Page 28 of Put a Rink on It

The smell of nail polish and other chemicals used in making women’s—and some men’s—nails fancy permeates the air.

Marina sits at one of the many manicure stations, her eyes closed, lost in the book. Her coat and bag sit on the empty chair next to her, a white cable sweater covering her torso. I don’t want to startle her, so I gently place the cup down and remove the lid. Her eyes open, and a lazy grin steals her lips when she sees me. She taps an earbud twice, pausing the story.

“Let me see.”

With careful movement, she slides one foot out from under the table, wiggling her now purple toes, and then removes one hand from the nail lamp to show off the pale pink on her shapely fingernails.

“So, what do you think?”

“Gorg. How’s the book?”

“Ridiculously cheesy, yet entertaining. Kaitlyn’s recommendation?”

“Yep. Almost the exact word-for-word description.” I snicker as she puts her fingers back under the lamp. “How much longer do you need?”

“Five minutes. She need five minutes.” An older Asian woman rushes over, shooing me away for standing too close. “She not ready yet.” Her voice and expression are stern.

While I appreciate her accommodating my requests, I compensated well for it. She could let me stand where I want.

Marina bites back her laugh. “Five minutes should do it. What did you bring me?”

“It’s a surprise until you try it.”

She checks something on the phone. “Four minutes left in the chapter, then I’ll be ready. Go take a seat and wait. Please,” she adds, softening her demand.

While I wait where we can see each other, I don’t take my eyes off her. Her ears are busy listening to the story, but her eyes roll and her tongue sticks out. If she’s trying to rile me up, she’s succeeding.

When the woman deems her done, Marina pauses the book, thanks her, and ambles over to me, coat and bag hanging off her arm. She holds out her nails, the sunlight beaming in, catching them, making them sparkle.

“I didn’t think I liked pink, but I think they’re kind of perfect for today’s activity. What do you think?”

“Agreed.” I want to say more, but my true feelings will spill out if I’m not careful. And we’ve got a long day ahead of us.

With a quick show of my gratitude to the owner, I usher Marina outside and into the waiting car. The driver knows to head to the first of the three jewelry stores I booked private appointments with.

“Pulling out all the fancy stops, Champ.”

“Only the best for you, Marina.” I debate whether to kiss her. We haven’t drawn rules or boundaries about this relationship, and I’m not about to bend or push them because I can’t control my urges.

Marina takes the first sip of her vanilla latte and moans, confirming the coffee is good. But I didn’t account for the sensual noises. “Ooh, that’s delish. What’d you get?”

“Maple latte.” I hand it over to her. This time, her moan is deeper, and if I don’t turn away from her, I’m liable to act on my impulses. “Which one is going to be yours?”

“I can’t decide, so half of each. That work for you?”

“You know it.” Her beautiful smile shines brighter than the sun.

The drive should take about fifteen minutes, so we chat about last night’s game.

“Your penalty in the second was uncalled for. There wasn’t any holding. Refs are too blind and too whistle-happy this season.”

“I’m gonna tell them you said that,” I joke.

I love how much she engages in my favorite sport. She knows all the rules and follows enough of the players to know which team they play for. She had no issues changing her team loyalty to the Nautilus, just like when I was drafted to Minnesota, she switched from Boston, the closest team to Vermont.

“For real, though. The other team took so many cheap shots, but the refs seemed to swallow their whistles until your team retaliated. That’s not right. Oh, and what was the brawl about in the third?”

“Something about a beef with one of the Florida players. Started before I got there. No one can specifically explain who or how it started.”