Page 62 of The Invitation
Which is partly why I might die alone.
“Try to keep your feet under your hips,” he says, skating in front of me. He holds my hand and skates backward effortlessly, pulling me along with him slowly. “Do you feel your blade and how it touches the ice?”
“I can imagine how the ice is going to feel against my face when I fall.”
He laughs. “I told you I won’t let you fall. Have a little faith in me, won’t you?”
“I haven’t known you long enough to have that kind of faith in you.”
“Is there a length of time you must know someone before you have faith in them?” he asks.
“Thirteen years.”
“So specific,” he says, pulling me around the ice. His eyes twinkle. “Doing some quick math, but I’m guessing that’s about your senior year of high school.”
“Junior year. My senior year was pretty shit.”
His twinkle fades and our speed slows. I start to wobble at the change of pace. Ripley helps me get my balance but follows through on his promise—I don’t fall.
“Don’t lock your knees,” he says, his voice gentle. “Stay loose.”
“No woman ever wants to be loose.”
He smiles at me. “You’re doing great.”
“I’m holding on to you like a child.”
“You know, there are a lot of women who would pay big money to get the chance to hold on to me for a couple of hours.”
“I—fuck!” I lose my balance and begin to flail. “Ripley!”
He slides an arm around me and pulls me against him. I’m afraid I’ll knock him over with my bullshit, but he doesn’t budge. Not even an ounce.
His body is warm against mine, delivering a level of safety and reliability that I didn’t expect. That I didn’t want.
That Idon’twant to like.
He stares into my eyes like there’s something he wants to say. This is the moment on television where the audienceoohsandaahs, sensing the actors’ chemistry.
Well done, Ripley.
“Try letting yourself glide a little bit,” he says after steadying me yet again. “Don’t fight it so much.”
“Okay—ah!” I yell, grabbing at him again as my knees start to go one way and my ass starts to go the opposite direction. “How do people do this and live?”
He snickers. “Most people are more coordinated than you.”
“Hey!” I try to be annoyed but laugh—because he’s right. “I think I’d like this if I could actually get moving. I’m just waddling here like a ninety-year-old woman needing a hip replacement.” I pause. “Come to think of it, if I do get moving, I’ll probably be a thirty-year-old woman needing a hip replacement.”
“If you start to fall, squat like you’re going to sit in a chair with your arms in front of you.”
I look at him over my shoulder. “There’s no way in hell I’m squatting on skates. But thanks for the tip.”
“Just hold on to me and trust me. You can just glide along with me to feel the motion.”
“Sounds like something you’d hear in a porno.”
He laughs, his cheeks now pink, too. “You’re the one with porn in your search history, so you tell me.”
