Page 83 of The Fake Date Agreement

He doesn’t have skates like the kids do, but that doesn’t stop him from taking a stick the coach offers him. I lean against the side of the enclosure, surprising myself by enjoying watching the kids play.

Two of the kids team up to take Caleb down, and when Caleb hits the ground, I expect him to call off this practice. When a grin splits his face as he gets to his feet and dusts himself off, it turns an already attractive guy into one I can’t take my eyes off.

I don’t even realize I’m smiling until my cheeks hurt.

He’s with them for over thirty minutes, and at no point am I the least bit bored when I always thought I’d prefer to watch paint dry than sports.

Caleb turns to me, finds me smiling, and his expression softens. “You want a go, Myers?”

I back up, eyes wide. “Uh, I don’t play hockey.”

“Afraid we’ll whoop your ass?” he teases.

“Yes. I really am.” I’m not joking. Not even a little.

The kids laugh.

“We’ll go easy on you,” one calls out.

“Come on, I’ll protect you,” Caleb offers softly.

And even though I don’t know the first thing about hockey, I pull my hands from my pockets and round the enclosure to get to the entrance. “Okay.”

It is so much bigger on the asphalt hockey rink than I thought, and I have no idea what I’m doing or even where to stand.

We have a quick round of introductions, and the coach, Trey, a man in his mid-thirties, is content to take a step back and let Caleb take over his training session.

“Here.” Caleb hands me his stick and grabs another for himself from Trey, who has a couple of spares. “You’re on my team, and we’re going to win.”

I eye the kids warily. “We are?”

“We are.”

He shows me the mechanics of holding a stick and drops the puck in front of me. “You ready to test this hockey thing out?”

I nod. “Ready.”

“Give it a tap.”

I tap the puck. It doesn’t move.

Caleb grins. “You were meant to hit it.”

The kids laugh as my face heats up. “I tried, okay.”

“I can help,” the coach says, walking over.

“I’ve got it.” Caleb leans his stick against the side. “Over here, Myers.”

And I hold my breath as he wraps his arms around me, places his hands over mine on the stick, and says in my ear, “You grip like this.”

Suddenly, it’s impossible to breathe with Caleb’s arms wrapped snugly around me.

Or maybe it’s because I’m awash in his fresh cedar scent.

“And then?” I murmur.

When he doesn’t respond, I angle my head to the right.

---