Page 60 of Mistlefoe
He traps a glove between his elbow and ribs, and uses the free hand to brush his hair. “Well, thanks. I still skate on my own so I’m glad to know I haven’t lost it.”
“Does it make you happy?” I lean forward, eager for the answer.
“Yeah.” His eyes crinkle at the corners.
“Then you’ll never lose it.”
Conor stays quiet, although his face is still smiling. It’s like he needs a moment to marinate the words, use them to reach an answer of some sort in his mind. And then he asks, “Sierra, do you want to skate for a bit before we start working?”
Like a… like a skating date?
But I shake the thought out of my head hard. Dates aren’t a spur of the moment thing, so that’s not it.
“Um.” I hide further behind my scarf. “I actually don’t know how to skate.”
Wrong thing to say to a former professional hockey player. Conor’s eyes widen and when he picks up his jaw, he says, “That’s it. We’ll pull an all-nighter if we have to, but first I’m going to give you some lessons.”
And you know what? Screw work. I offer exactly zero protests at this new plan.
CHAPTER 21
CONOR
My heart is beating at a million miles per hour because I just skated as hard as I did during practice drills for my former professional hockey team—notbecause this is a skating date with Sierra Fernandez. Because this isn’t a date. We’re here for work.
Except it feels a whole damn lot like one.
The nicest pair of size eight rental skates hang from my hand as I walk the tunnel, every step making my body thrum with more and more energy. It wasn’t even like this when I made my way out to the ice for the winter classic game I played in my rookie year. That’s the chokehold this woman has on me already.
I hit the ice, my eyes immediately seeking her figure. She sits on the bench glancing around like she’s trying to memorize this view, until her eyes find mine. She smiles so wide that her cheeks turn pinker.
Meanwhile, I feel like I’m being checked against the boards and my lungs lose all the air.
That’s it for me. There’s no going back now. If anything, I need to find a way to move forward with her. I need to tell herthe truth—that she’s driving me wild and I need her to give me a chance.
“Hey.” I’m breathless as I brake in front of the bench.
“Welcome back.”
What’s the German word for when someone’s smile increases your blood pressure, but at the same time you don’t ever want to look away from it? I’m sure there’s one.
Clearing my throat, I say, “Found you some semi new skates. Do you know how to lace them?” I lift them over the boards and offer them to her.
“How hard can it be?” But the way she eyes them warily and doesn’t take the skates tells me everything.
I straighten up and glide over to the door, still carrying the skates in my hand. I tower over her and Sierra has to crane her neck back to keep meeting my eyes. My voice is a throaty, raspy mess as I tell her, “I’ll help you.”
Sierra’s eyes widen as I lower myself to my knees. I hook a finger around her shoe laces and pull.
“Conor!”
“Hmm?”
“I can take my own boots off!” She tries to pull her foot away but I’m faster. I clasp my hand around her calf and that freezes her.
“I’ll be much faster, trust me. Besides, I have to make sure that the skates are laced right so you don’t hurt yourself.”
“What if my feet stink?”
