Page 65 of Her Goal
I pump my hands. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. We can’t drive this thing.”
“Why not?” she asks as if I were questioning whether we could land on the moon.
“We’re not authorized.”
“We have to cover our tracks.”
“By breaking what has to be another rule?”
Ignoring me, when she climbs the step onto the machine, her foot slides where the protective rubber is worn thin. I extend my hands to steady her. Our eyes catch and then quickly flick away.
In for a penny … “If this is really happening, we’re doing it together.”
“There’s only one seat.”
In for a pound …
It’s my turn to wink. Any hot-blooded man wouldn’t object to the idea of being closer to Leah even though she’s intimidating. The truth is, I have an idea of how this thing works, but I would hate to see her sucked under the wheel like a steamroller—not that it would happen. But safety first!
The seat is cushioned and only slightly bigger than an office chair. I sit down first and gesture that Leah join me.
She looks me up and down, then lets out a breath. “Fine. We’ll do it together.”
I’d like to say the next ten minutes are akin to cruising along the curving roads of Monaco like in a James Bond movie with the wind in our hair. Instead, it’s a slow crawl as the Zamboni does its work … and I become keenly aware of how close Leah is.
Sitting on one of my legs, she’s warm against me. Her back presses to my chest because of the proximity of the steering wheel, which she operates, unless I notice her running askew which happens a couple of times. Is she distracted? I am.
Our hands brush and her hair tickles my nose. At odds with her comfort and skill on the ice in the cold, she smells like summer berries and cream.
I ignore the pace of my breath and tell myself I’m still lightheaded from spinning.
During our lesson the other day, if anyone could’ve read my mind while I watched her skate, they would’ve put me in the penalty box. Despite the crash course in fortitude she just gave—because she doesn’t want to see me throw away my career or whatever—if anyone knew how I feel right now, I’d get kicked off the team for sure.
Unlike on the park bench earlier, we’re both quiet and I don’t think it’s solely because of the hum of the machine or that either one of us is concentrating on not crashing into the boards. We’re going so slow, it’s hard to mess up.
Even though I appreciate our ice resurfacers, it’s not the hardest job, yet they’re unsung heroes who make it so it’s safe for us to skate. Actually, Knights fans go crazy with enthusiasm and literally sing when their Zamboni operators come out in costume—the metal knight one especially.
When the job is done and we park the machine in the garage, Leah flicks off the overhead fluorescents and we’re momentarily submerged in the darkness except for the shaft of light slicing through the doorway.
Her gaze drags to mine.
My surroundings go out of focus, until she seems to shake herself out of a trance. Wait, does that mean she was lost in the moment, too? Probably thinking about how she’s going to slay dragons or whatever it is she does in her spare time.
Her voice is a hush when she says, “You look slightly like a bizarro version of Hunter, but you’reyou.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
It’s hard to tell, but I think she nods ever so slightly. “I always wanted him to like me the way I liked him. He was the only one who didn’t treat me like one of the boys. He noticed I was a girl, yet he never made me his. Never crossed that line even though I made it clear he could.”
Does she still like him that way?
She asks, “Any idea why?”
My voice is gravel when I reply, “None.”
“It pains me to admit this, but your brother led me on. Looking back, he wasn’t interested. Maybe I was too tall, too athletic, too willing to go along with whatever he wanted. I’ve been told I’m too intense. Intimidating.”
The moment is powerful as she makes herself vulnerable.
