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“Want me to pull him up on it?” Yas offers. We have a strict rule about jewelery being tucked into clothing for safety reasons. Can’t say we’ve ever had to enforce it on a guy before though. It’s usually chicks on our late night date skates who are packing the bling that’s likely to lose them a limb.
“Nah, leave it. Maybe he’ll have an accident and garrote himself.”
“One can only hope.” Yas laughs, claps me on the shoulder and wanders off, probably heading back to his first aid station.
As rink medic, he can never stray too far away from his post. Accidents on the ice are frequent, but rarely severe. He still takes his position mighty seriously though.
I go back to watching the couple on the blind date. I don’t think they’re suited at all. I’m not just saying that because she’s stunning and I wish it were me on the ice with her, but because she’s vibrant and full of life. She lights up the space, and I can hear her bubbly laughter from across the rink. Her partner seems...uptight. More concerned about his appearance than having actual fun.
The woman skates circles around him, backwards, while he crosses his arms and scowls at her. He looks like an absolute idiot. I can’t hear their conversation, but her face is falling and he looks arrogant as hell. He starts to skate, and she holds out a hand to him, he barges past her and ignores her offer, then starts to...I don’t know...I think he’s trying to show off. Christ knows why, he can barely stay upright. He does this weird jump-spin-flailing around move and fails to land it. Surprise. He crashes to the ice, knocking the beauty’s feet out from under her. She falls, hard, and a moment later the ice around her turns red with blood.
“Medic!” I yell in a panic, praying the douche is the one that’s hurt and not the gorgeous girl, even as my stomach turns at the sight of blood.
Yas races onto the rink in his special ice shoes, and for the first time I curse not having a pair myself. I try to keep my eyes glued to the pile of limbs on the ice, but a crowd starts to form and my view is blocked.
Cursing again under my breath, I crane my neck to see, but it’s no good. Instead, I focus on clearing the way off the ice and to the nearby medical room.
“What’s happened? I smell blood,” Chaz says, which isn’t creepy at all. Heavy on the sarcasm. I give him an incredulous look.
“Really? How can you even think about eating at a time like this?”
“Man, I hope it’s the dude bleeding, cause that shit smells sweet! It would really suck for me if it’s the chick.” I watch in disbelief as Chaz salivates over the flashy douche bag.
“Is it just his blood you’re interested in?”
“Did you see his car?”
“Do you even fancy him?”
“Did you see his car?!”
I snort back a laugh and tell Chaz to keep covering for me. I need to make sure the girl’s okay.
A couple of agonisingly long minutes later, Yas comes off the ice, arm wrapped around—damn it, I’ll kill the asshole—the girl’s shoulder.
“Quilo, this is Lumi. I need to patch up a cut on her leg. Can you come and do the paperwork for me?” My best friend offers me a sly wink. Nicely played, passing me her name all innocent-like. I nod in thanks.
“Will do. I’ll just see to her…friend first,” I reply through gritted teeth.
Turning my back on them both, I send up a quick prayer. Forgive me Whit, for I’m about to sin. Please don’t fire my ass, brother. I need this fake gig. I finish just in time to watch the feckless little weasel sliding his way off the ice.
“You there,” I call, pointing right at him. He makes an elaborate pantomime of looking around before pointing to himself in a pathetic ‘who me?’ sort of gesture. God I want to punch him. I might just do it anyway and ask for Whit’s forgiveness later.
“You need to leave,” I tell him when he finally ambles over. Even off the ice he’s a liability in his skates.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. You need to exit the premises.”
“What? Why?”
“Your dangerous and reckless behavior resulted in another customer being hurt. We are well within our right to ask you to leave.”
“I want to speak to the manager,” he demands, crossing his arms and puffing out his chest. I suspect he’s trying to look intimidating but it falls flat with him wobbling on his skates.
“No problem,” I reply, pulling out my phone and messaging Whit to come down. “He’ll be here soon to repeat, verbatim, exactly what I just said to you.”
“You’re lucky I don’t sue.”
