Page 122 of Thrown for a Loop
“Okay,” I say quietly.
“So let’s not stress about it. Not yet, anyway.”
“You’re right.” I clear my throat. “There’s one othertinyunrelated thing I need to tell you. Not a big deal, and I don’t want you to stress about this, either.”
“Uh-oh,” he grumbles. “Why do I think this could be bad?”
“It’s not, so don’t yell,” I say primly. Then I tell him about the lipstick art in my locker.
He does yell. But he takes the phone away from his mouth first, so I only hear the distant echo of a very loud “MOTHERFUCKER!”
When I return to the rink two days later, there are two things waiting for me.
One is a new smoke detector right above my locker, with a suspiciously shiny black dot at the center of it. I see it right when I walk in.
The other is Chase, who’s kneeling in front of my locker with a bottle of Windex as Aiden passes him a series of paper towels.
“You guys really didn’t have to do that,” I insist.
“Sure we did,” Aiden growls. “What a shit show.”
“All clean,” Chase says, stepping back. “Did you reprogram your combination yet?”
“No, but I’ll get on that,” I promise. “Let’s skate. We’ve got ice time.”
“Is it time to sparkle?” Aiden sets down the paper towels and makes jazz hands.
“Sure, bud,” Chase says easily. “Gonna sparkle like a goddamn disco ball.”
Aiden snorts. “Can I watch?”
“No,” we both say in unison.
Chase gets his figure skates from Bernie, and we head downstairs to the big rink. Since the team has the night off, I was able to book this bigger space.
On the bench, Chase reaches over and squeezes my knee. “Coming over later? I asked Marnie to marinate a couple of steaks. I’ll grill ’em on the patio.”
“Yeah, but…” I reach down and remove his hand from my knee. “Not in this building.”
“Sorry,” he says quickly. “I thought about you a lot for the last forty-eight hours.”
“Same,” I whisper. “I’d love to come over.” Steaks grilled on the terrace? It takes me back to snacks on the rooftop. I wonder if he has the same thought. “If you can promise me you’ll be well-behaved in this building.”
“I’ll be good,” he says, rising from the bench. “Until you tell me I can beverybad.”
A zing of electricity runs through me. But Chase heads out onto the ice and starts warming up with some crossovers and spirals.
“Let’s see a spin!” I call.
“Yes, Coach! Whatever you say, Coach!” He moves his strong arms into a T position and executes a tight upright spin.
It looks ridiculously good on his powerful body. The fans are going to foam at the mouth if we pull this off in time.
I join him on the ice and we warm up separately. I ease into it,not wanting to strain anything. It takes me longer to activate my body these days than it did when I was eighteen.
“All righty,” Chase says, skating up to me after a while. “Cue ’er up, Coach. Let’s just rip the Band-Aid off and try again.”
“Nope,” I say, working some deep lunges on both legs. “We’re not tackling ‘Wicked Game’ today. I have another plan.”
