Page 101 of Skate the Line

“Okay, Ms. Edwards. Your student awaits.” Rhodes plops down onto the couch beside me, causing me to fall into him.

He catches me by the arm before I land in his lap and props me upright again.

I attempt to clear my thoughts and reach for my sleepytime tea—something Rhodes already made fun of me for, calling me an old lady.

Which I took as a compliment.

My nana drinks sleepytime tea, and I wouldn’t mind turning out like her.

“Okay,” I sigh and place my tea back onto the coffee table. “Do you remember the steps?”

He thinks for a moment. “No.”

I gasp. “What?”

He gives me a lopsided grin. “I’m kidding, Sunshine. Of course I remember the steps. If I can remember various hockey plays, I think I can remember a few steps for braiding.”

I raise an eyebrow. “I’ve seen you attempt a braid. I wouldn’t be so sure.”

“I can do it.”

His cockiness is highly attractive.

I hide a smile. “We will see.”

Sliding onto the floor, I push the coffee table a few inches forward and make some room. I sit cross-legged in front of him. “Go on, hotshot.” I peer over my shoulder at him.

His brow furrows for a quick second before he smooths his face and scoots closer. Each of his legs falls beside me, the soft fabric of his sweatpants brushing my arms.

My heart beats a little faster when he gathers my hair and pulls it behind my shoulders. The briefest thought of the last time someone touched my hair slips in, and I tense. My fingernails bite at the flesh of my thigh as I dig them into my skin to ground myself.

“Sunny.”

I jerk. “Huh?”

“You’re shaking. Are you that afraid I’ll fuck up this braid and get tangled in the strands like I do with El?” Rhodes chuckles quietly, and I try to relax.

“No. Sorry, go ahead.”

Rhodes leans forward, wafting his aftershave in my direction. He reaches for the brush and settles back on the couch again. My breathing slows with the sweeping motion. There aren’t any tangles—something I’m sure he’s grateful for.

“Are you going to tell me why you just got nervous?”

“I didn’t get nervous.” The four words fly from my mouth quickly, telling my lie right away.

I make a face and pout. I try again. “I wasn’t nervous.”

Rhodes continues to swipe at my hair with the brush, moving slower and slower.Is he trying to calm me?Because if so, it’s working.

The third period of the hockey game starts, and I stare at the TV, watching the men work back and forth on the ice. I’m not sure if it’s the sleepytime tea, the calming sensation of someone brushing my hair, or Rhodes’s presence, but I find myself opening up to explain.

“I was afraid,” I admit. “But only for a second.”

“Afraid?” He separates my hair into three sections.

“The last time someone touched my hair…” I hesitate.

“You don’t have to explain,” he says.

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