Page 31 of Hooked On Them

He guided me into a simple dance hold, his right hand light against my back. “I hope you don’t mind. It’s been a while since I’ve done this.”

And then we were moving together, Miles leading me through a pattern I knew from watching ice dance competitions. His hold was confident but gentle, creating a frame that allowed me to follow his direction while still expressing my own style.

The music shifted, growing more intense, and Miles adjusted accordingly. His hand at my back became more secure as we picked up speed, moving as one unit across the ice. There was something remarkably intimate about it. It wasn’t sexual, exactly, but deeply connected. Two bodies finding harmony in motion.

When the final chorus hit, my breath caught as his hands found my waist, lifting me like I weighed nothing. I extended my arms, trusting him completely as he turned slowly before setting me back on the ice with care.

As the song faded, we came to a natural stop, facing each other, closer than we’d been before. Miles was looking at me with an expression I couldn’t quite decipher. His hand was still at my waist, steadying me, and I became acutely aware of how little space separated us.

For one hormone-addled moment, I thought about closing that gap. About finding out if his lips were as gentle as his hands.

Then reality crashed back in. I was his coach. I was pregnant with possibly his best friend’s baby. I was a complete disaster who had no business adding another complication to my already spectacularly complicated life.

I stepped back a little too abruptly. My blade caught, and I stumbled, my usual perfect balance deserting me.

Miles’s reflexes were lightning-fast. His arm shot out, catching me before I could fall, pulling me securely against him. “Whoa, I’ve got you. Are you okay?”

“Fine.” My heart was racing, and not just from the stumble. His chest was solid against mine, warm and steady. And too damn close. “Lost my footing.”

He didn’t let go, his eyes searching my face. “Nora, what’s going on with you? And don’t say nothing.”

“Like I said, I’m tired.” I tried to pull away, but Miles kept his gentle hold.

“It’s more than that. Are you getting sick?” The genuine concern in his eyes made my throat tight. Miles was too perceptive for his own good and for mine.

“I’m not sick.” Not technically a lie. Pregnancy wasn’t an illness, right?

“Then what is it?” His hand moved to my upper arm, thumb rubbing small circles. “You know you can talk to me, right? Not as a player, but as a friend.”

For a wild second, I considered telling him everything, but the words stuck in my throat. I pushed back, and this time he let me go. “Thank you for the dance. You’re full of surprises, Collins.”

He recognized the deflection for what it was, disappointment flickering briefly across his features before he masked it with a light smile. “My secret talent. Don’t tell the guys, okay? They already think I’m too soft for a hockey player.”

“Your secret’s safe with me.”

As we turned to skate toward the bench, we both tensed like guilty teenagers caught sneaking in after curfew. Coach Lovell sat there, still as a statue, watching us with his practiced blank coach expression.

My mind raced through exactly how this must have looked from his perspective: the lift, the closeness, that charged moment that definitely hadn’t been strictly professional.

Shit. Double shit. “Coach. You’re here late,” I managed, aiming for casual but landing somewhere closer to worried. The chill from the ice seemed to seep right through my layers.

“As are you.” His gaze ping-ponged between Miles and me. “Had a meeting.”

Beside me, Miles didn’t say a word. But his silence had weight, like he was bracing for impact.

I dropped onto the bench, focusing intently on my laces while pretending my boss hadn’t potentially witnessed what could be seen as an intimate moment with one of his players. The familiar motions of unlacing my skates gave my fidgety hands something useful to do besides gesturing wildly in panic.

Coach rose from his seat, and I could practically feel his stare without looking up. “You’re not trying to steal my captain to be your new skating partner, are you?”

I laughed, too loudly, trying to match his tone. Was that a joke? Or the start of a very uncomfortable conversation? “Tempting, but I think he’d get tired of me correcting his clumsy footwork.”

Miles let out a dramatic gasp, pressing a hand to his chest like I’d mortally wounded him. “Excuse you, I was flawless out there.”

Coach Lovell raised an eyebrow. “I don’t need my captain breaking an ankle trying to keep up with you, so let’s keep the ice dancing to a minimum, yeah?”

I gave him a salute. “Yes, sir. Although I don’t think his parents would appreciate you shooting down their hopes and dreams of him becoming an ice dancer.”

Miles smirked. “Hey, never say never. If the whole hockey thing doesn’t work out…”

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