give me a look that says I shouldn’t be with Blake. But here we’re anonymous.
I relax for about two seconds until he pulls me to my feet. As soon as I stand, the skates want to head out on their own—in different directions. I fall forward and he catches me with his hands under my elbows and holds on until I can keep my feet under me.
I grip his arms and feel his newly earned muscles bulge under my fingers. “This is such a bad idea.”
“No, it’s not.” Blake looks down at me. His hands are on my arms—not the death grip I have on him but light, supporting. “Just push, glide, push, glide. We’ll start on the carpet first.”
I feel like a complete idiot, especially when a little kid zooms past me. I fall forward and catch myself against Blake’s chest—muscles again—flexing and hard under his soft T-shirt. I’m embarrassed and pull away when I catch him grinning at me.
Before I’m ready, he drags me, slipping and sliding, to the ultraslick wood floor. Andrew comes up beside me. I let go of Blake to grab the back of Andrew’s chair so he can pull me around. Blake shakes his head and then takes off by himself. He’s crazy good, crossing his feet when he goes around corners, skating backward, even jumping the barrier between the floor and the carpeted area. That earns him a dirty look from a mother at the snack bar and a “whoa-o!” from the little boys she’s serving cake to.
After my third or fourth lap, Blake comes back and pries my fingers off Andrew’s chair. He skates backward, pulling me along. “I can’t do this.” I’m sure I’m cutting off the circulation in his hands. “The lights throw off my balance.”
“Then don’t look at the lights.” Blake’s voice is gentle. “Look here.” He brushes his cheek with my hand. I look up into his eyes, a blue green that always reminds me of the ocean. He laughs. “And smile. You’re not being tortured.”
I mumble my disagreement under my breath. Andrew heads back to the snack bar while Blake keeps pulling me along the floor, giving me advice the whole way. “Stand up straight, don’t watch your feet,” and always, “push and glide.”
Left foot, right foot, stumble, glide—I’m starting to get this. Blake lets go of one hand so we’re skating side by side. “Keep your eyes up. Good job. The next round you’re going to do by yourself.” I grip his hand to show I’m not letting himleave. “Relax. If you make it around twice without falling I’ll buy you a slushy.”
I try to force a flirty tone through the terror in my voice. “How about I buy you one?”
He pries my fingers off his. “Two laps.”
I make it around the first lap with Blake skating beside me. I’m getting more confident, but I still feel like a complete klutz, especially when I watch little kids who can skate rings around me. Blake pulls ahead of me. “All on your own this time. You’ve got it.”
So I push, glide, push, glide all by myself, reaching for the wall every few feet but staying up. When I finish the second lap, I go for a third. Blake gives me a thumbs-up from across the floor. I beam back at him and don’t see the kid who falls in front of me. He sweeps my feet, and I go down. Hard. I hit my butt first and then bang my head against the wall.
Blake is kneeling beside me almost before I realize what happened. He cups his hand around my scar. “Your head—are you okay?”
“I’m okay.” I’m dazed, either by the bump or because his face is so close to mine. “I didn’t hit my head that hard.” I lean forward and rub my hip. “Mostly just my butt.”
Blake’s face breaks into a grin of relief. “We wouldn’t want to damage that either.”
“My butt?” I give him a funny look. “Um, what? For a second, it sounded like you were trying to flirt with me.”
Blake ducks his head and turns red. “Nah, I just—”
“You were flirting!” I try to see his eyes, covered by a lock of bangs. “And badly.”
“Yeah,
I relax for about two seconds until he pulls me to my feet. As soon as I stand, the skates want to head out on their own—in different directions. I fall forward and he catches me with his hands under my elbows and holds on until I can keep my feet under me.
I grip his arms and feel his newly earned muscles bulge under my fingers. “This is such a bad idea.”
“No, it’s not.” Blake looks down at me. His hands are on my arms—not the death grip I have on him but light, supporting. “Just push, glide, push, glide. We’ll start on the carpet first.”
I feel like a complete idiot, especially when a little kid zooms past me. I fall forward and catch myself against Blake’s chest—muscles again—flexing and hard under his soft T-shirt. I’m embarrassed and pull away when I catch him grinning at me.
Before I’m ready, he drags me, slipping and sliding, to the ultraslick wood floor. Andrew comes up beside me. I let go of Blake to grab the back of Andrew’s chair so he can pull me around. Blake shakes his head and then takes off by himself. He’s crazy good, crossing his feet when he goes around corners, skating backward, even jumping the barrier between the floor and the carpeted area. That earns him a dirty look from a mother at the snack bar and a “whoa-o!” from the little boys she’s serving cake to.
After my third or fourth lap, Blake comes back and pries my fingers off Andrew’s chair. He skates backward, pulling me along. “I can’t do this.” I’m sure I’m cutting off the circulation in his hands. “The lights throw off my balance.”
“Then don’t look at the lights.” Blake’s voice is gentle. “Look here.” He brushes his cheek with my hand. I look up into his eyes, a blue green that always reminds me of the ocean. He laughs. “And smile. You’re not being tortured.”
I mumble my disagreement under my breath. Andrew heads back to the snack bar while Blake keeps pulling me along the floor, giving me advice the whole way. “Stand up straight, don’t watch your feet,” and always, “push and glide.”
Left foot, right foot, stumble, glide—I’m starting to get this. Blake lets go of one hand so we’re skating side by side. “Keep your eyes up. Good job. The next round you’re going to do by yourself.” I grip his hand to show I’m not letting himleave. “Relax. If you make it around twice without falling I’ll buy you a slushy.”
I try to force a flirty tone through the terror in my voice. “How about I buy you one?”
He pries my fingers off his. “Two laps.”
I make it around the first lap with Blake skating beside me. I’m getting more confident, but I still feel like a complete klutz, especially when I watch little kids who can skate rings around me. Blake pulls ahead of me. “All on your own this time. You’ve got it.”
So I push, glide, push, glide all by myself, reaching for the wall every few feet but staying up. When I finish the second lap, I go for a third. Blake gives me a thumbs-up from across the floor. I beam back at him and don’t see the kid who falls in front of me. He sweeps my feet, and I go down. Hard. I hit my butt first and then bang my head against the wall.
Blake is kneeling beside me almost before I realize what happened. He cups his hand around my scar. “Your head—are you okay?”
“I’m okay.” I’m dazed, either by the bump or because his face is so close to mine. “I didn’t hit my head that hard.” I lean forward and rub my hip. “Mostly just my butt.”
Blake’s face breaks into a grin of relief. “We wouldn’t want to damage that either.”
“My butt?” I give him a funny look. “Um, what? For a second, it sounded like you were trying to flirt with me.”
Blake ducks his head and turns red. “Nah, I just—”
“You were flirting!” I try to see his eyes, covered by a lock of bangs. “And badly.”
“Yeah,
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