Page 16 of Pucked On Camera

"I can't believe you did this," I say and bounce a little on the bench.

"Thought you'd enjoy a private skate, just the two of us," he replies with a smile as we sit side by side on the bench and lace up our skates.

"When was the last time you had these on?" Riley asks, nodding toward my skates.

"Too long," I admit, looping the lace around my finger, "but it's like riding a bike, right?"

"Guess we'll find out." He chuckles, standing up.

"Hey, how about a little competition? First one to ten goals wins," he suggests playfully.

"Sure, you're on." I stand, finding my balance. "What does the winner get?"

"Let's say... the loser has to cook dinner for the winner." His grin grows wider, mischievous.

"Hope you're ready to whip up a gourmet meal, Watson," I tease back.

"Bring it, Brooks."

I take a few practice laps to get my skating legs back before I bust into competitive mode.

"Almost forgot how freeing this feels," I call out while my body remembers the rhythm of skating from muscle memory.

"Looks like you never stopped," Riley replies.

"Flattery won't save you from kitchen duty," I shout, stealing the puck with a swift move and aiming for the goal but miss.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he says and winks at me, taking his shot and sliding the puck in the net with ease.

The puck once again skids across the ice, and I'm on it like a hawk, but then Riley swoops in. He's a blur of motion, yet his stick misses the puck by a mile. I squint.

Once is an accident, twice is bad luck, but the third deliberately botched shot? No way.

"Riley Watson, are you letting me win?" My voice echoes off the rink walls.

He shrugs, all innocence. "Wouldn't dream of it, Princess. You're just that good."

"Uh-huh." I skate backwards, keeping my gaze locked on his. "Show me what you've got, Captain."

He winds up for a slapshot, the muscles in his arms flexing, but the puck goes wide again, slipping comically past the goalpost. It's too much, making me laugh. The sound fills the rink, and his grin with that pure boyish… Good Lord!

"Okay, bucko," I scold. "No more Mr. Nice Guy."

I charge at him, picking up speed. My intention is clear to swat at him, but as I near, he doesn't move away. Instead, he braces himself. At the last second, he reaches out, his hands securearound my waist. Momentum carries us in a spin, and I'm lifted off the ice, the rink spinning around.

"Riley!" I yelp, half-laugh, half-shout, with the rush of being airborne.

"Gotcha," he says, his voice low next to my ear.

As if I weigh nothing at all, he swings me around, my ponytail lashing out like a whip. And then, just as suddenly as he caught me, he's pulling me close, his body merging with mine. Time slows as he lowers me back onto the ice, his lips finding mine.

The kiss deepens and makes the rest of the world fall away. It’s just Riley's strong arms, the taste of him, and the solid ice beneath my feet. When he finally pulls back, his blue eyes are intense. My heart hammers against my ribs, and I'm grateful for the cold because I need to cool off a bit.

"Guess you won the wager after all," he whispers.

"Maybe," I manage to say, standing there so close that our breaths mingle. "But who's keeping score?"

I let go of the need to prove myself, allowing the moment to be just what it is—unexpected, wild, and thrilling.

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