Page 125 of Game Misconduct
“Did you lace your skates with rocket fuel?”
“Steroids, actually. I keep them in my bra.”
I bark a laugh and double over, hands on my knees. “Jesus Christ.”
She skates over and nudges me with her shoulder. “Want a tip, hotshot?”
I stand and nod, still catching my breath. “Lay it on me.”
She moves closer, motioning to my skates. “Your stride’s solid, but you’re pushing from your heels too much. You’ve got to engage the toe pick—push through the ball of your foot and roll your weight across the blade. It gives you better acceleration.”
I blink. “That’s real advice.”
“You expected me to gloat and skate away?”
“I expected a lot of things. None of which included getting humbled on home ice.”
She shrugs. “You’re teachable.”
“Try me.”
That’s all it takes.
She positions herself a few feet away, demonstrating a clean push-off, then turns and has me copy her. I do, wobbly at first. She corrects my angle, adjusts my stance, then nods when I finally get it right.
“Better,” she says. “Now again. With more pressure through your inside edge.”
I take off and feel the difference. More speed. Cleaner glide.
When I stop, she claps.
“Gold star?” I ask, grinning.
“Yes, and lucky you, I won’t make you watch a rom-com next movie night.”
“Even better.”
I skate back toward her and catch the way she’s watching me—quietly pleased, a little surprised, and maybe just a bit proud.
“You really miss it, don’t you?” I ask.
She blinks. “What?”
“The ice. Skating.”
Her smile softens. “Every day.”
I want to say something more. Something about how she looked like poetry out there, how I’ve never seen anyone own a space so effortlessly. But I don’t. Not yet.
Instead, I just watch her for a minute. The way she stands so still in the middle of the rink, like the rest of the world doesn’t exist here. Like it never did.
And damn if I don’t fall just a little harder for her in that moment.
We’re both quiet for a while.
She leans against the boards, cheeks flushed and hair coming loose from her braid, looking out at the wide-open rink like it’s holding something I can’t see.
“You okay?” I ask.
