Page 60 of Ice Dance Hockey

“This place is fucking awesome,” he’d said when he glided onto the ice like the blond-haired swan he is.

The chill in the air is always the crispest first thing. I love inhaling the cold. It raked into my lungs as I watched his blue silk shirt flapping in the wind he created. Man, I could have watched him all morning. His landings are so smooth and the speed he’s able to get in just a few strides is unreal.

We’re just getting to the part in the session where we’re going to try a few simple lifts so he can figure out my weight and how to balance me. We’ll need a spotter for the harder stuff, but we can get used to each other.

Rhett walks out of the locker room area without any hockey equipment on, in his tracksuit, though he is holding a hockey stick in one hand and a puck in the other. His skate guards are on. He’s wearing a blue ball cap, which is new, and I wonder if that has anything to do with the media shitstorm he and Jack inadvertently created yesterday.

He's always warning me to be discreet and then he heads out for coffee with his ex, holds his ex’s child, stares down at it with pure love in his eyes—if the picture is anything to go by—and walks Jack to his minivan where he embraces him.

The embrace looked pretty innocuous to me, even Merc thought so, but of course, social media hounds ran with it.

It was the baby photo, for me.

The way he stared at Stanley as if he wished that baby was his. I know he was dreaming of the babies he should be having with Jack. Merc knew it too and while I expected supreme jealousy from him, maybe even a massive blowout, he gloated instead, knowing he’d won that round. Anyone with eyes can tell that Jack considers Stanley his, even though he doesn’t have a legal or blood claim on him. Merc knows Rhett’s filled with regret and that tickles him pink.

I was the one who got a shot of hot-white jealousy through my limbs. Rhett kissing me the other day fucked with my head a little bit, but I’ll hack my skates to pieces before I admit that Mercy was right. I burned with jealousy for a good, long minute until I reminded myself that Rhett and I aren’t real. He’s not mine and I’m not his. After that, I just wanted to make fun of him for fucking up so royally.

Suppose I’d better skate over to greet “my man”, though. I know he’s here—in part—to metaphorically pee on me. Rhett likes to own everything in his sphere. His worry is kinda sweet, though, even if it’s unwarranted. By the time I make it to the boards, he’s resting his forearms on them. I come to a gentle stop and the way he’s looking at me today is … I’m not sure. Something’s different.

Anyway, showtime. This’ll be good practice.

“Hey, baby,” I say, dropping a kiss to his lips, dragging in a gust of his cologne.

“Good morning, darling. Are you going to introduce me to your friend?”

Oh boy. I know that tone. He has a tone he slides into when he’s about to be fake nice. Other people miss it. I know every time, which is why he can’t get away with that shit with me.

Scott’s already sliding to a stop beside us. “Hey, man,” he says, extending a hand for Rhett to shake. “Good to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine,” Rhett says, giving a hefty “man” shake. There’s a little bite in his tone. “Please don’t allow me to distract you.”

Scott shrugs. “Why would I be distracted? No way I’m taking my eyes off this one while I’ve got him.”

Oh, Scott. You foolish man. Does he want Rhett to grind his bones to dust?

Wisely, he skates off as I stop Rhett from hopping over the boards. “Please don’t ruin this for me,” I hiss at him. “This is the chance of a lifetime. Maybe you should go until it’s your time.”

Rhett leans to speak in my ear. “He hit on you in front of me.”

His hot breath sends a shiver down my spine.

Shit. I might have left that part out. It got busy at the house last night. It was Giving Friday, something Merc usually does with just Theo, where they buy groceries for someone when they checkout, but Theo invited me. After that, Merc made tacos, including a ground turkey version for me with lots of vegetables.

I was feeling so good that I almost texted Mom last night. She’s sent me a few messages since I’ve been in Vancouver that I haven’t returned. Mom has a way of souring the best of things.

“That’s my fault. Can we talk about it later? Please?”

For five excruciating seconds, I think he’ll get into it anyway, but then he nods. “Later, then.”

“Everything, okay?” Scott says when I get out on the ice with him.

“Yeah, he’s just … protective.”

“Gathered that.”

I flush. Dammit, Rhett. He’s ruining this. “Everything’s fine. I’d really like to get to those lifts.”

“Me too. You’re a beautiful skater, Logan. I can’t wait to have you in my arms.”

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