Page 12 of My Pucking Perfect Goalie

“To life,” I parrot, realizing I’m just repeating her, but feeling unable to do anything else. She’s electric, her hands moving as she speaks, and it’s hard to tear my eyes away from her. Her hairsits on her shoulder, glinting in the low lights flashing outside the car, and there’s a light pink flush on her cheeks.

Watching her, I realize something—Finn is like me. She loves what she does. When she takes a deep breath and continues, I feel a kind of kinship with her. A kind of respect.

“Yes,” she says, sounding incredibly serious. “Many athletes think they can separate their lives from the sport, but that’s simply not the truth. We are all just people, and as nice as it would be to keep your life on the rink separate, it’s not what happens. We bring the stuff from the rink into our lives, and the stuff from our lives onto the rink.”

“Do you…skate? Or play?” I ask, surprised at the way she’s talking about the rink like that. It strikes at something in me, making me feel like I’m talking to a guy on the team.

“Oh,” she laughs, her eyebrows shooting up to her hairline. “No, thank god.”

“Well, shit.” I let out a low laugh, and she brings a hand to her mouth, shaking her head.

“I mean—shit—not that playing hockey isbad,” Finn goes on, and I can’t help but smile. This is the first time she hasn’t been perfectly composed, looking a bit flustered. I imagine it’s not every day she manages to insult a client like this.

“I’m just…well, I’m not very coordinated,” she continues. “There’s a reason I only ride a stationary bike.”

“I bet you could skate just fine,” I say, my eyes traveling up and down her body without meaning to. She certainly looks athletic enough. An image flashes through my mind of the two of us on the ice, my hands on her hips, showing her how to keep her balance as she pushes ahead.

“Oh, I’m not sure about that” She shakes her head, looks down to her tablet. Her cheeks are an even deeper pink now. Something in my chest tightens, and I want to reach out, to touch the skin there, see if it’s warm.

“I could teach you.”

“That is not how this arrangement works.You’repayingme.”

“No, Grey is paying you. And forced you to fly all the way out of here. Least you could get out of it would be a free skating lesson.”

“I—”

Finn cuts off as the car comes to a stop, and I realize we’ve reached out desperation. I continue looking at her as she gathers her things, wishing she would have finished that statement. Suddenly, I want nothing more than to be on the ice with her, watch her on skates. Steady her.

“Alright,” she says, her voice snapping back to that cool, professional tone. “First exercise!”

Finn climbs from the car and straightens outside, eyes on me as I exit as well. When I’m standing and looking around, I realize we’re in the middle of nowhere. There’s a small building to our left, the outside a bright white corrugated metal. A small window on the back is mostly dark, and there are no signs around to indicate what it might be. The weather is holding up, the sky still beautiful, shadows and lines on the clouds making the entire thing picturesque.

“Where the hell are we?” I ask, looking out across the field and wondering if I’ll be doing sprints or something. Conditioning is important, but it makes more sense to train on the ice, where subtle changes in my movements really count.

“You are at Barton Airfield, my friend!” someone declares.

I turn, facing the voice behind me, which belongs to an older man with salt and pepper hair. He has the kind of squarish face and wide smile that reminds me of Mr. Rodgers, and I have to crane my head down to look at him.

Barton Airfield. The man standing in front of me has a little name tag that readsGerald Bartonand thenPilot.

When I glance at Finn, something in my stomach swoops, fear and anxiety settling in. Why the hell are we at an airfield?

“Okay,” I say, slowly, glancing between her and the pilot. “For…?”

“Oh,” Finn says, glancing up from her tablet. “Boldness, remember? We’re going to be doing a little exercise in doing something even when it makes you uncomfortable.”

“And that thing would be, what? Going in a plane?”

“Going out of the plane, mate!” the pilot says, laughing and clapping me on the arm. “Don’t you worry about it a bit! My niece is a pro at what she does.”

“Goingoutof the plane?” I ask, as another woman comes walking toward us. She’s cute, dressed in a matching pink athletic set, much like Finn’s, but brighter.

Once she’s standing next to us, I realize she’smuchtaller than Finn, coming damn near to being as tall as me. I’ve met very few women nearing my height, and it catches me off guard.

“That’s right,” she says, nodding and gesturing to the little hut. “Shall we get you fit for the harness? Just need you to sign some papers and we can get going. Don’t worry if you’re nervous, people usually are for their first time.”

“First time atwhat?”

---