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Britt and Lance do the same.
Even though it’s later in the afternoon, there’s a smattering of people gliding across the ice. Couples along with a handful of children with pinkened cheeks. A few teenagers chase after each other. Everyone is bundled up in jackets, hats, mittens, and scarves.
I nod toward the oval. “Ready to get out there?”
Lance casts another dubious glance at the ice. “Maybe?”
I wave a hand. “Trust me, you’ll be fine.”
I hope.
When he takes a tentative step and wobbles, Britt loops her arm through his. “Come on. We’ll do this together. I haven’t skated since I was a kid. Colby’s right. Once we get out there, it’ll all come back to us.”
Her encouragement does the impossible and transforms his face until he’s beaming.
I can’t stop the smile that curves my lips. This girl is a lot softer with him than with me. It only makes me want to work harder to secure her attention.
That thought nearly stops me in my proverbial tracks.
When the hell has that ever happened?
I rack my brain but come up empty.
With narrowed eyes, I watch as they make their way across the thick black mats to the edge of the rink.
All I can say is that it’s slow going. Lance is like a newborn foal who can barely keep his legs under him.
And he hasn’t even hit the ice yet.
It doesn’t bode well.
Britt is the first one to step onto the smooth surface. Lance follows, clinging to her like she’s his lifeline.
“You need to loosen up,” I tell him. “Bend your knees a little. Trust me, it’ll help.”
His brows slam together as he takes a few tentative bounces. His tongue peeks out from between his teeth as he concentrates on staying vertical. He looks like he’s trying to solve the Riemann hypothesis.
“Like this?”
Ummm…
“Yeah. Just like that.”
The guy looks like he’s been cut from a piece of cardboard.
“You ever play any sports as a kid?” I ask.
He flicks a glance in my direction. “Does robotics club count?”
“No.”
“Then I didn’t.”
“I would have never guessed.”
He releases a shaky puff of air as his muscles loosen. His shoulders no longer look like they’re swallowing up his ears.
“That’s it,” I say, praising him.
He nods. “It’s not so ha?—”
The last word isn’t even out of his mouth when he hits a rough patch and goes down in a tangle of limbs, taking Britt with him.
“Oh shit.” I rush across the ice before reaching down and dragging Britt up.
She wobbles a bit on her skates. With my arms wrapped around her, the front of our bodies press together.
A smile springs to my lips. “I knew it wouldn’t be long until I had you in my arms.”
With our faces scant inches apart, I’m able to see the way her pupils dilate and her breathing hitches.
Interesting.
This girl isn’t nearly as indifferent as she’d like me to believe.
I’ll just tuck that tidbit away for later.
“A little help down here,” Lance mutters with a groan, still sprawled at our feet.
That’s all it takes for Britt to shove out of my arms before leaning down and trying to hoist Lance up, but she’s not strong enough to do it on her own. If anything, she’ll only get pulled down.
Again.
I secure my grip around Lance’s hand before lifting him to his skates. When he wobbles, looking like he’ll end up on his ass for a second time, his arms fly out in an attempt to steady himself.
Britt holds onto him.
“I’m pretty sure that’s going to leave a mark,” he mutters.
“Consider it a rite of passage,” I tell him.
We spend the next thirty minutes trying to teach Lance how to skate. If they’d had one of those PVC pipe chairs that little kids use when learning the basics, I would have grabbed one. It would have been easier.
This is almost painful to watch.
Scratch that—it’s excruciating.
And the guy is right—he’s going to be covered in bruises tomorrow morning. I’ll say this about him, he’s determined. I can’t help but admire his attitude. Although, I suspect he enjoys clinging to Britt. He’s soaking up her attention like a sponge.
After the dozenth fall, Lance points to a bench near the firepit. “I’m going to take a break before I actually break something.”
Britt frowns. “Maybe we should head home.”
“Nah. You two skate. I just want to sit for a few minutes and warm up. I can’t feel my toes.”
As soon as his blades hit the rubber mats, a relieved sigh escapes from him. “I never thought I’d be so happy to be back on land.”
“Technically, you were never off it,” I point out.
“Tell that to my backside,” he grumbles.
With a wince, we watch as he drags himself to the red bench. He has the looks of a man who has just returned from a hard-fought war. One who has been changed by the experience.
