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“Move your skates, Hunter.”
I go to glance at my feet and he immediately reprimands me. “Don’t look down, remember.”
Yeah, I remember. But maybe a little too late, because this time my blades go out from under me before he can catch me, and I end up ass down on the icy cold rink. I groan as I see him looming over me.
He’s still smiling as he reaches a hand out.
“It’s fine. I like it here,” I tell him. “Nice view.”
“Get up.”
“No.” I’m not completely mortified. He isn’t laughing, for one. Just smiling like I’m the prettiest thing he’s seen.
And yeah, I quite like that.
Two hands slide under me and I’m suddenly lifted through the air. “Hey, what’s going on…”
“You’re getting up.” But he doesn’t let go. Just skates around with me in his arms.
“You’re going to give yourself a hernia,” I tell him.
“I’m giving myself a hard-on.” He doesn’t even wobble as he skates. The man has muscles of steel.
“I’m not having sex with you on the ice.”
He grins. “We’ll save that for the next lesson.” He moves his arms, adjusting his hold on me until I’m vertical and facing him. I’m scared of cutting him with my skates so bend my knees and tighten them on his waist, keeping my feet away from his body. It has the added advantage of pushing me closer to all the right places
“Not helping, Hunter,” he tells me.
“Don’t you just want to take me home? Do dirty things to me?”
“I do,” he says seriously. “Very much so.”
“Then let’s go,” I tell him. “It’s cold and my ass is wet.”
Gently, he puts me back on the ice. “Not until you can skate for five seconds. Without holding onto me.”
I pout.
“Then we’ll leave,” he promises.
It takes half an hour and more falls than I care to think about, but eventually I manage to skate for five seconds without touching Eli or the boards. I still feel wobbly, and keep to the edge of the rink with half an eye on the exit. But the smile on his face makes up for the fear rushing through my body.
He’s standing by the exit to the rink so I deliberately slam into him, using him as a brake because if I use my skates I’m going to end up on the floor again.
He catches me and laughs, putting his hands on me to twirl me around the ice. I still hate it and grip onto his sweater like I’m holding on for dear life, but I’m also feeling kind of jubilant.
“Can we go home now?” I plead.
“Yep. Your place or mine?”
“Whichever is warmest,” I grumble. And then I add. “Mine.” Because my toothbrush is there. And my pajamas. I’m hoping he might stay the night again.
Strictly for now.
I ignore that voice and let him lead me off the ice.
CHAPTEREIGHTEEN
