Page 76 of The Fine Line
“Hi,” I echo, brows raised.
“What are you doing here so late?”
“Reviewing stats.”
“And that had to be done here?”
“No, but… I didn’t really want to be at home.”
He studies me for a beat. “Yeah. I know the feeling.”
He skates back out. I call after him, “What are you doing here?”
He fires three shots. One dings off the post, one bounces into the net, the third slams the glass hard enough to leave a rubber mark.
He bends over, breathing heavily. “My slap shot’s been off since preseason.”
“Oh, yeah.” I pause. “I noticed.”
Three-quarters of Rhett’s goals are slap shots he rips from the left point. Hard not to notice.
He takes another shot.
Crossbar. Again.
“Dammit.”
“You’re overgripping. And holding too high on the shaft with your bottom hand. It’s throwing off your balance.”
He blinks, surprised.
“Here.” I step inside the rink. “Move your left hand down.” He obeys. I adjust it a little more and shake his elbow. “Loosen up.”
I take a step back. “Try now.”
He watches me, then rears back and takes a shot.
The puck rockets cleanly into the net.
“And you’re back,” I say, arms crossed.
He fires off the rest. All on target.
He skates back, almost laughing in disbelief. He opens his mouth like he’s going to say something—when another thunderclap rattles the roof. I gasp, startled. I can feel my heartbeat under my left hand where it rests against my chest, but it takes me a moment to register that my right hand… is gripping Rhett’s forearm.
I blink down and quickly let go. “Sorry,” I mutter, brushing off my sweater and tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
When I meet Rhett’s gaze again, I find he hasn’t moved back an inch from where I pulled him close.
“I’m just not the biggest fan of storms,” I admit, my voice softer than I meant.
A smirk tugs at his mouth. “You’re not the biggest fan of me,”he says, “and I can barely get you to acknowledge my existence half the time. You must really hate storms.”
I start to deflect, but another sharp boom makes me flinch again.
Rhett’s expression shifts, the playful spark dimming as his eyes linger on my face, reading something deeper.
“So there is something that scares you,” he says quietly. “Didn’t think anything did.”
