Page 20 of Knot Sharing the Ice

Mason shoots me a look that clearly says, "What the fuck are you doing?" But I ignore him, focusing on Ember.

She looks skeptical. "I don't know..."

"Come on, it'll be fun," I coax. "Unless you're scared?"

It's a cheap shot, appealing to her competitive nature, but it works. Her eyes flash with that same fire I saw when we first met.

"Fine," she says. "Teach me."

"I'm not sure that's a good idea," Mason interjects, ever the voice of reason.

But his words seem to have the opposite effect, only making Ember more determined. "Why not?" she challenges. "Afraid I'll show you up?"

I can't help but grin at her spirit.

This girl is something else.

"What's going on?" Adder's voice rings out as he and Carter join us on the ice.

"We're teaching Ember how to play hockey," I announce, unable to keep the excitement from my voice.

Adder raises an eyebrow, looking from me to Ember and back again. "Is that so?"

Ember nods, her chin raised in defiance. "Unless you have a problem with that?"

For a moment, I think Adder might object. But then he smiles, a slow, approving grin that makes something in my chest loosen. "Not at all. Let's do it."

We spend the next hour going over the basics—how to hold the stick, how to pass, how to receive a pass. Ember's a quick study, her natural grace on the ice translating well to the new skills. But it's when we get to shooting that things really get interesting.

"Here, let me show you," I offer, moving to stand behind her. I pause, suddenly hyper-aware of how close we are. "Is this okay?"

She hesitates for a fraction of a second, then nods. "Yeah, it's fine."

I step closer, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off her body. It takes every ounce of willpower I possess not to press myself against her, to bury my face in the crook of her neck and breathe in that intoxicating scent.

Focus, Jayce. You're teaching her to play hockey, not trying to get in her pants.

Or rather, her leotard.

"Okay," I say, my voice rougher than I'd like. "You want to grip the stick like this." I demonstrate, then guide her hands into position. Her skin is soft and warm under my touch, and I have to bite back a groan as my mind drifts to the idea of those graceful hands gripping something else entirely.

"Like this?" she asks, adjusting her grip slightly.

"Yeah, that's perfect," I manage. "Now, when you swing, you want to transfer your weight from your back foot to your frontfoot." I demonstrate the motion, careful not to actually touch her. "It's all about the follow-through."

Ember nods, a look of intense concentration on her face. She takes a practice swing, and I can't help but admire the fluid grace of her movement.

"Not bad," I say. "Want to try it with a puck?"

She nods, and I set one up for her. "Remember, eyes on the target, transfer your weight, and follow through."

Ember takes a deep breath, lines up her shot, and swings. The puck sails through the air, missing the net by a good three feet.

"Shit," she mutters, frustration evident in her voice.

There it is.

That perfectionism and competitive spirit that have driven her to the top of her field. It's the same thing that motivates me every time I'm on the ice.

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