Page 3 of Overtime Positions
“It’s good to have you home.” He sent a wink my way as he finished his first beer of the night.
“I’ve been back for four years, Ricky.” I rolled my eyes at him. “Is the dementia hitting already?”
He chuckled and stood up, taking the last can off the pile on his way to the locker room and pouring it into his mug. “Either way, this is where you belong. Even if you don’t think so.”
A snort escaped my lips as I shook my head. “Maybe, maybe not. I guess only time will tell.”
The humof the cooling system was the only noise in the massive arena; the lights were off in every rink besides the one I stood in, and the whole place was empty. Which was the only reason I even dared to step off the rubber mats in the bench box and place one skate onto the fresh ice.
If Rick knew I stayed late after closing and messed up his freshly smoothed ice on Wednesday nights, he’d have a coronary. But it was the only time the place was ever truly empty.
And my embarrassment didn’t require an audience.
Wobbling onto the ice, I held onto the wall and then forced myself to take a few deep breaths before pushing off.
I had to get the hang of it. There was no other choice.
I couldn’t let my girl down any longer, she only had me.
One foot push, one foot glide.
It was easy. Or it should be. I watched people skating every single day, yet the second my own feet stepped onto the ice, I felt like a newborn giraffe.
All leg. No coordination.
I struggled my way around the rink, staying close enough to the boards that I could get to them to pull myself back up if I fell, but not too close that I’d hit my head on them and knock myself out.
Intrusive thoughts were a real bitch as a mother, and I refused to become a bloody popsicle during a secret skating session after hours for the maintenance crew to find in the morning.
That was a headline I was not interested in being part of.
After two laps, I forced myself to try bending my legs, folding at the waist to get some momentum up as I skated. It felt awkward and worse than dancing with two left feet, but I pushed on.
“You’re going to pull something in your back skating like that.” A deep voice called out from behind me, and I screamed in surprise, whipping my head around to see who had snuck in.
Of course, the momentum of turning around competed with my momentum forward, and my two left feet went in opposite directions, and my tailbone was the next thing to hit the ice.
“Fuck.” I groaned, rolling onto my stomach and holding my ass as I pushed my forehead into the ice, begging the surface to melt and swallow me whole. “Ow, ow, ow.”
“I’m sorry.” The gruff voice called, getting closer, and I looked up as Travis ran across the ice effortlessly, wearing his tan work boots instead of skates and still made it look like it was the easiest thing ever. “Shit, stay still.”
“Ow.” I hissed for dramatic effect before trying to get up onto my knees to get off the wet surface. My clothes stuck to me from the short time star-fishing across the ice, and my palms burned where I braced them.
“Hey,” Travis came to a sliding stop, getting on his knees in front of me. “Hang on.”
“I’m fine.” I bit out, gritting my teeth as my cheeks turned red, making everything else far worse. “It’s okay.”
I tried to stand up, stupidly I might add, since I wasn’t holding onto the wall, and my feet flailed out from under me, almost like I was—on ice.
My embarrassment bloomed so bright my stomach cramped from it before Travis reached out and put both of his massive hands on my upper arms, stabilizing and then lifting me by them like it was once again, fucking effortless.
Men with natural-born muscles and abilities pissed me off.
Especially when I was sexually attracted to them and it made me even more uncomfortable and awkward.
“You got it?” He asked, keeping his hands next to my arms but not actually touching me as I got my bearings.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I already said that.” I blew my bangs out of my face and breathed through the pain radiating up my ass crack to my teeth.
