Page 6 of Love and Other Penalties
I push into my routine, letting the familiar music fill my head. The opening sequence flows smoothly, and I have to adjust my routine lest I take a header into the cupcake-cones.
I manage to build enough speed for my first jump, the weight of Finn’s eyes on my back as I launch into the air. The attention makes my skin feel too tight, and I’ve put too much power into my approach for the triple lutz. I land slightly off-balance, my free leg swinging wide as I fight to maintain control and stay upright.
I make a full recovery just as Finn arrives at my side, his hand steady on my elbow, his stride matched precisely to mine.
He says nothing, and his presence at my side comforts me in a strange way. I’m not used to someone being there to steady me when my jumps aren’t perfect. Quite the opposite, in fact.
Bobbles are usually met with yelled criticisms.
His hand burns warmly even through my practice jacket, and when I look up at him, I realize how close we’re skating. Close enough to inhale the scent of his skin, his cologne, close enough to see the way his hair curls at the ends, close enough to see the interest glinting in his eyes.
“You crossed the boundary,” I whisper, but there’s no real accusation in it.
“Sue me,” he whispers back.
We come to a stop somewhere near my end of the ice, his hand on my arm, when the arena’s sound system crackles to life with a “Testing, testing. Yep, the mic works.”
I jump back from him as I look up, and that’s a dangerous combination to my balance. I distinctly remember an instruction I got once while on vacation in Southern Utah, while touring a slot canyon.
“Don’t walk and look up at the same time.”
The next thing I know, the ice has risen to meet me, and my tailbone shouts in discomfort and my hands meet the cold sting of the ice.
I’vefallen down.
This is it. My body has betrayed me, and I sit there and try to get a breath while Finn leans down. “Hey-oh. You okay?”
“Fine,” I manage to say.
He offers me his hand, and I let him help me back to my blades. “Hey, I, uh, looked you up last night too, and—ahem—the uh, Internet can be unreliable, but it didn’t indicate whether you had a—an—someone—a boyfriend.” He grinds his voice through his throat, and his eyes fly around the arena like he’s tracking a hummingbird that somehow got inside.
“If you don’t, maybe we could, um, eat dinner together sometime?”
I blink, sure I’ve started hallucinating. It’s the pink-on-orange combo of the strawberry shortcake tape on the sports cones. They’ve burned my retinas, and nothing I’m seeing is right.
Finn swallowing? Totally not happening.
The hope in his eyes when his finally meets mine? A fallacy.
The way he smiles and gives me a half-shrug with just one shoulder—literally the most adorable thing a man has ever done? That’s just my fantasy.
“I knew it. You have a boyfriend, right?”
“No,” I bark out.
“So we could go to dinner.”
“No,” I say again.
He frowns, the danger back in his eyes now. “Why not?”
“I mean, yes.” I start nodding, nearly pulling my neck I’m doing it so vigorously. “I mean, I guess I could go to dinner with you sometime.”
“What about tonight?”
“I have practice with my moth—coach until eight.”
“After that, then.”
