I skate over and give her a playful shove. She's thin as a rail, so I barely touch her, but she still hits the sidewall with a hollow thud.
I freeze, horrified by the sound.
Andy and Tina's laughter rings around us, their joy a stark contrast to my sudden panic.
"Malia, you okay?" Andy calls between laughs.
"Shake it off, sweetheart. You're fine," I say, trying to cover my rising alarm. "Hey, remember when you took that basketball to the face sophomore year and broke your nose?"
Malia laughs as she pushes off the wall and flips me off before skating toward Andy, who lightly taps her on the shoulder in response.
I flip Andy off. Malia flips me off again. Andy, grinning, raises both hands to double-flip me off, and I can't resist throwing up both my hands too. Malia falls into another fit of laughter, her body shaking with mirth as she skates in circles around us.
Andy winks at me, biting his bottom lip as he skates away. The sight of it stirs something low in my gut. I want to bite that lip, too. I push the thought away quickly.
Time slips by in a blur. My lungs ache, and my cheeks grow numb... partly from the cold, but mostly from smiling for the past hour and a half.
It's the most fun I've had in years.
Toward the end of our session, Andy and I fall into some kind of silent, playful rhythm. We pass the puck back and forth, catching each other's gazes, and smiling wider each time our eyes meet. It feels like a secret game.
He starts teasing me, poking at my stomach as he zips by when Malia has the puck. I should shut it down, but I can't. I fucking love it. My ears probably turn red from how hard I'm smiling.
At one point, he tries sneaking up on me again, but I grab him around the waist, and we both nearly hit the ice face-first. Instead, we slam into the sidewall, laughing breathlessly as he slips down onto the ice.
"You're lucky this isn't real hockey," I say, grinning as I skate around to face him.
"Oh yeah?" Andy leans back on his elbows, still catching his breath. "What are you gonna do, Vince? Come at me or something?" The way he says it stirs a physical part of me that I need to keep under control, and I nearly panic.
"Yeah, I'll come at you," I shoot back with a smirk, offering him a hand up.
He takes it, and I help him up... only to jab him lightly in the ribs as soon as he's on his feet. He laughs, grabs my arm, and yanks me down until we both topple onto the ice.
We start play-fighting like little boys, me holding him down with my hockey stick while he grabs at my leg like it's actually going to do anything. Both of us are gasping for air between fits of laughter, sliding around on the ice in the least coordinated display imaginable. Tears stream down my face, and I can't stop taunting him about how much better I am at this.
I'm pretty sure he knows I'm full of shit, considering he's crying with laughter, too.
"What are you guys doing?" Malia's voice cuts through the chaos.
I glance up, catching the look on her face. Her eyes dart between me and Andy, something sharp and knowing in her gaze.
She knows.
Shit.
I quickly skate away to dance with Tina, leaving Andy red-faced on the ice to recover without me. My stomach churns as I try to steady my thoughts.
When we finally leave the rink, the girls insist Andy join us for lunch, so we head to a nearby diner for burgers and milkshakes.
Andy pays for everything, of course. I've gotten used to his insistence on paying, though I know it's just his way of beingkind. He always deflects when I bring it up, so I've stopped trying to argue.
He even buys the girls new pendants from a gumball machine, pulling the plastic bubbles out like he's handing them rare jewels. Malia puts hers around her neck immediately, and Tina pins hers to her jacket, both of them beaming like he's just given them the world.
I'm not sure what's more endearing: his generosity or the way he seems genuinely happy to do it.
He parks us in front of my house an hour later. Malia and Tina's laughter fades as they disappear upstairs, leaving just the two of us standing beside Andy's rusted Range Rover. The afternoon light has softened, casting long shadows across the driveway, and for the first time all day, we're alone. The air feels different—thicker, charged with all the unspoken things that have been simmering between us since the ice rink.
I reach out before I can second-guess myself, my fingers finding the stray strand of blonde hair that's fallen across his forehead. He doesn't flinch or pull away. Instead, his eyes meet mine, those endless pools of blue that somehow manage to look both innocent and knowing at the same time. I tuck the hair behind his ear, my knuckles brushing against the warmth of his skin, and he leans into the touch just slightly, almost imperceptibly.
