Iced Out (Leighton U #1)(50)

A quick five-minute walk from where I met Quinton brings us to Maggie Daley Park, home of the Ice Skating Ribbon. One of my favorite Reed family holiday pastimes as a kid was to come skating either here or at the one directly below the Bean. We’d come almost every year if Dad wasn’t gone on a stint of away games. Well, until Logan threw a fit about hating it and we stopped some time in my late middle school years.

I haven’t been back since, but I figured there’s no time like the present.

“I’m pretty sure this is the first time I’ve ever put skates on for something other than hockey,” Quinton says as he laces up the pair of rentals we got from the stand beside the rink.

My head snaps up from where I was tying my own skates to look at him. “You’re telling me you’ve never gone ice skating before? Just for the hell of it?”

Still working on his laces, Quinton shakes his head. “Nope. Never had anyone take me. First time I ever put skates on was the day my dad took me to my first youth league practice when I was eight. And the only reason he even took me was because he wanted me to shut the hell up about it.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously,” he replies before rising to his full height. “I’m sure he thought I’d suck at it immediately and quit within the first couple weeks. But much to his displeasure, I picked it up really quick…and it’s been the bane of his existence ever since.”

Understanding floods me as we make our way over to the rink and step out onto the smooth surface. The moment we do, like nothing else exists. Sure, there are people milling about—though not as many as I’d expect during winter break—but I don’t even notice them.

It’s just us, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Side by side, we take a slow lap around the amoeba-shaped rink, gliding over the ice like the seasoned pros we’ve worked hard to become. Silence lingers between us, but it feels comfortable, not stifling or awkward the way it would have a couple months ago.

Hell, a couple months ago, I would have laughed at the idea of us spending any time together. Yet here we are, two sworn enemies, ice skating together on New Year’s Day like some kind of…couple.

The realization makes my stomach churn in a weird, unexpected way.

Shoving the feeling down, I recall something he said earlier, letting my mind take hold of that thought instead. “When you say you picked it up quick, how quick are we talking? Like a couple months?”

“I mean…” He skates out ahead of me and spins around, skating backward in front of me. “I was comfortable enough to skate with a stick in my hand by the end of the second day. But obviously I wasn’t doing a whole lot with it at that point. Just…skating.”

I roll my eyes. “Show off.”

I knew I was right when I told him he had natural talent. It even took me a few months to become a master at skating without a stick. Meanwhile Quinton just said he went and did both together in the first week of ever being on the ice.

Granted, he started playing a few years after me when he probably had a lot more stability and balance, but still.

He bites back a smile, teeth sinking into his lower lip. Like he knows exactly what I’m thinking.

“I think you like it when I’m a show-off.”

My brow kicks up. “Oh, really?”

“Yeah. I think it turns you on, being around someone just as good as you. Someone who might actually be…better.”

The arrogance of this man astounds me. But he’s right about one thing. The quiet air of confidence surrounding him on the ice when he’s zoned in is beyond sexy. He knows he’s good—yeah, maybe even better than me—but it’s proven by the way he performs. It’s when he starts showboating that he pisses me off.

“You’re a lot of things, de Haas. But better than me isn’t one of them.”

“Care to put your money where your mouth is?”

This time, I’m the one to smirk. “I think I’ve more than done that already. The socks you got me prove it.”

Heat flares in his eyes. “We’re talking about things happening on the ice, Reed. Not between the sheets.”

I’m not one to back down from a challenge, and certainly not one coming from Quinton. He’s still my rival, even if we’ve become this weird friends-adjacent thing since we started following through on his superstition theory.

“What were you thinking?”

“A race. First one to complete a lap around the rink wins.”

I glance around, noting there’s far too many people and not nearly enough room for us to get as competitive as we are. We could easily turn a corner and plow a little kid over, and that’s the last thing I want to start the new year with.

“I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

His brow raises. “You scared to lose?”

“No, I—”

“Oh, you definitely are,” he says, continuing to taunt me.

“There’s too many people, and I’m not looking to ruin anyone else’s time by being some psychotic—”

“God, you’re such a stick in the mud sometimes,” he cuts in, humor dancing in those ice blue eyes. “Live a little. Smile. Laugh. The world isn’t gonna end if you do, I promise.”