Page 17 of Goalies Don't Date Ice Princesses

I pushed away my conflicting emotions and focused on the task at hand.

“All right,” I said. “Challenge accepted.”

We made our way to the end of the rink and each placed a hand on the wall to make our starting positions better.

“I’ll call it,” Archer said.

“Wait,” I said. “That’s not fair.”

“Well, one of us has to do it.”

“Then it will be me.”

“How is that any more fair?”

“Because...” Because I didn’t trust him not to cheat, but I couldn’t exactly say that. “Because you’re taller.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“It gives you an unfair advantage,” I said. “Longer stride and all that. So, I should get to call the start to make it more fair.”

Archer looked at me suspiciously, but he finally nodded.

“Fine, you call it,” he said. We both bent our legs and leaned forward, ready to move at a moment’s notice.

I took a deep breath, feeling a strange rush of anticipation coursed through my veins.

“Three,” I began to count down, my voice barely a whisper in the serene stillness of the empty rink. Every syllable hung in the air, creating an electric tension between us.

“Two,” I continued, my heart pounding in rhythm with my words.

“One,” I declared, and as the word left my lips, time seemed to slow down. In perfect synchronization, Archer and I burst forward from our starting positions, propelling ourselves forward, our skates gliding effortlessly across the smooth ice. A thrill coursed through me, awakening every nerve in my body.

The rink had never felt so long as I pushed myself to go faster, but knowing as I looked to my side that I couldn’t keep up with him. I never thought of hockey players as being particularly graceful, but I guess that was because I’d never seen one skate without a stick in hand. Archer was easily gliding across the ice, looking as though skating was as natural to him as running. Which, I guess, it was.

I watched in awe as Archer effortlessly pulled ahead, his long strides eating up the distance between us. It was as if he had tapped into some hidden reserve of power. But even if I was fairly sure there was no way I could win, I wasn’t going to let myself fall behind. Determination surged through me like a wildfire, fueling my every movement. My legs pumped harder, my breath came in quick bursts, and I willed myself to close the gap as much as possible. And when he hit the wall—barely stopping in time to stop himself from crashing straight into it—I came up only a second behind him. Just for good measure, I made sure to stop close enough to him that some of the ice fell onto his legs. Not that he seemed to care at all, but it made me feel like I did something.

“Ready to admit defeat?” Archer asked with a grin.

“Never,” I said, ignoring the fact that we had both just very clearly seen that I’d lost to him.

He smirked and started skating slow circles around me.

“I guess this means that I now get to pick my prize,” he said.

“I guess it does.” I sighed, already exhausted by the numerous possibilities running through my head of what Archer could ask of me, most of them involving some form of public humiliation. “What do you want?”

He paused in his movements and leaned against the boards, looking at me pensively.

“I’ve been doing these night skates for the whole time I’ve been at Westwood,” he said.

“Okay,” I said neutrally.

“And up until last month… nobody had ever interrupted me.”

Anxiety pooled in my chest. Was he going to ask me to stop coming here so I wouldn’t be “interrupting” him? He couldn’t ask that of me. He had to know how much these night skates meant—even if neither of us had actually talked about the reason we came here, I thought it was common sense that we wouldn’t do it for no reason. If I couldn’t skate at night, then I had nothing to help with my insomnia. I’d be a zombie, day in and day out. Even with the skating, I almost was. I could only get a five or six hours of sleep on a good night and without skating, that would go down to one or two, max. Maybe I could revisit the idea of breaking onto Sinclair’s campus, as idiotic as that idea sounded. It was better than doing nothing. Or maybe I could convince him to choose another prize. Any other prize. I would do anything.

Not just for my sleep—also to be able to get the sanctuary of skating on my own time. This was my escape from the weight of expectations and responsibilities that burdened me during the day. Here, in this hallowed space, I could be myself without fear of judgment or failure. I couldn’t give it up. I just couldn’t.

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