Page 17 of For Pucking Keeps

“Hey, Torrance! I’m almost done here. The ice is all yours,” he hollers over the noise, continuing to drive the machine around the rink. The crisp, icy surface stretches out before me, glistening under the soft glow of the harsh overhead lighting. The rink itself is a vast expanse of pristine white, punctuated by colorful markings and boundaries that crisscross the surface like a giant canvas waiting to be painted. Sturdy barriers line the edges, the familiar plexi-glass stands sentry, protecting the seating area. Even without the hulking hockey players this place is impressive and intimidating.

“Thanks Rick!” Tor shouts back, then turns to me with a serious expression on his face, all traces of the shy man gone. “Rule number three of hockey,” he says in a no-nonsense tone, as he walks towards the stands and unlatches a side door and beckons me forward. “You need to be able to skate on the ice.”

Is this man serious? No. There’s no way he expects me to skate, right? Oh hell no. I stand there, my feet planted on solid ground, refusing to move. “That’s gonna be a hard no for me,” I say, leaving no room for argument. I cross my arms stubbornly over my chest and shake my head.

Tor steps away from the door, eyebrows raised in question. “I’m sorry, let me back track here, I assumed you didn’t know how to skate.”

“You assumed, correctly,” I snap back defensively. My hangups are my own, it has nothing to do with him, but he is the only one in the room, so, I make him my punching bag.

Tor holds his hands up in surrender. “Hold up, Supernova. I promise this is me doing exactly what I agreed to. I want to give you the full experience, and skating is one of them. I’m not going to make you do something you don’t want to. But I will be with you every step of the way. My intention is not to cause you harm, Jaz.”

I hang my head because I know this. I’m being irrational and my own insecurities are rising to the surface. I’ve fought so hard to mask them, accept who I am and be comfortable in my own skin. . .but there are some things. I let my hands do the talking, gesturing wildly at my body. “I’m sorry, but this body is not meant for skating. Ice skates, thin blades, holding up my larger body, it’s pretty obvious.” I try to make my statement more of a joke and less self-deprecation but if I had to choose one, it would be the latter.

Tor’s nostrils flare, the only indication that he didn’t like what I had to say. He holds out his hand to me and waits. “Come with me, please.”

I want to be stubborn and resist, but I can’t. My feet carry me over to him, my hand finds his, like it is the most natural thing in the world, and it couldn’t wait to return home. He pulls me into the standsand down the aisle to the front row, right behind the boards where various pairs of ice skates await us.

I’m already shaking my head adamantly, my decision made. “Tor, I can’t.” I find the closest seat and flop down in the chair, looking everywhere but him. I don’t want to see disappointment or pity on his face. God, I can’t believe I am letting something as simple as ice skating get the better of me. It’s embarrassing, but most hurts run deep. Mine run deeper than most. I remember being a little girl, watching figure skaters on television, pretending to perform on the carpet, making up my own routines to my favorite songs. I remember the one and only time I put on a pair of ice skates and the humiliation that followed. I sit in this chair, feeling like that eleven-year-old chubby girl once more.

“Jazminne,” Tor says my name softly, pulling me from my thoughts. He squats in front of me, the heat of his hands seeps through my denim-clad thighs. His thumbs stroke tender, soothing circles, grounding me to the present. I look down into his concerned eyes as he waits patiently for me to respond. Suddenly, I don’t want to hide from him. I want him to know me, all of me, the true me.

“Alexis. Alexis Rhodes is my real name,” I finally say to his utter wide-eyed astonishment. Tor’s grip on my thighs tightens as he narrows his eyes on me. Clearly confused, his mouth opens and closes with what I’m sure are a load of questions.

“But—”

“Jazminne Starr is my penname. Most authors use one to maintain anonymity, to keep their private lives private. When I moved here, it was easier for me to use Jaz because no one knew me by anything else. I hold my cards close to my chest to protect myself and my family. It was one of the reasons why I freaked out last night while I was watching your press conference after the game. They kept asking you questions about me. I just knew one of them was going to expose my real name to the world. I know I won’t be able to hide that information forever, but it is a secret I want to keep for as long as I can.” I blow out a breath. Yeah, I’m emotionally drained on so many fronts right now, and I’m mentally tapped out.

Tor’s eyes never waver, they search mine for a moment as he lets my explanation sink in. “Alexis,” he says my name, my real name and my stomach flips, my heart beats a little faster at the sound of it on his tongue. “You have nothing to worry about. I understand the need for privacy more than you know. Your secret is safe in my hands.”

“You’re the first person I’ve told since I moved here. Lia doesn’t even know. I’m going to tell her. I’m sure she’s going to give me shit.” I try to laugh but it falls flat. I look at Tor imploringly, “Please, use Jaz when we are out in the real world. I just needed. . .wanted you to know the truth,” I say in a rush, and he nods his head in understanding.

“Alexis,” he says my name patiently, his hands still resting on my thighs, thumbs still rotating slowly, reassuringly.

I give him my full attention now. I feel as if I’ve cut myself open wide for him to see, completely vulnerable. “Yes, Tor?” I whisper my reply.

“Do you trust me?”

TOR

Please say, yes, I think to myself as I crouch in front this beautiful trusting woman. I know we are only scratching the surface in getting to know each other. What she revealed was unexpected, but I get it. Alexis Rhodes. I let the name roll around in my head, and it feels right. I didn’t think twice about Jaz not being her actual name. There are things about her world I am yet to learn, but I want to. I really want to.

“Yes. I do,” she says confidently. A weight lifts off my chest at her admission. Trust takes time, and the fact she’s given me hers so soon fills me with. . .with, what? Well, words I am not sure I can express. Not yet, anyway.

“Good, Supernova.” I wink, trying to make light of the situation and get our day back on task. “But first,” I say sternly, because I need her to understand how necessary it is for her to let what I’m about to say sink in. I squeeze her thighs and close my eyes trying not to imagine how soft her skin is underneath the fabric of her jeans. “I want you to hear me, Alexis.” I watch her eyes widen at my use of her real name, and it gives me a sense of satisfaction. Responsive, good. I make a promise here and now to use her real name sparingly. Right now, I need her to hear me, really hear me. “I am going to teach you how to ice skate.”

“Tor—”

“No, Jaz. You are what dreams are made of. Your body,”—I let my hand climb a fraction higher up her thighs—“you are fucking gorgeous, and I’ll be damned if I sit here and let you talk about yourself as if you’re anything but. Your body is beautiful.”

I stand because I am too close to her lips, too close in general. My dick is screaming for her attention, and I want to declare my affections and intentions all over her luscious body. What I really want to say is her body is beautiful because she is mine. Mine. She just doesn’t know it yet. But maybe some revelations need to remain in my head only.

“The men who collide with me on the ice every night are a lot bigger and heavier, yet they skate like figure skaters. If they can do it, baby, so can you.” I don’t give her a chance to protest, I turn and head over to the skates I had delivered here two days ago. Thank goodness Rick, who handles maintenance at this small local ice rink was in this morning. The man is a saint, I owe him premium seats at our next home game for sure.

“I’m scared,” she says with my back to her. “I’m scared of falling and not being able to get up. It’s baggage from a long time ago. I’ve never gotten over it. The minute you mentioned skating, my mind took me back there and I freaked.”

I turn holding up a pair of skates and nod in understanding. I saw it in her face when she became defensive moments ago. I knew there was more to it than she let on. I smile. “Thank you for telling me, Jaz. I promise I will not let you fall, and if you do, which you won’t”—Holding up my finger to punctuate my point—“I will be there to pick you up. Always.”

“Okay,” she relents, covering her face with her hands. I can only assume she’s attempting to psych herself up for what we are about to do. She drops her hands from her face and shakes them both out nervously. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

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