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I didn’t, though, so how can I fault her for not seeing it either?
“Do you live in Vancouver?” I ask, and Connor’s expression darkens a fraction.
He doesn’t like me being friendly with his new girl, but I ignore him. As we chat, Connor clears his throat and puts his arm around her shoulders, watching me, but I just smile at them.
This asshole’s trying to make me jealous, but instead, I just feel like laughing.
After a few minutes of friendly conversation while he glowers at us, he gives her a tight smile. “You want to keep skating, babe?”
She nods and smiles up at him, and without another glance at me, he pulls her away. She waves goodbye over her shoulder.
I wave after them, feeling tired of this game we’re playing. When I think about what Connor did, I don’t feel angry anymore. I want to move on.
Rory comes to a stop beside me, watching after Connor and Sam. “What the fuck was that?”
“He brought a girl. She’s nice, actually.” I slip my hand into his, and he looks down at me, expression clearing. “I don’t care about them,” I tell him, giving him a soft smile.
Memories of last night flash into my head, me sitting on his lap while his fingers curled inside me with that clouded, intense expression. My eyebrow arches as I give him a cool, flirty smile.
His gaze sharpens and he lifts his brows in interest.
“What are you doing tonight?” I ask lightly, still smiling.
“You.” He winks, and I burst out laughing.
“Good.” Finally.
A gaggle of kids shuffle up to us, interrupting. “Can you teach me how to skate backward?” one kid asks Rory.
Rory leans down, setting his hands on his knees. “I sure can.” He looks to a little girl standing beside the boy. “You want to learn, too?”
She points a chubby finger at me. “I want her to teach me.”
Rory winces. “She isn’t very good.”
My mouth falls open and I laugh. “Not very good? That’s only because I had a bad teacher.”
He grins.
“He’s always trying to hold my hand,” I tell the kids, wrinkling my nose.
“Ew,” the boy says, and the girl giggles.
Rory and I smile at each other, his eyes spilling over with light and affection.
“How about a friendly competition, Miller?”
Five minutes later, the orange cones are set up on the ice and players and parents line up behind us to take their turn racing through an obstacle course. Rory and his teammate, a boy with glasses and an adorable gap between his two front teeth, finish to a round of cheers.
I smile down at the little girl clutching my hand. “Ready?”
With her eager nod, we’re off, only skating as fast as she can while everyone cheers for us. I look over to Rory and stick my tongue out at him, and the kids laugh. We’re weaving through the cones, and she’s a little wobbly on her feet, so I skate backward, holding her hands the way Rory did for me the first time.
“Look at those moves, Hartley,” Rory calls. “You must’ve had an incredible teacher.”
I laugh, but as I grin back at him, something catches under my skate. One of the cones. I suck in a sharp gasp, stumbling and dropping the girl’s hands as my skate slips again.
I hit the ice, knocking the wind out of my lungs, and white-hot pain shoots through my ankle.
