Page 58 of Stick Handled

I’m starting to see past his nonchalant facade. He didn’t stay just because I asked. He stayed because he wanted to.

“I liked it,” I admit with a smile. He turns his head to me for a second before his eyes snap back to the road ahead.

“You and me both,” he says, revving the engine.

At the rink, the air is crisp, and the ice gleams under the overhead lights. Damien’s already tugging on his skates while I fumble with mine.

“Here,” he says, kneeling in front of me and brushing my hands away. His fingers make quick work of the laces, tightening them with precision. “You’ve got to get them snug, or you’ll lose control out there.”

I watch him as he ties the other one, the cords of his muscles dancing.

“Alright,” he says, standing and offering me his hand. “Let’s step it up today. You’re ready.”

“Ready for what?” I ask, taking his hand and stepping onto the ice.

“Ready to stop skating like a beginner.” He smiles, skating backward with effortless grace, his hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie.

“I’m notthatbad anymore,” I protest, stretching my hands out for balance.

“No,” he agrees, circling me like a shark. “But you’re not that good yet either.”

I groan, but he ignores me, pulling me into a glide.

“Cross your feet when you turn. Like this,” he says, demonstrating a sharp crossover. His movements are so smooth that it looks as easy as walking for him. Because it is.

I try to mimic it, wobbling slightly. His hands are there instantly, steadying my waist.

“Bend your knees more, baby,” he murmurs, his voice low near my ear. “Trust your edges and flow with the ice.”

Baby.He’s calling me baby, and I can’t distract myself with how it makes me feel, or I’ll fall.

His touch lingers a beat longer, and when I glance up at him, his eyes are locked on mine. My heart stutters.

“Now, try again,” he says, stepping back.

This time, I manage to pull it off, and his grin is approving, proud.

“Not bad,” he says, skating around to face me. “You might even replace Rowan out there if he doesn’t pass his physical today.”

I stick my tongue out at him, and he laughs, the sound deep and warm, making my knees feel like jelly.

We continue practicing, him showing me more advanced turns and edges, each one more challenging than the last. He makes them look so easy, so effortless, and it’s hard not to get caught up in the way he moves. He’s so infuriatingly good at this. And how can he not be? He takes hit after hit from the other players, blocking them as they charge full speed ahead, and he still stays upright like an unmovable force. The only time I’ve seen him fall was when Ares struck him down. But he wasn’t expecting that. Ares wasn’t even supposed to go against Damien; they were on the same team during practice.

“I canceled my physical today,” he says after a while, skating up behind me and placing his hands on my hips. “You see, I have a bite mark on my shoulder from a certain someone who couldn’t keep her pretty mouth quiet last night.”

My face flames, and I sputter, but he just chuckles, guiding me through another turn.

“Damien,” I manage, my voice half a laugh, half a gasp.

“I don’t want the doctor worried,” he says innocently, leaning down so his breath brushes my neck.

My breaths become shallower with every brush of his hands, every low word murmured close to my ear. When I stumble again, he catches me, pulling me flush against him.

“You need to focus, Avery,” he says softly, his face inches from mine.

“I’m trying,” I whisper, my voice trembling.

“Try harder,” he teases, but his gaze drops to my lips. “Or is something distracting you?”

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