Get Inked: A Pucked Series and Clipped Wings Crossover Novella (Pucked #5.5)(34)

Finlay looks antsy. He’s been great, if not a little unsure of himself, the two times I’ve worked with him and Giselle so far. I’ve heard he can be a bit of a perfectionist, and hard on himself and his partner in terms of expectations. I’m hoping this session will help keep things smooth and easy between them. He’s feeling some guilt over Giselle’s minor injury, even though it wasn’t his fault.

He glances at the clock. I’m two minutes late. “I thought maybe I got the time wrong.”

“Sorry. One of my laces broke; I had to relace with a spare.” The lie comes smoothly.

He looks down at my skates, eyes moving over my outfit. My freaking tights are already falling down. Randy’s going to hear it from me later.

I clap my hands together. “I guess we should warm up.”

“I was a little early. I’ve already warmed up.”

“I meant together. I’ve been on the ice all day, so I’m about as warmed up as I’m going to get, but I’m happy to do a few laps to get us in the groove.”

“Oh, right. Yeah, of course.” He bobble nods. “That sounds like a good idea.”

I skate a tight circle around him and then speed off down the ice, adjusting my damn tights. At least the little skirt covers some of the issue. I’m kind of nervous about this session. It’s one thing to teach other people how to skate together; it’s totally different when I’m the one involved in the togetherness. Pairs requires a lot of trust and communication. It’s been a long time since I’ve had to skate with another person. And now, on top of dealing with the newness of this situation, my attention is divided because my tights keep sliding down, and all I can think about is how that happened. Goddamn Randy and his magic tongue and fingers.

Still, all I have to do is invest an hour, and then I’m free for the weekend.

After a few laps around the rink, the guy in the sound booth cues the music, and we start the routine. Finlay has the first part down, but whenever he has to make physical contact, he gets all twitchy and unsure of himself, especially when there’s a lift.

“Are you okay today?” I ask when he fumbles me for the third time.

“Uh, yeah, just…there’s a guy in the stands, and he’s been watching us for, like, ten minutes. He looks really familiar.”

I look around the arena and spot Randy sitting in the stands.

Randy rarely stays to watch me, and I have a feeling it’s no coincidence he’s decided to stick around while I’m teaching Finlay. His neediness this week, his sneaking into the locker room, the “impromptu” orgasms he couldn’t wait to give me, my smelling like I’ve doused myself in his cologne—all this leads me to believe his behavior is orchestrated and intentional. And I don’t know quite what to make of that.

When the song ends, I suggest we take a short break and grab some water.

Finlay looks to where my problematic boyfriend is sitting. “That guy totally looks like Randy Ballistic.”

I roll my eyes. “That’s because he is.”

His eyes go wide. “Holy shit. What’s he doing here?”

“Being a pain in my ass.”

“Huh?”

“He’s my boyfriend.”

I almost enjoy his shock. “Wow. I wasn’t sure if that was a rumor or not.” He gestures between us, looking understandably nervous. “So is this a problem?”

“No. He’s waiting because he doesn’t have anything better to do. I’ll be right back.”

I skate over to Randy, because I’m not exactly sure it isn’t a problem, based on what happened in the changing room. He’s reclining in a chair one row back from the boards with his arm slung casually across the seat next to him. He flashes me a smile that’s anything but easy.

I point a finger at him as soon as I’m close enough. “I’m on to you.”

His eyes flare slightly before he cocks his head to the side, giving me his signature grin. “On to me? It’s not like I was hiding out. I’m just watch—”

I cut him off. “Don’t even think about lying.”

He opens his mouth and then closes it. Speechless Randy is new. He has a quick retort for just about everything.

I take advantage of his silence. “Yes or no, you ambushed me in the locker room so I’d smell like you and orgasms when I came out here to practice with Finlay.”

“What kind of name is Finlay, anyway?”

“That’s not a yes or a no.”

He runs a hand over his beard and mumbles something.

I crook a finger. “C’mere.”

He regards me with something like chagrin before he unfurls from his seated position. Randy’s a big man. He’s well over six feet tall, broad and weighing in at more than two hundred pounds during the off-season. He has to work hard to keep that weight on during game season because he burns calories faster than he can consume them. He may look intimidating to some, but he’s not to me.

He jumps the seats to stand in the first row. Only the boards separate us. His tongue peeks out to wet his bottom lip as he looks me over. I have to adjust my tights for the eleven-millionth time. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s hard. He likes me feisty.

“I didn’t quite catch that,” I say softly.