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He follows me toward the locker room, totally unaware of what’s waiting for him. Hockey gloves with layers upon layers of dried sweat smell worse than a fresh pile of shit. And I’m going to supervise Zane as he thoroughly wipes down every single one in the locker room.
“You know, this whole working off your debt thing can be easy or hard,” I tell him as he eyes the rank hockey gloves. “It’s up to you.”
He narrows his eyes. “Wow. Your patronizing, fatherly tone makes me want to be a better person.” He pauses to glare at me. “Just tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”
Okay, then. The hard way. At least I reminded him there’s a choice.
Chapter Six
Tess
* * *
“Did you scrub the shit from under the rims?”
Zee glares at Dom, toilet brush in hand, and I hold back a smile from my seat on the bleachers about ten feet away. This is our second trip to the arena for Zee to work off his debt. I know what Dom’s doing, and I’m here for it. Until Zee drops the attitude, Dom’s going to keep making him do the worst possible chores he can find at the arena.
“Yeah, I did it like you told me to,” Zee says. “What’s next?”
“You said you’ve never ice-skated. You want to learn?”
Zee sneers. “No. Just give me the next job.”
“Cool.” Dom claps him on the shoulder and leads the way back to the locker room. “I’ve got a big pile of smelly jock straps for you to hand wash. You wouldn’t believe how sweaty your balls get playing hockey.”
My son gets his stubbornness from me. I always say it’s his best and his worst quality. When he wants something, he’ll do whatever it takes to make it happen. But when he’s feeling resistant, he’ll go to battle over pretty much anything.
When Dom returns alone a few minutes later, he has a pair of ice skates in each hand. He grins as my eyes lock with his, and I see what my sister means about him being attractive. Today, he’s wearing gray athletic shorts, a white Coyotes T-shirt that fits his muscular shoulders and upper arms just right, and a worn baseball cap.
“You said you don’t know how to ice-skate, either,” Dom says when he reaches me.
My lips part. I thought when he asked us when we walked into the arena a few minutes ago if we could ice-skate, he was just making conversation.
“Yeah, I grew up on the south side of Chicago.” I smile wryly. “My dad taught me how to fix cars, use a switchblade, and throw a punch, but I never learned to ice-skate.”
Dom arches his brows, looking amused. “I know you’re not saying you’re tougher than I am.”
I shrug, laughing. “I am tough, but I have no idea about you.”
He sets a pair of white figure skates down next to me. “Size eight?”
“Uh...” I glance at the skates and then back at him. “Yeah, but I’ll have to be carried out of here on a stretcher if I try to ice-skate.”
“I see.” He nods and locks his gaze onto mine. “Tough enough to throw a solid punch, but not tough enough to learn how to ice-skate?”
I laugh at the absurdity of his question. “Since when does learning to ice-skate make someone tough?”
He sits down next to me. Not only can I feel the warmth of his body beside me, I can smell...is that cologne? It has notes of pine and leather and whatever it is, it’s making me involuntarily clench my thighs together.
I’m a single mom and a waitress. I drive Hannah to dance practice. Make ham sandwiches for my nephews’ lunches. Turn every item of clothing Zee owns right side out so I can wash them on laundry day. Wipe down tables and refill coffee mugs. It’s been so long since I’ve sat next to an attractive man that it feels foreign to me now.
Dom reaches down to untie his shoes. “If you do anything you know will make you fall down and possibly embarrass yourself, that’s tough, right?”
I groan. “Okay, you can save the life lessons for my son. I’m all grown up.”
He looks over at me. “Come on, Tess. It’ll be fun. I won’t let you fall.”
The sudden fluttering sensation in my stomach catches me off guard. I’m not a damsel in distress by any means, but something about Dom saying he won’t let me fall turned me a little gooey inside.
