“It is a big deal. You spent half your night getting out here to stand in the freezing cold.”
“Are you going to complain, or are we going to skate?”
I stopped staring at him and took a proper look around. The lake was massive and untouched, framed by a thick tree line that kept us hidden from the highway. The ice looked smooth under the moonlight.
No roommates, no noise, and nobody watching.
“It is a great spot,” I admitted. “How did you even find this place?”
“Satellite view on my phone,” he said flatly. “I just looked for a place past the city limits.” Closing the distance, Aleksey stepped into my personal space. “I wanted a place nobody can see us,” he said, “and where we don’t have to be quiet.”
I shook my head and walked around to the back of the SUV to pop the liftgate. It swung up with a mechanical hum, and we sat side by side on the edge of the trunk to pull on our skates.
Pulling my laces tight, I took a deep breath of the freezing air. It was completely silent. There were no buzzing fluorescent rink lights, no guys shouting across the locker room, and no need to panic if someone walked past the door.
We left our boots in the trunk and hobbled over the snowbank, and didn’t bother with helmets or pads. Stepping onto the pristine ice, I pushed off. The sharp scrape of my steel blades echoed across the massive space. I took a few hard strides to get a feel for the surface, then carved a quick turn so I was gliding backward.
Aleksey stepped onto the ice, looking a lot bigger and sturdier without his standard gear.
“Try to keep up,” I called over my shoulder, digging my edges in and launching forward.
Aleksey’s flat voice carried across the ice. “You think you’re faster than me?”
“I know I am.” I carved a tight turn, skating backward so I could watch him. “Saw your forty-yard dash times from tryouts. Not impressed.”
He barked out a short laugh, the sound swallowed by the open air. “You looked up my stats?”
“They’re public record.” I shrugged mid-glide. “Figured I should know what I’m dealing with.”
“Stalker.” He pushed off harder, his stride opening up, eating the distance between us. “You want a race, Johnston?”
“It’s not a race if you can’t catch me.” I pivoted and took off, the cold wind sharp against my teeth.
The wide-open ice made me feel lighter than I had in weeks. Back at the university rink, I kept my playing style strictly textbook so I wouldn’t catch any crap from Elliot or the older guys. But out here, I didn’t have to be the perfect hockey forward.
I picked up my backward speed. Finding my rhythm, I pulled my arms in, executed a flawless figure skating spin, and landed perfectly on one edge.
The scrape of steel halted as Aleksey stopped skating. He raised a thick eyebrow. “Show-off.”
“My mom wanted me to be a figure skater,” I told him. I skated backward in a slow circle around him.
“Figure skater?” Aleksey asked, tracking me with his eyes. “Seriously? Your dad went for that?”
“Not at all. They had to split the difference. Dad only allowed the private figure skating lessons because he claimed it would perfect my edge work for hockey.”
“Did it?”
“Yeah, and then it pushed me right into the sport full-time,” I said. “Which sucked at first. I actually preferred figure skating back then. It was different. For once, I was doing something that wasn’t just the standard Johnston men’s hockey legacy.”
Aleksey watched me for a second, absorbing that. “But the edge work stuck.”
“Obviously,” I glided closer and grabbed his large, calloused hands. “Come here. I’m going to teach you a waltz turn.”
Digging his edges in, Aleksey planted his skates firmly. He looked down at our joined hands, then up at me. “Absolutelynot.” His hands stayed locked at his sides, shoulders squared like he was bracing for a check.
“It’s a basic ice-dance move.” I tugged at his stiff fingers. “Don’t be a coward.”
A low string of Russian rumbled through his chest. “Don’t you dare tell anyone about this.”
