Page 33 of Truce: Declan
I should end this before either of us gets hurt.
But I don’t want to.
His hand falls to my lower back, the gesture protective and utterly romantic. I try not to swoon, but my heart balloons out with longing.
"Thanks for the ride tonight. And good game," I say, grabbing the key and unlocking the main entrance to the apartment complex.
I'm not letting him inside, not again.
He seems to get the message without me having to spell it out. At least he's not a dumb jock. "Have a good night," Noah says, as I head into the building, leaving him standing outside on the front stoop.
* * *
I love my job. I love my job. I love my job.
I keep chanting the phrase in my head, trying to make it true. Because if I keep saying it, maybe I'll believe it.
I work for the park district of a small town outside of the city. When I'm not in charge of the phones and the front desk, I teach kids on the ice how to ice skate or play hockey, which is ninety percent of my schedule.
There are two classes that I teach, both of which are in the late afternoon. I barely make it on time this afternoon with the snow blanketing the city and the trains delayed.
But at least I'm not the only one behind schedule. I'm sure the kids will be late if they show up at all.
And when I finally get to the station, I hurry up the escalator and attempt to jog the three blocks to the rink. Although my footing is more along the lines of sliding through the slush and it's hell on my ankles.
While I might be mean on the ice in skates, slushy snow and sneakers are not the same thing. Especially with pedestrians in business suits and coats packing the pathway.
Grumbling under my breath, I finally make it to the arena, toss open the door, and while the place is chilly, it's warmer without the assault from the cold wind whipping my cheeks.
"Ms. Grace," Lotti shouts and waves at me with one hand while holding her hockey stick in the other. She's already on the ice, apparently not waiting for class to start, along with a half dozen other kids.
It's a beginner's hockey drills and thrills basics class for elementary-aged kids, which always surprises me when their parents drop them off and are nowhere to be seen. I get my skates on and work on drills with the kids. Sadie, the intern assistant, shows up twenty minutes into class to help with the kids. She's usually timely, so I chalk her delay to the trains and weather.
"Okay, pair off into two teams," I shout at the kids, letting them pick which team they want to be on. Sadie hands out red and blue jerseys to the kids while they get set up.
She stays on one side of the rink with me on the opposite while we let the little rascals practice their hockey skills in a game.
The kids are cute. That's about all they have going for them. Well, that, and they seem to be having fun.
Talent? I don't see much of it. But none of them care, and that's what matters.
As a team, they're a hot mess. And it would be fun to watch if I wasn't trying to teach them how to play. Everything they've learned in their drills is completely obliterated, and they're in survive or die mode.
One of the girls skates in the wrong direction with the puck.
"Jennie!" I shout at her, pointing at the opposite side of the ice, trying to grab her attention.
The young girl, Jennie, breezes past another girl with fiery red hair who stands there watching while holding her hockey stick. She's always great when we run drills, but the minute the game starts, she seems to forget what she's supposed to do.
Sadie and I glance at one another, trying not to laugh.
My watch buzzes, alerting me to a phone call. I thought I'd put my phone on silent but maybe I got distracted in my rush to work.
It's my father.
The last person I want to talk to.
I hit ignore on my device.
