. “Why don’t you show me your best moves? ”
“I can’t show them all to you at once. Then how will I entice you back onto the ice with me?
” His eyebrows dance on his forehead, but he breaks away and skates down the ice, gaining speed.
I don’t know the names of the moves, but I’ve watched enough skating competitions over the years to know he’s damn good.
He does the splits in midair, then finishes with a backflip.
I break into applause, bringing my fingers to my lips and whistling my appreciation. He skates back to me, bowing on the way. Then he snags my hand and wraps an arm around my waist, twirling me around the ice before he stops in the center of the rink.
“How was that?” he asks, breath coming in pants.
His arm still circles my waist, our other hands clasped.
There’s no space between our bodies. I’m damn glad we’re not wearing hockey equipment, because it means I feel all those hard lines pressed against mine.
His eyes move over my face, his smile warm and real and infectious.
A lock of hair has escaped his topknot, and it skims his cheek.
“You put the x in sexy.”
His smile widens. “I’m sweaty, and I probably smell bad.”
I point to my chest. “Hockey player. Nothing beats the funk of dirty hockey equipment.”
“That’s the truth.” His gaze drops to my mouth. “If I wasn’t disgusting right now, I’d think about kissing you. Well, I’m already thinking about kissing you, but my current state keeps me from acting on that impulse.” His fingers flex on my waist.
Butterflies unleash in my stomach. It’s been a while since I’ve been kissed.
And I don’t think I’ve ever felt this kind of magnetic attraction to someone.
I don’t really know BJ—don’t know what makes him tick apart from skating—but the chemistry we share is hard to ignore.
“What if I don’t care about your current state? ”
His tongue sweeps along his bottom lip. “I had this all planned out in my head, you know.”
“Oh? How did it go in your head?”
“We’d have a great time on the ice together. And every time you’d smile”—he bites his lip—“it would give me an emotional boner.”
I bark out a laugh and shove his chest, but he captures my hand in his. “What the hell is an emotional boner?”
“It’s a real thing. It’s how I feel every time I make you smile or laugh. Like my emotions are all excited and can’t be contained.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I find you fascinating. You scramble my brain and make me say ridiculous things like emotional boner.” He brushes his lips over my knuckles.