Page 10 of Love and Other Penalties
“Thank you.” I reach for my thread wallet, as I’ve never been much of a purse girl, and I join him on the stoop.
His hand slides around my waist effortlessly, and I love the way he draws me close. “Mm, can I kiss you before we go, Kitten?”
“Oh, all right.” I grin up at him, but he takes the smile right off my face as he matches his mouth to mine. He kisses me like he needs me in his life, and I’ve never experienced that before. It’s exhilarating and terrifying all at the same time.
“I heard you’ll be playing tomorrow night,” I whisper, my hands still fisted in the collar of this very mountain man shirt.
“Yes,” he whispers back. “And Saturday, and we’re on the road Sunday and out of town early next week.”
“So I won’t have to share the ice.”
He shakes his head and chuckles. “How will you survive without me to torment at five a.m.?”
“Hey.” I nudge him with my hip and then go down the sidewalk to his car. I’m a touch surprised to see a black truck waiting there, and not some sporty little cherry red thing. “I don’t show up until five-thirty.” I grin at him as he opens my door, and when he gets behind the wheel, I add, “Andyou’rethe one tormentingme.”
“Oh, please,” he says. “You’re all sharp edges and toe picks when you’re training.”
“If you’d grown up with my mother as your coach, you would be too.”
He glances over to me as he continues down Main Street and right out of town. “I live in constant fear that Coach will trade me to another team,” he says. “It’s never great to be a player on a team that’s rebuilding.”
“Is that what’s happening?” I watch him, noting how his perfectly clean-shaven jaw jumps.
He nods as he takes us past the last luxury lodge in town and up into the hills. “We have to make the playoffs this year, and Dax is going to come work with me once we’re back.”
“So I’ll have to deal withtwoof you?”
Finn looks over to me, his eyes wide and broadcasting a bit of shock. Really? Does he not know me at all yet?
I grin at him just before he paints the cab of his truck with glorious laughter. Satisfied, I look out the windshield, noting that all the leaves are off the trees now—and the way I feel like I’m slipping and sliding right into love with a tomcat.
five
. . .
Sunday morning arriveswith the kind of gray Wisconsin sky that matches my mother’s mood perfectly. Mine too, if I’m being honest. Finn’s been busy for a couple of days now, and I didn’t know having him gone would affect me in such a way.
I lace up Hope and Glory with extra care, knowing I’m about to face a marathon session that will test every ounce of my endurance.
Mom stands rinkside in her signature black coat, clipboard in hand, stopwatch around her neck like a weapon. Her dark hair is pulled back in a severe bun I’ve seen dozens of times, and her expression could freeze the Mississippi. Solid. With one glance.
“Whatever has been occupying your mind lately, leave it here,” she says.
I nod, just like the dutiful student I’ve always been.
“Three hours,” she adds as I glide onto the ice. “No breaks, no excuses, no distractions.”
That last word hits like a slap shot to the chest. Does she know about Finn? Impossible. I’ve been careful, and it’s onlybeen a few days since our first date anyway. No one, not even my father, saw the kiss in his cakery, and though Briarwood sometimes functions as a small town, I’m confident my mother doesn’t know about my new boyfriend.
“Let’s start with the opening sequence,” Mom calls out.
I settle into my starting position, arms raised, but instead of hearing my routine’s music, all I can think about is the way Finn’s laugh echoed through his truck cab on Thursday night. How he walked me to my door and kissed me goodnight like I was something precious.
The opening notes should be flowing through my head, but instead I’m remembering the way his hand felt in mine at the cakery, how his eyes went soft when he looked at me.
The music begins, blaring against the ice, and I push off into my first element. Immediately, my timing is wrong, my edges sloppy. The spiral sequence that should flow like water feels choppy and uncertain.
“Stop.” Mom’s voice cuts across the ice like a blade. I do, sides heaving, and the music cuts out. “What was that?”
