Page 23 of Pucking the Grump

“Understood, and wouldn’t have it any other way,” I say, happy that Remy seems happy. It looks like fun date number two is off to an even better start than I hoped. “How did you two meet?”

“Flo’s littlest sister plays for my team,” Remy explains, gesturing to her sweatshirt. “Cecilia was crushing it at practice today, by the way,” she adds to Flo. “I can’t believe she’s only nineteen. Total powerhouse.”

“She got the power; I got the grace.” Flo pushes away from the boards to execute a perfect spin. “Speaking of grace, I didn’t know you used to figure skate, Coach Lauder! Your boy toy here said you actually started in my world and shifted to hockey. How did I not know this about you?”

“Not her boy toy,” I mutter, but at this point, I’m pretty sure I’m talking to myself.

“I mean, yeah, that’s true. Technically. But I haven’t figure skated in ages.” Remy turns back to me, grinning. “So, this was your big surprise? Figure skating lessons with the best coach in Oregon? How fancy.”

“Yeah,” I say, trying not to puff up my chest too much. “Even brought a pair of figure skates in your size.”

“I resent that.” Flo sniffs. “I’m the best coach on the entire West Coast, thank you very much. Now get those pretty legs out here and show me what you’ve got, girl. I’m already positive Big Guy is going to be hopeless, but I’m open to letting you surprise me.”

“I play hockey professionally,” I remind him as Remy perches on the bleachers, lacing up the white skates I brought. “I do know how to skate.”

Flo’s lips pucker as he tilts his head at a decidedly patronizing angle. “Of course you do, buddy. And I’m sure we can work with that basic skill set and a complete lack of artistry or musicality. Maybe. Eventually. If the gods are kind. Until then, you can be in charge of music! So, toddle over to the speaker and press play on my phone, m’kay? Please and thank you.”

I huff out a soft laugh and nod. “Yes, sir. Toddling, sir.”

The next hour passes in a flurry of Flo’s dramatic instructions, Remy’s jaw-dropping grace, and my growing awareness that watching her move like this—fluid and sensual and oh-so-sexy, with her butt sticking out behind her half the time—is probably going to be the death of me.

But what a way to go…

Every time she executes one of Flo’s moves with near perfection, revealing that she was clearly way more into figure-skating than she let on, I fall a little harder. And when I’m finally allowed out on the ice and she swoops in to correct my form, giving my ass a subtle pinch in the process, I nearly swallow my tongue.

An ass pinch…

Maybe I’m not the only one wishing our fun dates had a little more fun in them.

“Your center of gravity is still too high,” she says, winking as she circles me like a very sexy shark. “Figure skating has more lift in the frame than hockey, but only from the waist up. You still need to be grounded. Bend your knees more.”

“And suck in that gut,” Flo adds helpfully.

I play up my pout. “Don’t body shame. I’m totally at my fighting weight for hockey, man. They don’t want us too small.”

“Of course you are.” Remy slides up behind me, parking one hand on my waist as she guides my shoulders back with the other. “He just means you need to engage your core more.” Her palm is flat on my stomach now, sending confusing messages to my dick. He’s a simple creature who doesn’t understand the difference between figure skating lessons touching and touching after hours at Remy’s place. “There, yeah, like that,” she murmurs, her voice huskier than it was before. “Feel the difference?”

Boy, do I…

What I feel is her warm breath on my neck and an overwhelming urge to spin around and kiss her senseless. But I refuse to give Flo the satisfaction of proving he was right all along about me wanting more than friendship with a certain redhead.

I clear my throat, managing an almost normal-sounding, “Yeah, thanks. Think I have a future in sparkly spandex?”

“Getting there.” She gives my waist a final squeeze before gliding away. “Not bad for a hockey boy.”

Flo snorts. “And you two aren’t fucking. Not at all.”

We both laugh. Then Remy tells him to mind his own business and teach us something pretty, which he does, guiding us through a simple pairs routine that ends with me supporting Remy’s waist as she glides on one foot.

“The connection between partners is everything,” Flo explains, adjusting my hands on her hips before motioning for us to try again. “Strong but gentle, like you’re cradling something precious.”

I swallow hard, trying not to think about all the times I’ve cradled different parts of Remy. Her feet in my hands the other night in her bath. Her face when I’m about to kiss her like I mean it. Her ass when she’s on top and?—

“Relax, big boy,” Flo scolds, interrupting my racy thoughts with a sharp tap on my fingers. “She’s not a hockey stick. She’s a partner, not a power tool.”

Remy’s laugh vibrates against my hands. “I don’t know. Power tools aren’t all bad…”

She’s clearly talking about her vibrator, the one we add into the mix sometimes when props feel like a good idea. The memory of the last time I put her “power tool” to use on her clit while fucking her from behind nearly kills me. But somehow, I survive the rest of the lesson, even managing to nail a couple of spins and a switch-leg-leaping-thing Flo teaches us.

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