Page 62

The stale smell of sweat and gym socks smacks my nostrils. “Gosh, it’s been ages.”

He sets me on my feet by the rental counter. “Blades or skates?”

“Skates.” I don’t have to tell him my size. It hasn’t changed since ninth grade.

Chance grabs them along with his rollerblades, guiding me to a low circular platform that serves as a bench. The moment my butt hits the hard surface, he’s kneeling in front of me to get my skates on. I squeak and try to pull away when he tickles my sole.

“You’re too much.” My appreciation admires him as he ties my laces with the utmost care.

“Surprised?”

“Extremely.” My heart is kicking to a cheerful beat.

“That’s a great start.” He gets his blades strapped on in thirty seconds flat. “Ready?”

I blink up at him. “Maybe?”

Chance grabs my hands in his, tugging me upright. I wobble like a baby foal standing on newborn legs. Together, we tromp across the faded carpet toward the rink. My skates glide in five different directions the instant we reach the glossy surface.

“Was it always this hard?”

The twinkle in his eye is a filthy comeback. “For you? Yes.”

“Very funny.” I stick out my tongue when he skates backward to keep me from falling.

“Funkytown” is blasting from the speakers. Lasers and neon lights nearly blind me while Chance attempts to stabilize my constant teetering. True to his word, he never lets me fall. Our index fingers are hooked around one another in tight formation. The combination makes me feel like a kid again. A wave of nostalgia crashes over me and emotion blurs my vision.

“Hey,” he croons. “Are you okay?”

“I’m gr-eat,” I blubber.

“We can stop if—”

“Only if we share fries and a milkshake.” My smile is more steady than my legs.

His expression brightens with understanding. “I’m not sure if they have hot fudge or whipped cream.”

“Only one way to find out.” My right skate grows a mind of its own and I nearly do the splits.

Chance yanks me against him, saving my ass once again. “But we have to hurry. The limbo starts in ten minutes.”

I’m already shaking my head. “Absolutely not. I’ll watch from a safe distance.”

“What do I get if I beat all these suckers?” He motions to the dozens of children acting like this is a roller derby.

I squint at the disco ball hanging from the ceiling. “You can take me on another outing tomorrow.”

“Date,” he reiterates.

“You have to win before we argue over terminology.”

He nods solemnly. “Can I have a good luck kiss?”

I loop my arms around his neck and plant a juicy one on him. The chaste contact cocoons us in a private moment just like I used to imagine it would. In the next second, we’re crashing onto the polished floor in a heap of wheels and sore bottoms.

“Better add a booty massage to our terms for tomorrow.”

Chance smiles against my lips. “With pleasure, baby.”