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27
Beau
“Are you sure it’s okay for us to be in here?” Gigi asked, her voice echoing in the darkness.
“Shh, as long as they haven’t changed the code, we’re good,” I said, flashing the light from my phone onto the keypad. Once I pressed in the numbers I knew by heart, the keys lit up with the green blink. Phew.
“Are you trying to get us arrested?” she whispered, making me laugh.
I led her to the counter. “Take your pick,” I said, sweeping my arm out to the selection of skates. “There’s not enough Lysol spray in the world to make me put any of those on,” she said, her face in a cute as hell frown.
“Whatever you decide. You can watch me, then.” I smiled at her as I climbed up on the desk behind the counter. Reaching up, I was able to open the display cabinet and grab out my skates.
Gigi gasped out loud. “Beau, you can’t do that!” she said, shocked at what I’d done.
“Woman, they’re my skates.”
“I can see that, but I don’t think they want you to use them after you donated them.”
My skates had sat in there for years—along with my signed jersey and pictures. “Since I’ve been doing this forever, I don’t think they mind,” I said, then jumped down from the desk. Damn, my knee complained about that one.
I moseyed around the counter and sat down on a bench to put my skates on and lace up. As I slid my foot in, I smiled. They still fit like a glove. Worn in perfectly, in all the right places. They felt just like—home.
When I was done, I was surprised to see Gigi glaring at me, not having chosen a pair of available skates from the dozens of pairs available on the wall.
“Come out. I can pull you around on the ice,” I said, chuckling under my breath. She found it less than amusing and continued glaring.
Whatever.
I walked the familiar path to the doors, then found the switches on the wall by instinct. The loud hum of the huge lights filled the arena—matching the hum I felt travel through my blood. I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with the smell of the rink.
Unhooking the latch with my hand, I then swung open the heavy gate in the boards. My skates hit the ice, and I could feel my pulse even out. There was nothing in the world like skating on fresh ice with newly sharpened skates.
I’d warned Victor that I’d be by this weekend. He always made sure my skates were ready for me.
A few laps around the rink later, I spotted Gigi walking through the doors as she put her hair up in a high ponytail. The white and blue jersey definitely caught my eye, making me smile.
Fuck she looked good in my jersey.
Images of her wearing that—with absolutely nothing else—as she rode on top of me, flooded my brain. I imagined her hair down, flowing around her shoulders while she bounced up and down. My eyes closed, but the movie kept playing.
I opened my eyes when I heard her stepping on the ice. She completely ignored me, seemingly in her own little world. That was when I noticed her skates were white instead of the usual black, hockey skates she wore. Hmm, figure skates? I gave her space, staying in the far end.
I leaned against the boards, deciding to give her full reign of the ice if she wanted. After a good warm up, she skated around then went into a camel spin. Her body bent over halfway down and her right leg out straight behind her.
It was a well-practiced spin, she’d obviously done it many times.
From that, she straightened, skating backward into a layback spin—her body bowed back in a C, her right leg curved behind as her arms reached forward.
She skated around, gently testing out her skills. I decided to grab my phone and start live recording on social media. “The great, Geneviève Martin, showing off her figure skating skills. It’s been a well-kept secret, that we’re finally unveiling,” I said in my very best commentator voice.
Her head snapped toward me and she smiled huge. “Are you recording?” I nodded, moving the camera up and down. She giggled, skating to the boards and picking up what I guessed was her phone. In no time, she glided over to me, head down, swiping at what was indeed her phone.
“I found it!” An excited expression on her face. “Let’s see if I actually remember any of my routine. Hit play when I’m posed,” she said, pushing off toward center ice.
“Ready?” I asked, my finger hovering over the play button on her screen.
“Yes!” she said, but then recanted immediately. “Oh no, just wait. I can’t skate in this.” Gigi returned, trying to take off my jersey. “Help,” she requested, her head and arms getting stuck. I chuckled at her and pulled it off the rest of the way.
