Page 91 of Fly Boy
“Let go of the side,” she coaxes, taking one of my hands in hers while holding out the other and waiting for me. “I promise you’ll be fine.”
“Says the professional athlete,” I mutter.
“I won’t let go.” She laughs, pulling me away from the edge and I have no choice but to grab her.
Pippa pries my hands from her, coming behind me and clutching the winter coat I’d had the good sense to wear since the first time I was here, it was fucking freezing dressed only in my work uniform. We glide together—well, she glides while I get pushed along, my knees locked as I try to stay upright.
After about ten minutes of her crash course in skating, she gently slows me to a stop, letting me get my balance before saying, “Okay, try it on your own.”
I grumble under my breath, not entirely convinced I’ll be able to move. “Maybe I should let you fly the plane on our way back to Westchester and see how you do.”
“I teach kids as young as five how to skate. I’m pretty sure an old man like yourself can manage.”
“Will you stop calling me an old man?” I growl, taking a tentative step forward.
“Or what?” she teases. Doing some fancy footwork, she skates away, leaving me stranded in the middle of the rink.
“I know what you’re doing,” I say, throwing my arms out wide, balancing like a baby giraffe unsure about taking their first steps.
“Then come teach me a lesson,Captain,” she whispers from behind me.
I grit my teeth, my eyes glued to the ice, watching the black boots move across it at an embarrassingly slow pace.
“Glide, baby, don’t walk.” Her fingers brush my arm, and I lift my head, her gray eyes warm as she watches me. I’ll never get tired of her calling me that or the way she looks at me when that word falls from her lips. “Like this.” She demonstrates with one long slide on the ice. “You’ve got this.”
It takes a few tries and more times landing on my ass than I’d happily admit until I’m skating unassisted from one end to the other. Pippa’s laughter rings out around the rink, the lightness and joy making my heart do stupid things inside my chest. I wasn’t lying when I said back in France that she’s a different girl on this ice here in Lake Placid than in Colorado. Or when she’s competing.
Her smile is wider, her eyes are brighter, and she radiates. But both versions, professional and carefree, have me hooked. They both have me falling for her harder than my tailbone smacking the ice.
Because you’re in love with her, dumbass.
Pippa skates in front of me, holding my waist and spinning us around. It’s faster than I’d like, and my feet don’t know what they’re doing until she loops her arms around my neck, her lips finding mine, her cool nose brushing my cheek as she kisses me.
“Thank you for doing this with me,” she whispers.
There is nothing I wouldn’t do for this girl if she asked me, and the way she’s looking at me, with happiness, comfort,trust.Part of me wonders if there’s a way she could love me, too.
“I get to be a part of your world in the sky, and now you’ve got to experience mine on the ice.” Dropping her hold, she laces ourfingers together, her thumb grazing over the back of my numb hand, frowning. “You’re cold.”
“I’m fine,” I say, wanting my lips on hers again. It’s embarrassing how far gone I am for her. She hums into my kiss, gently moving us across the rink until she steps off and onto the mat.
“C’mon, it’s getting late anyway, and I have one more thing I want to do with you.” She walks toward the chute, turning at the last second and holding up a hand. “Actually, you wait here.”
“The other thing isn’t a hot shower with you?”
She stifles a laugh. “No, besides, we almost got caught in Colorado. We can’t do anything here.” She plays with the hem of my shirt. “While last time was hot as fuck, on reflection, it wasn’t a smart idea. If we did get caught, I could have been kicked off the team. I can’t take that chance.”
“I know,” I say as guilt seeps into my bones. I didn’t think about the repercussions my joining her in thefuckingTeam USA facility showers could have had for her. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”
This is exactly why sneaking around with her is fucking stupid.
She smiles, cupping my cheek. “It was my fault, too. I should have waited until we got to my apartment.” Pippa’s lips touch mine, light and tentative, before she groans. “Fuck you for being so irresistible.” She pushes me away. “Take Evan’s skates off and wait in the reception while I get tidied up, okay?”
I laugh as I watch her disappear down the chute, her head hanging back as she grumbles, “Why did my father have to hire a sexy pilot?”
“C’mon, Wyatt,” she whines, stopping by my chair, her hands placed firmly on her hips. “What’s the point in having my very own private jet with my very own pilot if I can’t fly to Martha’s Vineyard whenever I want?”
“And this is why I call you a brat,” I say, not taking my eyes off my tablet. Tapping the stylus against the screen, I finish logging the flight path into the system and order the fuel needed to get to the island just off the coast of Massachusetts, letting Pippa continue her huffing. It’s amusing, something I haven’t seen her do before, and I struggle to keep my face straight.
