Page 14 of Unsteady

“Am not.”

“Whatever you say, Sadie,” he snorts out.

“I’m offering to…”What am I offering?His smiles and taunts are making me lightheaded. “To split the ice.”

“Okay.” He nods, standing over me in his now-laced skates, turning from a ball of anxiety into a tower of a man. “And your music.”

“What?”

“I want your music.” He shrugs. “It feels good. Helps me focus, I guess.”

Something about his words makes me want to hug him, a light burn behind my eyes.

“Okay,” I agree.

* * *

Seeing Rhys heading towards me, I realize maybe I wasn’t as sly as I thought in attempting to sneak off the ice while his back was turned.

For a moment, I contemplate slamming the metal door down on the window so I can scream, “We’re closed!” when he approaches.

Unfortunately, that would mean crushing the fingers of the unsuspecting mother who looks close to falling asleep atop my counter space as I slide her coffee to her.

“Thanks,” she offers, taking the second cup of hot chocolate and sheep-dogs two hyperactive hockey kids away.

“Didn’t know you worked here too.” He smiles, pushing a hand through his hair that’s a little wet like he might’ve dunked his head under the sink after finishing his morning skate. A few tendrils keep brushing into his face, too short for him to shove around the curve of his ears.

I clench my hands, because some stupid part of my brain wants to push those hairs back myself.

“That’s how I have a key.” I shrug. It’s not how I have a key, at all—I don’t think working at the concession stand usually reserved for high schoolers warrants an entrance key to the ice plex.

I only have it because that’s part of my compromise for every summer with Coach Kelley. He won’t hover and drag me across the country when I have my brothers out of school, if I continue to practice at the local rink and send him updated footage of my routines weekly.

“Can I get a coffee?”

I smile, but heat crawls my spine. “All out.”

“Out of coffee at seven-thirty in the morning?”

“Unfortunately,” I say, stirring creamer into the cup in front of me.

“Not even a little bit left for your favorite customer?”

He smiles and it makes me pause, two matching dimple imprints to his otherwise chiseled cheeks, a little bit of light bleeding into his usually saddened brown eyes. I want to stand in that smile like a flower preening in the sun.

“Rhys, you’re not even in my top ten. Besides, I highly doubt your prep-schooled ass has ever purchased anything from a public ice complex concession stand.”

His hand thumps on his chest, like what I’ve said was deeply hurtful. “Consider me a card-holding member of the concession stand loyalty club now.”

“Well, in that case.” I grab a Styrofoam cup before sliding it towards him.

“What do I owe you?” His eyes glimmer at me.

“A break from your continuous presence at my place of work.”

“That’s a high price.”

“I’m expensive.”

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