Page 47 of Switching Skates
I can’t believe how much food his body has to consume every day to feel satiated.
Ugh, I wish I could eat that much and not worry about the consequences. But for however long we’re trapped here, I’ll enjoy the bonus.
I devour my plate and go back for seconds of hash browns and bacon, happily eating my fill.
“Do you get full? I feel like I could eat for hours and never slow down,” I groan, shoveling the final bite into my mouth.
“Yes, of course I do.” He laughs. “But we aren’t trying to get full right now, or you’ll feel it on the ice later. Instead, we’re going for energy and using food as fuel this morning.”
“Ugh. Boring.” I stand up from the stool and walk away from the island toward the living room to stretch out for a moment. “How long is the scrimmage? How much talking will I need to do?”
Mason follows me and sits down in the recliner. “Well, luckily for you, I’m usually pretty reserved during game play, talking to myself, if anything. And this isn’t like an official scrimmage. It’s just a group of the guys getting together. No coaches or anything.”
“Oh, okay. Well, that makes me feel a little bit better if I don’t do as well as you usually would.” I pause, catching myself from being too genuine, still unsure if he’s earned seeing that side of me again. “Although there is still a chance that this will be the best anyone’s ever seen you play.”
“I would love to see that happen.” He smiles and leans forward. “You always were a natural on the ice. I remember how good you were with a stick in your hand.” His eyes darken, and my breath halts in my throat. “I’m sure you’ll do great.”
His confidence in my abilities does more for me than I was expecting, and I have to force my gaze away from him to stop from blushing.
It’s weird because even though he’s in my body and it’s my own voice that I’m hearing talk and flirt with me, my mind still finds a way to separate that and hear it as if his mouth were the one speaking.
“Well, come on. Let’s get going before the rink starts to fill up and people get the impression that I take goalie lessons from a figure skater,” he teases.
He makes his way out to his pickup, and I make a pit stop in the kitchen, swiping a doughnut from the box for good luck.
Pillowy, fluffy, fried doughnuts were my favorite thing before I got diagnosed, and I’m eating at least one or five a day while I can. I deserve it for having to put up with his unpre-dick-table body.
I walk out to his truck with a smile on my face as I bite into the frosted long john and slide into the passenger seat. “Mmm. So good.”
“Daphne,” he groans, pulling out of the driveway. “I know you’re enjoying yourself. But you have to stop shoveling doughnuts into my body like your life depends on it. It’s not used to that much sugar.”
I scoff. “What are you going to do, short stuff? You can’t stop me if you try. Want to go to air jail again?”
My nerves are eating me alive as I skate onto the ice in Mason’s full gear, heading toward the crease.
Thankfully, the gigantic mask gives me some sense of security and protection from the rest of the world.
“Holtyyy,” Ross sings as he skates behind me and slaps my ass with the blade of his stick. “Are you still crashing at your sister’s? We miss you.”
Be Mason. I am Mason. Mason.
“Do you miss me or my cooking?” I scoff and turn to him, skating backward toward my net.
He winces like I slapped him before his face falls flat. “Both. I miss both.”
I shake my head, forcing a laugh. “Sounds about right.”
Turning, I skate the last couple of feet and tuck my water bottle in the top of the net. Carefully, I scan the arena seating, looking for Mason.
He said that a few people usually wander in to watch. Students wanting to flirt with the players, faculty wanting a break from their classrooms or meetings, or players’ partners there to show support. Mason said he’d be up behind my net in the highest spot.
I inhale and exhale three times rapidly, rolling my head and shoulders back.
Mason told me to be sure to thank the posts so I crouch down and pretend to stretch so I can do that, whispering to the net. “Hello there. It’s nice to meet you all. I’m kind of new here, and I could really use your help today if you wouldn’t mind.”
After I’m done talking to the metal posts, I actually begin stretching, going through the specific ones Mason taught me a couple of hours ago.
He had me running drills nonstop, and honestly, it worked great.
