Right Man, Right Time (The Vancouver Agitators, #3)(44)

“I can’t believe you do this for a living.”

“I started young. It just feels like second nature now,” I say as she grips my hands tightly.

“I wish I had done something like this when I was young. I don’t think my parents cared enough to get me involved in any sort of sport.”

“Were they mean to you?” I ask, just as a kid flies by us. “I got you,” I whisper, letting her dig her fingers into my forearms.

“No, they weren’t mean per se.” She pauses and takes a breath. “But you know how there are super involved parents, and then the parents who have kids but don’t get very involved in their lives? Those were my parents. They weren’t mean, just not interested.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, wondering what it would be like if my parents didn’t take an interest in me. I’m not sure I’d handle that. “Well, you have me if you ever want to move further in your ice-skating journey.”

She glances up at me, those beautiful eyes of hers penetrating right into my soul. “I can say with full confidence that this will be the beginning and the end of my ice-skating journey.”

I let out a low chuckle and continue to skate backward as I say, “At least you know your limitations.”

We spend the next fifteen or so minutes skating around the ice. She tries moving her legs, but when she almost falls on her ass, she thinks better of it and asks me to just move her around, which I have no problem doing. We joke around. Talk about hockey and what a game day looks like. We go into detail about the gear, which I think is funny. Once I notice her shivering from being out on the ice for so long, I ask her if she wants some cocoa and receive an emphatic yes.

“Sit right here, and I’ll help you with your skates.”

“You know I can manage it, right?” she asks.

“Yes, but if you were my real girlfriend, I’d take these off for you. Therefore, I’ll do the same in this situation.”

Once I finish, I slip our shoes back on, drop off our skates, and then head to the cocoa bar.

“Wow,” she says, taking in all the fixings. “I’m overwhelmed. I don’t think I’ve ever seen so many hot cocoa options.”

“It’s more popular than the s’mores,” I say. “Let me give you the tour. You have milk chocolate and dark chocolate cocoa as well as white chocolate to choose from. From there, you have caramels, peppermint sticks, espresso shots, raspberry syrup, cherry syrup, chocolate chips, five kinds of marshmallows ranging from Martha Stewart’s homemade recipe to Lucky Charms. And then there’s Cool Whip, whipped cream, sprinkles, caramel drizzle, fudge, twizzle cookies, Oreo cookies, and coconut.”

“Dear God,” she says, causing me to laugh. “I don’t know where to start. What do you usually do?”

“Are you asking for the Silas special?”

“Is that a thing?”

“It is in my head.”

She smirks at me. “Then please, delight me with the Silas special.”

“Okay. First up is milk chocolate cocoa.” We fill up a glass mug that we get to keep. “Then it’s cherry syrup for me.”

“Oh interesting,” Ollie says as she follows me.

“Two cordial cherries.”

“You didn’t mention those.”

“Because it’s a surprise.” I plop two in her mug.

“Then Martha Stewart marshmallow followed by whipped cream, chocolate drizzle, and chocolate sprinkles.” I load her up and then sink a paper straw into her drink. With her hand in mine, I bring her over to one of the couches and help her down.

Music plays in the background, offering a festive atmosphere in the very large arena.

“This is nice,” Ollie says. “I know nothing about professional sports, but it’s really cool that your team does this for family and friends. It must make them feel special.”

“It does,” I say. “They always bring it back because of the positive response, and it seems like the hot cocoa bar gets bigger and bigger every year.”

“Was the first year just a canteen of it that everyone had to share?”

“Almost,” I say with a smile. A smile that seems to catch her attention because I sense her staring at me as I take my first sip. “Can I help you?” I ask when our eyes meet.

She lifts her hand and presses her finger along my cheek. “I never noticed your dimples before and how deep they are.”

“I got them from my mom,” I say.

“Your eyes too?”

“Yes,” I say. “How did you know?”

“Because despite the stark color that gains someone’s attention from across the room, they’re soft, warm, inviting, the type of eyes I’d expect to see on a mom.”

“Not sure anyone has called my eyes soft or warm.”

“Then they haven’t been looking hard enough,” she says right before taking her first sip of her cocoa. I watch as her lips wrap around the straw and her cheeks hollow out as she sucks. It gives me a brief glimpse into what she might look like sucking my cock. Those bright-green eyes satisfied, her cheeks flush but contoured, those lips passing up and down my shaft. It would be so hot.

“Are we interrupting?” I hear Hornsby ask. I look up to find him gripping a very pregnant Penny.