"I saw the one with Thorne rushing down the ice toward the camera. That one had like a million views when I checked." She purses her lips. "So if work is good, that means Thorne is the problem?"
"Unfortunately." I bury my face in my hands. "I haven't told you some stuff."
Indie's eyes light up. "Did you two bang like a screen door in a hurricane?"
"What?" I tug on the leash, pulling Gordie from a pile of trash. "No, god. But we did... maybe... kiss."
"Okay, tell me everything. Leave out nothing."
I tell her the basics of that night as I remember them. When I finish, she's nodding her head like she expected this.
"You two have a vibe." She cuts me a look, smirking. "He looks at you like he's dying of thirst and you're a tall glass of lemonade."
"What? He does not."
"It's true. I bet if you told any of your friends that work for the team—like Jessa or Juliet—about Thorne kissing you, they would say the same thing."
"Yeah. I mean… maybe,” I answer with a shrug.
Gordie tugs on the leash, sniffing a flowering tree. Indie pets him idly, cocking her head.
"Are you saying that you've never crushed on Thorne? Because that seems crazy."
Heat climbs up my neck and colors my cheeks. "I... uh... didn't think anybody knew."
"And I'm telling you now that you're not sneaky. Neither is he."
I scoff. "Thorne doesn't have a secret crush on me.Omigod. He's a famous professional hockey player." I wave my hand. "You should see how many women throw themselves at him."
I don’t mention the fact that he told me if I weren’t related to his best friend, he would’ve pushed things beyond a kiss. That’s a special little nugget that I lock away forever.
"If you say so." Indie shrugs. "But I think you're wrong."
We start walking again, talking about the next time Indie might be able to get into the arena. I promiseto clear it with Juliet. Indie starts telling me how her roommate's new drag persona is Bianca Del Raunchy. We both crack up.
Then I feel a distinct pang of pain in my left ankle. "Fuck." I slow down, bending to rub it. I've been relatively pain-free today and haven't thought at all about bringing ibuprofen out on my walk. "Do you mind if we park it on a bench for a minute? My ankle is misbehaving."
"Totally. Want some help getting there?"
I shake my head. "Nah. I'm just going to give myself a little mini-massage."
We walk over to the bench. Well, actually, I limp. But we sit down and I hand Gordie's leash over. He settles at our feet, ever the protective guard dog, as I pull my foot up onto the bench and start rubbing it with practiced strokes.
"Hey, have you seen the new video Coach Savard posted?” Indie asks.
My hands freeze. Indie and I actually met at a figure skating rink when we were younger. She never trained with him, though she knows I did.
But I’ve never confided what Coach Savard did to me. Not to Indie. Not to anyone.
Indie pulls out her phone, showing me, not realizing that seeing him makes me naseated. "I was watching a video that my cousin sent me about learning to figure skate. She’s so cute. Anyway, after the video, a new one popped up with your old coach and a new girl. It's kinda... weird?"
My stomach drops. "Oh yeah?"
"Yeah." Indie wrinkles her nose. "Sorry, but he gave me the creeps with a capital C. Watch."
She cues the end of a performance, a girl of around twelve or thirteen skating smoothly to a stop and holding her hands up in a finishing gesture, before skating toward her coach. My stomach feels like it's made of lead as I take in his easy grace, dark track suit, and piercing gray eyes. She barrels into him, hugging him, and he seems amused by the affection.
The girl beams up at him with complete reverence. She wears an oversized pink bow in her hair. That was one of Coach Savard's preferences. He reaches out and gives her bow a gentle tug while he looks her in the eye.
