Boyfriend Bargain (Hawthorne University #1)(60)

I give her a little push since she can’t get any momentum. “Don’t be afraid of the ice. Falling is just part of it. The key is learning to do it right.”

“Really? Says the famous hockey player who was born with skates on his feet!” She grapples with the ice, her feet slipping.

“Is this the first thing in your life you haven’t been good at?”

She rolls her eyes, her cheeks already pink from the indoor cold that keeps the rink nice and slick. “I’m not an athlete like you, but my IQ is 146. Take me to a courtroom and I can get you out of jail.”

“Little braggart.”

She giggles then bites her lip, arms flailing. “I can’t laugh. I’m afraid of falling again.”

I grin. “Totally normal. If you feel a fall coming, bend your knees and squat into a dip position. Fall sideways, leaning forward, and place your hands on your lap. As soon as you fall, roll over onto your hands and knees. Then, gently push yourself back up.” These are elementary lessons and honestly I can’t even remember how to teach anyone. I’m kind of making this up as I go. My dad just put skates on me and let me loose, and I just knew. It was intuition.

“You make it sound so easy.” She lifts her skates and pushes, managing to move a few feet, but then falls flat on her ass, even with me rushing over to try to keep her upright.

She blows at a piece of hair in her face and stares up at me.

I grin.

“Football is so much cooler than hockey,” she mutters.

“Blasphemy,” I say as I pull her up. “And don’t say that too loud. This is hockey country.”

“Maybe you should teach me how to stop.”

I run through my spiel. “It’s easy. Push your feet apart and stick one skate out sideways. This will push some frost off of the ice and cause your body to come to a stop, similar to skiing.”

She exhales. “I don’t know how to ski.”

“We’ll need to take care of that too. My dad does a Christmas ski trip every year. You’ll love it.”

She blushes and then blinks. “Will you be upset if I never get this?”

I lean down and brush my lips against hers. “You will. I’ll help you and we can practice whenever you want.”

She sighs. “Show me how to do those fancy moves where your feet go back and forth.”

That’s all the moves. I bite back a grin. “Ah, you have watched me in a game.”

“I’ve never been to a game, but I have seen one on TV.”

“Was it a good game?”

“I saw you hit the puck and it went in the net thing. Everyone cheered and then they blasted this horn over the speakers.”

I let out a laugh. “You sound thrilled.”

She grins. “It was kind of exciting.”

She skates a little bit ahead of me, looking awkward and close to falling as she leans too far to one side. I hold my breath, but she manages to stay standing.

I chuckle.

“Just show me how you skate up to the net and then stop,” she says.

I skate away from her, getting warmed up. Starting at one end of the rink, I take off, going fast, going backward in the center then forward, doing loose figure eights, moving and zipping around her. I come to a sudden halt at the goal crease, ice flying.

“Now, do you know a football player who can do that?” I say as I whiz past her, skating backward.

“I can ask.” She smiles.

“Nah, best you stay away from them. I’d hate to have to kick their ass.” I lift my arms and show her my biceps as I skate toward her. “These will take care of those dudes.” I grin and move past her again, tugging on her hair, and when she tries to come after me, her feet go in opposite directions.

She yells and throws her hands up. “I’m going to die out here.”

I skate back to her side, get behind her, and put my arms around her waist. “Just hang on,” I say. She nods and I push off, moving forward an inch at a time, letting her feel the glide. “Don’t be afraid of falling, okay?” I make eye contact with her, and I don’t think I’m talking about skating anymore.

She nods and glides forward a little, using the scooter method.

“See? You’re getting better.”

“I’m terrible and you know it.” She leans forward and heads back to the boards. “Why don’t you show me more hockey stuff and let me rest right here a minute?”

“Giving me permission to show off more?”

She clings to the side as if it’s a lifeline. “Truthfully, I like watching you.”

“Let me show you what my dad taught me.” I’ve already told her he was a hockey player at HU but ended up not going pro because of a knee injury.

She watches as I take off. Getting in the zone, I bend low and put my shoulders forward as I skate from one end of the rink to the other, gaining momentum. My legs move effortlessly across the slickness, and the cold air in my face, the flash of the glass as I fly past…it makes me high. Being on the ice has never felt like work. It’s a religion and I was born to play. I pick up my speed, gliding faster until I’m flashing by her, taking in her parted lips.

There’s no doubt, I have everything it takes physically to be the top player in the country. My oneness with the ice, my sixth sense about players, and my shooting game are stellar.