Page 37 of Ice Dance Hockey

“Will do. Love you, babe,” Jack says with a kiss to Mercy’s lips and one for the furry-headed child.

Not that I need coaching, but they’ve teamed against me and that’s not fair.

“Oh, c’mon, Rhett. I need every advantage against you I can get,” Jack says.

“Do you honestly believe that? You did just fine on your own.”

“You like a challenge,” he reminds me.

I did when my challenge wasn’t getting Jack back. I suppose I enjoyed the challenge of winning him over for a little while until I felt like I was losing. Elkingtons don’t lose.

Logan stares through me as if he can read everything about me and then carries on up the steps in the direction Mercy’s gone. It’s like I’m being ripped open and scraped raw. Do I like it? Hate it? I don’t know. I let anger boil through me instead.

I’m supposed to show Jack new things he can use in New York and impress him. Preen as the better peacock. Instead, Mercy’s winning again.

It’s Jack’s turn to play defense. He knocks my shot wide and then acknowledges it was thanks to Mercy’s help by blowing two kisses—one for Merc and one for Stanley, I’m assuming. “Thanks for the tip, babe. You were right.”

Whatever that means.

This could have been fun, but now I’m stewing, and I want it to be over. This was a bad idea.

“Wait.” It’s Logan’s voice calling out to me before I take my position as offense. I didn’t notice before, but he’s left his skates on with the skate guards over the sharp blades.

He’s waving me over and I’m so shocked it’s not Jack he’s calling that I have to point to myself.

“Me?”

“Yes, you, hockey gorilla.”

I skate over and he leans in so that our conversation is private. The faint scent of his sweat mixed with a tropical-scented lotion fills my nostrils. “Merc told him that you fall in on your left side a little.”

Do I? Why hasn’t a trainer told me this?

He must see the question on my face. “It’s not much, but it’s true. Not enough to worry about overall, but enough to capitalize on during whatever this weird display of testosterone is.”

“And you’re a hockey expert now?”

“Not even a little, but I know skating. They’re riling you, too. I could tell that from the moon. I’m sure you know Jack’s left-dominant and even though he’s reasonably ambidextrous, he still relies heavily on his left. C’mon, show off for me, big guy. You’ve got more than you’re giving right now, not sure why.”

I’m speechless. He’s right. I do know that about Jack, and I haven’t shown off once. I’m being … nice. He exhales a breath that ghosts over the shell of my ear and the shiver that bursts through me sends my heart into a gallop.

I’m going to crush Jack.

“There you go. That’s the look. Score me a goal, Elkington.”

I find myself wishing for a good-luck kiss, but we’re not in front of anyone we have to perform for. He leaves cold ice-arena air in his wake. Giving myself a mental shake, I return to Jack filled with purpose. “Let’s go, Leslie.”

“Been waiting for you to get into this game, Elkington.”

We’re not playing a game, of course, and yet we are. Taking every piece of Logan’s advice, I use Jack’s weaknesses against him and pull my head out of my ass. I show off just for Logan and use one of the fancy ice-dancing moves he taught me, gliding backward and navigating a half-circle on my left foot. I hook the puck with the blade of my stick, flip it in the air, twirl my stick like it’s the hand of a clock in front of me and then catch the falling puck behind my back on the tip of the stick blade. I sink it into the top corner of the net.

“Shit, Rhett, that was awesome,” Jack says, still a fan, even though he lost that round. “There you are. Was worried for a second there.”

He’s not mad?

Mercy’s already down the steps again and Jack’s smile brightens just a bit more for him.

The battle carries on like this, Jack and I duking it out on the ice, and Mercy and Logan offering their coaching services to us. My attention draws to Logan a few times. He’s animated while having a discussion about us with Mercy, his hair whipping every which way as he uses his body to act out his ideas.

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