I don’t even argue with him. His excitement is far too palpable for me to do so. It’s not a side I see from him often, and I like it far too much.
We climb into his car, and I love how it rumbles to life under us. We’re in his BMW—the same one we sped toward town in when he drove me home the night the cruiser broke down—and I giggle as he peels out of the parking lot, his tires chirping against the asphalt.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“The iceplex.”
I’ve heard a lot about the community center he and Noah have put together, but I haven’t yet made it out there. I was never into hockey like my father was back in the day, so I’m eager to see Ezra in his natural environment.
“I need to grab a few things from my office there. Figured we could take a break and maybe go for a skate. If you’re up for it, of course.”
“I’ve never ice-skated before.” The stunned look on his face makes me laugh. “You look like I just told you I like pineapple on pizza.”
“Another fucking travesty,” he comments, flipping his turn signal on and speeding past a car that’s already doing at least five over the speed limit.
I’d chide him for it, but honestly, I kind of love watching him drive. There’s something so hot about the way he shifts gears. His long, strong legs pushing the clutch in makes me feel things I really shouldn’t be feeling.
Thanks to his inability to obey the law, we’re pulling into the Stick Taps Community Iceplex in no time.
He surprises me by reversing into a spot in the very back of the lot.
“What?” he asks when he catches me looking at him funny. “I don’t want anyone to scratch my baby.”
I roll my eyes and stay seated as he climbs out of the car and crosses my way.
I let him help me out, trying my best to ignore the tingles I feel when he places his hand on the small of my back as we make our way through the lot.
I try not to be disappointed when he drops his hand as we walk inside. Then he surprises me by taking my hand.
I glance down at where our fingers are linked together and back up at him, but he’s not looking at me. He’s too busy leading us through the building like he owns the place, and I guess he does.
Several people say hi to him, but not a single one seems bothered by us being together, and it’s only when we reach the rink that I realize it’s because nobody here knows who I am. They don’t know that I’m his employee too.
All my worries slip away when I take in the ice.
“Wow,” I say, looking around, feeling so small as I look up at the seats that feel like they go on forever from this angle. “This is incredible, Ezra.”
“It’s nothing compared to the real thing, but it’s not bad. The kids love it, that’s for sure.”
There are a few of them out on the ice on the other end. They’re gathered around on one knee, listening to who I assume is a coach. It’s kind of cute, seeing all the little kids with their gear on. They look like they’re playing dress-up.
“This is the five- and six-year-old group,” Ezra says, watching as they all lean in, putting their hands in the middle. “Not a single one of them knows what they’re doing, and it’s kind of adorable.”
“They’re just trying to be like their idols.” I bump my shoulder against him. “Like you.”
“I don’t think I was ever anyone’s idol.”
“You were,” I tell him, absolutely sure of it. I might not have watched him play before, but I remember how much my dad talked about him. There’s no way kids weren’t clamoring to be just like him.
He smiles softly and squeezes my hand. “So, want to skate?”
“You were serious about that?”
“Yes, but only if you want to. I know you said you don’t know how, but I’d love to teach you. We could call it an exchange. You give me cooking lessons, I give you skating lessons.”
“But we haven’t started your cooking lessons yet.”
“That’s because you can’t keep your hands off me, Sunny.”
