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And I don’t like it. I swore after getting burned yet again by a man I was dating a few years ago that I was done. I only rely on myself, so I’m never disappointed.
“Are there any of those walker things like I’ve seen on TV?” I ask. “The things you can hold on to while you’re learning to skate?”
“Yeah, I can get you one.”
Skates already laced up, Dom snaps guards onto each of his blades and gets up, walking as easily as he does when wearing shoes.
I need to model a good attitude for Zane, so I begrudgingly take off my shoes and put the ice skates on. Dom guessed my size correctly. By the time he returns, I’ve already stumbled my way over to the waist-high wall, holding on to it for support.
“Somebody must have moved them,” he says empty-handed. “But I’ve taught people to skate before. I promise you won’t fall.”
I pinch my brows together, skeptical. “Who have you taught to skate?”
He grins. “I worked at my local ice rink in high school teaching youth skating. We worked on skating fundamentals for half of every lesson and fighting fundamentals for the other half.”
I can’t help laughing at the image. “Right.”
“No one graduated from Coach Dom’s class unless they could do a full lap forward and backward and cross-check an opponent onto their knees.”
His playful tone puts me at ease, but then he approaches me and offers me his hand, and my heart jumps back into overdrive. This is a terrible idea. I’m going to fall on my ass for sure.
“Come on, Tess. It’s almost time for the lights to dim and the disco ball to drop down from the ceiling. I’ve got some Ed Sheeran all cued up.”
“You better be joking.”
“Only one way to find out.”
Steeling myself, I take his hand, letting him slowly lead me onto the ice. I’m as wobbly as a newborn foal. Dom faces me and puts his other arm out toward me.
“Hold on to my forearms,” he instructs.
Once I have a death grip on his arms, I relax slightly. He starts to skate backward, the movement effortless.
“Keep your feet spaced just like that.” His eyes stay locked onto mine, the shade a mashup of browns and golds that remind me of coffee. “You don’t want to let your feet run away from you, or you’ll end up doing the splits.”
A snort-laugh escapes my mouth and my cheeks warm. “If I go down, I’m bringing you with me.”
His gaze is still locked onto my face, and I suddenly wish I’d done more than my usual two-minute makeup routine. Not that I want to impress him or anything, it’s just unnerving having someone looking at me for so long.
“First turn,” he says, not breaking our eye contact.
He knows the ice by heart. Without even looking over his shoulder, he leads me around the first turn, picking up the pace.
“Are we speed skating?” I mutter.
“We’re getting there. Turns are easier with some juice.”
“Do you get cold?”
I’ve got a hoodie and leggings on, but he’s wearing shorts and a T-shirt. He has to be cold.
“I’m used to it. Once I’ve done a few laps, I get warmed up, and I don’t even notice the cold.”
We skate in silence for about a minute, and it gives me too much time to focus on his strong forearms and warm skin. He’s a lot taller than me, his broad chest and shoulders...inviting.
I silently scold myself. This open-mindedness about men gets me in trouble every time. I’ve already got my hands full raising my kids and helping Cam get through school. I don’t need a distraction—no matter how good he smells.
He breaks the silence. “I’ve been thinking about what you said. About how having Zane when you were sixteen was good for you. I think it’s great that you love being a mom so much.”
