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“Home, Away, Classic.” I shrug.
“That’s three.”
“And I got a set that says Grant, just in case you didn’t like Varg.” I pointedly glance down, “Of course that was before I realized you were one of Vic’s Chicks.”
She swats me in the chest and the kitten rumbles a warning at her.
“Oh hush you,” Tristan says, and from her tone it’s clear she and this little cat have been trading conversation back and forth for a while now. “You’re all talk. We both know you sleep with me every night.”
Another grumble from the kitten and I rub a finger under her chin until she settles.
“I think we should name her Hela,” I say, and Tristan’s eyebrow raises.
“I was mostly joking about calling her Hell Spawn.” No, she wasn’t. “Okay, no I wasn’t. But you can name her anything you like. She’s yours, Vic.”
“Hela is the Norse goddess for the dead. She’s basically the ruler of Hell.”
Later that night, as I pull Tristan into the circle of my arms, tucking the comforter around us as Hela grumbles at the top of my pillow, I can’t help but ask,“So where’d you get the shirt from, baby?”
Tristan stiffens in my arms, then turns so we’re lying face to face, her blue eyes bright even with the lights off.
“Your mom gave it to me,” she says. “I might have gone to visit her while you were gone. She mentioned that keeping things of yours close would help the time go faster.”
I smile as I pull her closer, because this sweet and prickly girl missed me as much as I missed her. And that’s a start.
It should be a forgone conclusion that between my siblings and my proximity to a team of professional athletes, I’d have a healthy dose of skepticism when someone grins at me, holds out a hand, and tells me to trust them. It should also go without saying that the better looking the conspirator, the more suspicious their motivation. Or maybe that’s something I’ll eventually need to unpack in therapy.
Despite all of that, I still end up here. On the ice. Wearing a pair of white figure skates, and clutching the wooden boards so I don’t fall on my face. In front of my husband. The man who does this for a living. Allowing myself to look like an idiot in front of him should be obvious proof of my trust.
I give him credit for trying not to laugh as one of my legs slips out from under me. He bites into the plush pink of his bottom lip as I wobble, clutching the boards even harder. When he reaches out a hand, clearly meaning to slip it around my waist, I glare. Hard.
“I said I can do it myself.” I recenter myself on the pockmarked ice.
“The perk of being here with a professional is that you don’t have to.” His grin is infuriating.Heis infuriating.
“Look, I’m trying really hard not to tell you how much I hate your stupid sport and your stupid ice. That should count for something.”
His laugh comes from deep in his chest.
“You like hockey just fine,” he says, as if I don’t work for the same damn team he plays on. That’s different. “And I’ve seen you on the ice before.”
“Not on skates, and I don’t have to risk broken bones to watch you play.”
“Stop trying to insult me,” he laughs again. “It’s not working. You know I won’t let you fall.”
“Remind me why we have to do this again?”
And okay, yes, I want off these metal death traps, and I want back on less slippery ground, but mostly it’s fun to quip at him like this and have him blind me with his grin every time I do. I’ve never met someone—other than my siblings—who didn’t crumble when I let my bitch out to play.Maybe it never bothered me when he gave it all right back. Maybe I’ve always liked it and Palmer was right when she asked if this was our form of foreplay. It’s working.
“Because I have a day off and you had nothing planned for this afternoon.” He leans into my face, close enough that I can see all the blues and greens and browns in his eyes. “And because I’m a professional hockey player. It seemed criminal that you don’t know how to skate.”
“Oh, I know how.” I say, using my arms to turn and face Vic. I lean back against the boards. “In theory. I just don’t have much practical application.”
“You’re pretty cute for a smartass,” he says as he lets his lips ghost over mine. “Besides, we have an audience and we’re supposed to be showing everyone that we’re in love.”
I try to turn my head to glimpse the audience he’s talking about. There are only a handful of people still taking advantage of the outdoor rink. It closes at the end of the month, but the temperature has been all over the place and I think spring is finally here to stay. It’s been near fifty all week. I don’t spot anyone before Vic’s hand cups my chin and draws me back to him. I’m not complaining as he kisses me again.
“Come on kitty cat,” he teases, “I know the Haine scandal has mostly gone away and we don’t need to film anymore, but let’s give them a show, anyway.”
