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“I can just have tap water.” I search the cupboards for plates.
“There’s no charge for them. Orange, strawberry-kiwi, or lemon-lime?”
I appreciate that he addresses my concerns without making it a big deal. “Lemon-lime, please.”
He moves to the big fridge and pulls out a canister of spray whipped cream, plus a tub of vanilla ice cream from the freezer—and not the no-name kind, but the full-fat, creamery-style stuff. When the fritters are ready, I split them between two plates, BJ tops them with ice cream and whipped cream, and we sit at the table to eat.
“Thanks for the lesson today. Maverick and Adele are right. You’re an awesome teacher.” I slide my fork through the crispy dough, gather some melting ice cream, and take my first bite, groaning as the flavors hit my mouth. Sweet, creamy, and damn well delicious.
“It’s easy to be a good teacher when I’m working with someone who’s naturally gifted on the ice. Have you ever had lessons before?”
I shake my head, swallowing the bite before I answer. “I played for my high school team for a while, but mostly it’s been pick-up or outdoor-rink games.”
“We can keep doing this, if you want.” He motions between us. “I’m always available from three to five.”
“I don’t want to monopolize your time like that.”
“It’s only monopolizing if I’m not willing, and I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to do it.”
I lift my gaze.
“And we get to hang out. All wins, as far as I’m concerned.” He stabs an entire fritter with his fork and takes a huge bite.
“I’ll have to check my hours, see if it works.” Free lessons with a hot, tattooed figure skater aren’t something I want to pass up, but my hours at Boones come first. I need the money for fall tuition.
“For sure. Just know I can get us ice time five days a week if there are things you want to work on.”
BJ finishes his fritters long before me. I’m trying my best to savor, while also being mindful of the time. At four fifty-two I polish off the last bite, and BJ rinses our dishes and loads them in the dishwasher.
I wipe my hands on my thighs, nervous as we leave the staff room. I’m half regretting those fritters with the way my stomach is kicking up a fuss.
“Hey.” BJ tugs on my sleeve.
I realize he’s stopped walking because we’ve reached rink five.
His eyes move over my face. “You all right?”
“Yeah. No. I’m nervous. This feels like a high-pressure interview.”
He takes me by the shoulders. “Repeat after me.”
“Repeat after me,” I deadpan.
He grins and bites his lip. “So fucking saucy. I love it.”
I fight my own smile.
“I’m a badass hockey player, and any team would be lucky to have me.”
I make a face.
He arches a brow. “Seriously? Don’t you give yourself pep talks before you get on the ice, or do something new? I mean, I do it all the time. Like, on the way to Boones this morning, I rehearsed the fuck out of what I was going to say to you.”
I arch a skeptical brow. “You did not.”
“I absolutely did. Fake it till you make it, if you need to.” He thumbs over his shoulder. “But they want you here. Remember that. This is a tryout for a spot that’s already yours. Take the leap, Winter. I promise the landing is soft on this one.”
“You’re hired as my personal cheerleader.”
