AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Penelope
I finished the performance that Toby, my old skating partner, and I had created for the Olympic qualifiers all those years ago but never got to perform because of his accident.
I don't always skate that routine. In fact, it's been years since the last time I skated it solo without Toby. I guess Slade's impending arrival made me nostalgic this morning and reminded me of someone else I had left in the past.
A college student I had tutored over emails a few weeks after I started school at Washington University. He was a tutoring student who eventually turned into a pen pal, and embarrassingly turned into a crush.
Evidently, he didn't feel the say because he wrote me a "dear John" email out of the blue and disappeared from my life.
I shouldn't think of Win anymore—it's been years. But he was the one person who understood what I was going through with Slade.
Now Slade's back, but WinTheDay067 isn't, and I could really use his assuring emails with Slade's impending arrival.
Distant clapping echoes out around the stadium and startles me.
Who’s here?
Who’s been watching me?
My eyes dart wildly around the stadium, looking for the person or persons who have been watching me without my knowledge. The janitors and the Zamboni driver have all seen my routine a hundred times before. I’m sure they’re bored of it by now, so one of them clapping for it seems odd. And none of the players, coaches, or my father will be in for another half hour at the earliest.
Finally, my eyes lock onto a tall figure standing in the metal frame of the tunnel’s opening.
Slade Matthews.
I can already feel my blood pressure rising at the sight of him, all leaning against the side wall. His tattoos creep up his neck slightly past his shirt, and the colorful ink peeks out around his muscular biceps and then travels down his arms, stopping at his wrists.
He thinks he’s so damn special. It doesn’t help that everyone within earshot likes to tell him so. Especially all the college girls that came to hockey games far too scantily dressed and freezing their bare asses on the bleachers to get his attention.
I mean, he’s attractive if you’re into that tatted-up, self-absorbed, spoiled rich kid hockey player type… which I’m not.
And if it wasn’t the puck bunnies trying to get his attention, the NHL recruits weren’t far behind, all clambering to sign him. They offered ridiculous contract add-ons and more pay than most rookie players get on their first-year deals.
I skate towards the rink opening; the closer I get to him, the more my heart races. I forgot how obnoxiously tall and broad he is. But now, four years later, he seems almost more significant. That college body is now more filled out as he’s aged.
I glance away quickly to regain my thought process and stop thinking about the body of a man I loathe deeply.
I take a look around to ensure we’re the only ones in the stadium, and Phil isn’t going to see me yelling at his star player on his first day of practice.
“This is my time, Matthews. No one is supposed to be here this early. What are you even doing here?” I ask.
“Sam said I could come in early and check things out.”
My dad told him he could come in early even though he knows I skate before the Zamboni does it run?
That’s a ballsy move from my dad, seeing as Matthews is his prodigal son that he thinks is going to save the Hawkeyes season. My father failed to consider that his potentially vengeful daughter is wearing ice skates that I had sharpened.
These blades could cut through a muscular thigh in one swift slice and end a hockey player’s career.
Slade stands in the doorway, blocking most of the exit with his body, his shoulder still leaning against one side of the door frame.
His honey-hazel eyes stare down at me, his lips pulling up to a lopsided smile as if he can’t help but turn on his cocky charm.
God, I hate that gorgeous pearly white smile… and ruggedly handsome face.
Even after everything he’s done to me, my girly parts seem to suffer from long-term memory loss. I swear I feel my uterus flip with excitement.
Stupid reproductive organs.
