Page 33 of Speed

“I noticed,” he answered with a cute smile.

It was hard not to notice. The red and black walls and ceiling were made to match the tones of Elvis’s bedroom in Graceland. Over the scarlet walls were framed movie posters from several dozen of who knows how many movies Elvis made. Well, Pops would know. I had no clue. There was a popcorn machine, a soda fountain, and a pinball machine in the far corner that had an image of the King from his ’68 comeback special. Yes, I knew that special well.

“You want some popcorn before the movie begins?” I asked as we stepped over and around dogs, Mittens lying over my shoulder like a purring sandbag.

“Is it a good snack for you?” He flopped down into a plush padded seat in the first row. There were four, with ten seats in each row. Just in case a party of Elvis fans arrived at the front door. You never knew.

“It is.” I handed him the cat, then fired up the machine as he leaned back, legs out, hands clasped behind his head. He looked so peaceful. It was a really nice look on him. When the corn was finished popping, I scooped up two paper bags full, delivered them, then went to the soda fountain. Brody and I both decided on cold water, extra ice. Once we were all settled–the dogs each taking one recliner, Brody, me, and then Mittens on the back of my seat–I cued up the digital film and sound system on my phone. “So, I talked to Coach today. About my, potentially, at maybe some future time, having a public boyfriend. And he was like dude, your fathers are married and half of our alumni are queer. It’ll be fine.”

“Oh, wow, that’s amazing.” He glanced over after taking a sip of cold water. “I’m just… I guess I’m stunned. I’ve not heard any positive feedback of any kind when it came to being out for a racer. I’ve only seen closed doors.”

“No closed doors on the Railers. I’ll make the team based on my skills on ice, with no red marks for being bisexual.” I felt pretty darn good about that, but Brody still seemed a little unsure, so as not to push too hard and too fast, I switched topics. “Okay, so the only drawback to this theater is that Pops only has Elvis movies downloaded to his account. But I know one that you’ll really think is super groovy daddy-o.”

“Bring it on,” he said as the lights dimmed andSpeedwaybegan to play.

“Nancy Sinatra is in this one,” I said. “She’s slinky.”

I’d seen this movie at least twenty times. And hey, a foxy girl is a foxy girl, no matter what decade it was.

He leaned over to steal a kiss. “Still thinking of Nancy?”

I took a moment to ponder. “Yeah, I think so. You better kiss me again.”

He did. Three times to be exact. And that seemed to purge Ms. Sinatra from my head for the rest of the movie. Of course, when she sang “Your Groovy Self,” he had to kiss me a lot more.

Yeah, movie date nights were pretty awesome.

ELEVEN

Brody

The rink was eerilyquiet at five in the morning, with the kind of silence that felt both calming and surreal. Noah unlocked the side door and flicked on the lights, illuminating the pristine sheet of ice stretching before us. It was a perfect, untouched, blank canvas.

“Trust me,” Noah said, his smile soft but sure as he handed me a pair of skates.

I held them as if they might bite. “I’ve never done this,” I warned, though the prospect of trying something new with him was more enticing than I cared to admit.

“You’ll be fine,” he said, crouching to lace up his skates. His movements were practiced and efficient, every flick of his wrist reminding me how much of his life had been spent on the ice.

I followed his lead, fumbling as I tightened the laces. By the time I stood up, my ankles already felt wobbly.

Noah glanced over and grinned. “Come on,” he said, holding out a hand.

I took it, letting him guide me to the rink's edge. My legs felt foreign, every step awkward and unsure, but his grip was steady, grounding me.

“All right, ready?” Noah asked, stepping effortlessly onto the ice.

“Not even a little,” I muttered, but I followed him anyway, placing one skate onto the slick surface, then the other.

“Relax,” he encouraged, skating backward a few feet so he could face me. “You’re overthinking it. Just… let go.”

I wanted to argue, but something about how he stared at me—patient, confident, sure—made me trust him. Taking a deep breath, I pushed off, wobbled, and nearly fell, but Noah was there, his hands steadying me.

“See? You’re fine,” he said, grinning as I found my balance.

“Fine is a stretch,” I replied, but I was moving… slowly but surely.

It didn’t take long before the initial awkwardness began to fade. Noah skated beside me, his movements fluid and natural, and I mimicked his rhythm, gaining confidence with each lap. The ice felt different from anything I’d ever experienced—not as fast as a car, but smooth in a way that made me feel both out of control and alive.

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