Page 45 of Pucking Curves

I walk backward as she walks toward me.

“You’re moving the goalpost,” she complains.

“Yeah, I am. Get your cute ass over here and stop me.”

She grumbles but keeps marching toward me. Once I’m sure she’s got a feel for the blades beneath her feet and how to properly balance on them, I stop moving away from her, allowing her to come to me.

She stops in front of me, one brow raised. “Now what, drill sergeant?”

“Keep being a smartass, little bird. You’re going to pay for every remark when I get you home.”

“Is that supposed to stop me?” She flicks her eyes up and down my body. “Because that is not a threat, Archer. It sounds like a good time to me.”

She’s impossible. And fucking adorable. “Bend your knees like you’re squatting, Wren.”

“Do I look like I do squats?”

“You were doing it on my cock last night. Same principle.”

“If you believe that, I did not do it right last night,” she mumbles, making me smile. She’s sassy as hell when she’s uncomfortable.

But with another little grumble, she does as instructed, and bends her knees, squatting. She forgets to keep her arms out to balance herself and almost lands on her ass before I catch her, keeping her upright.

“You want to lean forward slightly so your knees and toes are in a line and you’re pushing with your chest,” I murmur, guiding her through the motion until she’s in the right position. “Keep your arms out in front of you, baby. Until you know what you’re doing in those skates, your arms stay like that at all times.”

She follows my instructions without complaint this time. When she doesn’t fall, her eyes widen. “Hey! I didn’t fall.”

“That’s because you’re doing it the right way this time,” I murmur. “Balancing is half the battle with ice skating. Once you’ve got that part figured out, the rest comes easy.”

She eyes me doubtfully but lets me lead her through standing upright and then squatting several times before I’m satisfied.

“You ready to try this on the ice?”

“No.”

“You can do it, baby girl. I’ll be right beside you.”

She bites her lip and then nods, allowing me to slip my hand into hers. I walk her toward the ice, holding onto her. Once we’re on the ice, I let go of her hand.

She immediately panics, forgetting everything I just taught her.

“Breathe, Wren,” I murmur, hooking an arm around her waist to reel her back into my arms. “You know the basics. I just taught them to you. You can do this.”

She exhales a deep breath and then nods.

I release her slowly, sticking close to her side while she gets a feel for the blades with the ice beneath her. She’s anxious though, and keeps tensing, throwing off her center of balance.

“You know my first memory is on the ice?” I ask, trying to distract her into relaxing a little.

“Really?”

“Mmhmm. I was maybe two or three. I don’t fucking remember, honestly. I just remember my parents holding my hands as they zoomed around the ice. I felt like I was flying. I think that’s when I decided I wanted to play hockey like my dad.”

“Did he play professionally?” she asks, relaxing little by little.

“Nah. He just played in a local league with some of his buddies, said he wasn’t good enough to play at a professional level. But he loved the sport.” I smile at the memory. “We were on the ice together every chance we got. Go ahead and try to march, baby. Slow and easy.”

“It was like that for Micah and our dad. He coached Micah in little league, saw that he had real talent. They spent so much time on the ice together. I wanted to be just like Micah when I was younger.” She lifts her feet, carefully marching toward me. “But I did not get his grace. Didn’t get his skills, either.”

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