Page 25 of Sebastian

“I got ya covered.”

I take the lead and whisk open the tent flap with a sense of purpose. I rummage through a collection of ice skates, selecting various sizes and placing them neatly on the concrete bench outside the tent. The gesture accompanies a playful “Milady,” earning a chuckle from her and feeding my ego. If I keep her laughing and entertained, she’ll be less likely to remember she isn’t just a booty call. That thought sours me as I retreat inside the tent to grab my size.

I like spending time with her. She’s fun and a good sport for putting up with me. She hasn’t gotten all pissy or clingy. She justlaughs or pushes me away. She treats me differently than women my age, and it piques my curiosity about her. If she’s great in bed, there’s even more reason to see where this goes.

She already has one skate laced when I join her on the bench and offer a disclaimer while I start on mine.

“You’ll have to take it easy on me, Tiger. I haven’t skated in a long time.”

“I won’t tell you how long it’s been for me. You probably weren’t even born yet.”

That’s the first time she’s mentioned our age difference, and I wonder if it bothers her. It didn’t seem so last night or this morning since she’s here, but outright asking will clarify things.

“Have you been with younger guys before? Say, my age?”

I lean over, messing with my skate so I can process her answer without her seeing my expression in case I don’t like what she says.

“Yeah. Age doesn’t matter to me. It’s chemistry and compatibility. I don’t have much time to date, so when I do, I want to get along. Know what I mean?”

She stands, testing out the fit of her skates by walking around behind the bench, giving me a second to think. Both are important. In hooking up with women, I don’t get past the chemistry part to see if I’m compatible. Is that what we are now? Compatible?It’s such a foreign thought that I’m stumped when she turns the tables on me.

“Have you dated someone older? Say my age?” Her voice is soft and inquisitive, as if feeling me out like I was her.

“No. Never.”

Half a second too late, I realize my answer is curt and abrupt when her skates stop crunching on the concrete behind me. I glance over my shoulder at her, and her mouth is set in a line.

“I mean, you’re my first. Be gentle on me.” I try recovering from my mistake, but her smile doesn’t reach her eyes, and I know I fucked up. “Chloe?—”

“I still can’t believe you have a skating rink in your backyard,” she says in fake amazement, her eyes roaming the size of it as she makes her way to the edge and away from me.

I stand, letting my legs and feet adjust while she braces a hand on the fence to step onto the ice. Her blonde bun sparkles in the bright sunshine and the hair around her face blows in the breeze when she glides across the ice. She looks stunning. Her face tilts towards the sky, her eyes briefly closing as she loses herself in the moment.

I can’t help but stand there in awe, captivated by her elegance and the pure joy emanating from her when she lands a jump. It’s apparent that she’s done this many times before, adding to the growing list of things I don’t know about her but would like to. She laps the rink twice, doing various spins, twirls, and jumps before screeching to a halt and sending ice shaving from her skates toward me.

“Are you going to skate?”

Her cheeks are pink, the tip of her nose a darker shade, and her words come out breathy. It adds to her allure.

“You didn’t tell me you competed in the Olympics.” This time, her smile reaches well into her eyes. She ducks her head and looks away, guilty. “I didn’t know I was skating with Wayne Gretzky.”

She giggles. The lightness of her laughter speaks to her happiness on the ice, not necessarily my comment. I don’t mind, though. Happy, however it happens, is good in my book.

“You know he’s a hockey player, not a figure skater.”

She skates backward to allow me enough room to join her on the ice. I don’t care that I got it wrong. It doesn’t matter.The only thing that matters is the happiness she’s experiencing because of me, which makes me happy.

She grabs my hand, instructing me to distribute my weight evenly and bend my knees slightly. Instructing me on the art of skating, and I’ll be damned if I tell her I used to be a forward on a hockey team in school. I’ll play the part of a bumbling novice if that brings us the compatibility she’s looking for.

As we skate, the conversation flows easily between us, touching on my love of cars, which one I got first, and which is my favorite. She tells me about her love of fashion, her long-ago dreams of attending fashion school, and how she incorporates it into her appearance at the bank.

When I ask why she didn’t attend fashion school, she shuts down and looks the other way, and I know exactly what it means, as I do the same thing when my parents come up in conversation. In unknowingly ruining the vibe between us, I attempt a slight spin, nearly busting my ass, trying to crouch as low as she did earlier. It’s a terrible failure, with her clasping my shoulders and pushing me in a circle until my boot catches, and we both collapse onto the ice.

She lands on her back, sprawled and staring at the sky while giggles roll out of her. I land on my hip, hovering over her, enthralled with how easy it is to hang out with her.

“You’re a natural.”

Our camaraderie on the ice feels like a glimpse into something special, and I’m eager to experience more of this. Unable to resist how she’s looking at me, I lean down and press my lips to hers. Her arm winds around my neck, drawing me closer, and I move my thigh in between her legs for better leverage.

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