Page 56 of Overtime
“Not just any stone. Marble.” His lips twitch, but he doesn’t let himself smile. “Ready for the ice?”
“Hey, so. Since this is all for book research, I have a question.”
“Are you stalling, Strawberry?”
Totally. I’m terrified of breaking my teeth on the ice.
“I’m just wondering all of a sudden how good a skater a goalie is. Maybe I didn’t pick the best teacher.”
The expression on his face saysreally?
“I have to practice skating just like the rest. In fact, my edge work is amazing.”
Sighing, I say, “Oh, I bet. You’re probably good at everything, huh?”
I blink hard as a little smirk curves his luscious lips. And that’s when I realize his words carried an innuendo I played into far too well. His smirk widens the hotter my face gets.
He leans a little closer to my ear and whispers. “I’m not just good. I’mreallygood.”
Wow, okay. Never imagined heart attacks felt this delicious.
I clear my throat. “Great, I think I’ve got enough inspiration for my book already. Let’s go home.”
Aran clicks his tongue and pulls away. “No can do. We didn’t come all this way just to lace up.” He drops his hands, which somehow doesn’t make me fall. “See? You’re ready.”
“Is it too late for me to just look up some YouTube videos about how to skate or something?”
With a few long strides, he slides onto the ice, and with the momentum, he makes a neat turn back to face me. “C’mon, little Strawberry. Be brave.”
With shaky legs, I shuffle over to the barrier by the entrance to the ice and clutch at the frame. “First of all, I’m not little. Second of all, I’m not brave.”
He folds his powerful arms across his chest. “So you are a strawberry?”
Top heavy, easy to turn red, and likely to get pimples when stressed? Sure. I blow out air and glare—until he extends a hand and flexes his fingers, ordering me to come.
Heat explodes in my belly, and the shrapnel feels like butterflies all over. That little gesture, Aran telling me to join him in his element, is doing something to me. It’s a shame that it would look very weird if I took my gloves off so I could touch his skin directly.
Slowly, I reach out with one hand until he grabs it, saying, “You can’t be this stiff when skating.”
What he doesn’t know is that it’s either this or turning to putty in his hand.
“This is still probably a good time to mention that I barely passed gym class.”
Aran offers his other hand, and I hold it automatically.
Oh, no. He’s leaning back.
“Wait, wait, wait?—”
“You’re more likely to fall if you don’t relax.”
“How can I relax?” I screech.
“Look up at my face.”
Absolutely the wrong way to relax. Yet, with no excuse in my mind, I obey. Fortunately, Aran’s attention is fixed on my feet. I allow one skate to touch the ice. The lack of friction freaks me out, and my weight tilts forward. Fast.
Pulling up my arms, Aran slides me out onto to the ice until I crash into him again. Upon impact, his hands move away, but before I can make a grab for them, they’re on my waist. Under my coat.
