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I didn’t get a chance to ask what he was talking about because he skated across the ice to the center. Atlas looked so fucking good dressed in jeans and a black sweater, and I couldn’t keep my eyes off him as he turned to face me.
“Ready for this?” he called over. “If you get turned on, it isn’t my fault.”
I rolled my eyes. “Whatever,At Last.”
He laughed and began to skate. His movements started off tight, but then he began to loosen his muscles as he glided backward. He twirled before he went into a sit spin. Hell, how was he even doing that in hockey skates? He crouched close to the ice and held a leg out parallel while he rotated on his other leg. His execution was terrible, and he nearly landed on his ass at one point, but I clapped and hooted for him anyway. The skates on his feet weren’t created for jumps because they were too big and stiff. The blade was all wrong, too, so I was impressed with his commitment.
He bowed when he rose again and continued, this time doing a toe loop jump with better precision than I would’ve thought possible. His blades slid across the ice backward before he went up into the air, and while he didn’t have the finesse of a figure skater, he wasn’t bad for a hockey player. He finished off his exhibition with a scratch spin, which involved him pulling his arms tightly into his body and rotating at a semifast speed. Professionals went a lot faster, but for a beginner, he was pretty good.
I clapped loudly when he finished, then dipped low in a bow. Laughing, I shook my head as he glided over to me.
“Did you practice just for me?” I stood, using one of my crutches to walk over to the boards where he was leaning his elbows on the top. His chest heaved and a flush spread across his cheeks. “Are you exhausted already?”
“Those tricks take more energy than I expected, and these blades are shit for that dancing crap,” he said with a laugh. Sweat soaked his dark hair, and I reached up to swipe the wet locks from his forehead. He leaned in, and I laid a kiss on his mouth. The saltiness of his sweat lingered on my tongue, and I was addicted. I couldn’t get enough of him. I wanted everything he had to offer and more. The fact that he’d learned figure skating tricks had my heart pumping harder.
I grinned at him when we pulled apart. “You were okay.”
“Fuck you, Birdy. I was fucking awesome.”
I laughed and shook my head. “I enjoyed the show.”
“Better.”
He maneuvered through the door in the boards and sat down beside me so he could take off his skates.
I sighed, staring out at the oval rink, a yearning digging itself deep into my soul. It had already been too long since I’d been out on the ice, and without it, the familiar stirrings of unease settled inside me. The last time I’d felt this way, Dad had left us, and I’d lost myself and my passion for figure skating. Yet, I couldn’t imagine who I would be without hockey. My obsession with the game had a stronger hold on me than figure skating ever did.
I could never explain it.
“Hey, are you okay?” He nudged my shoulder, and I broke out of my thoughts, giving him a tight-lipped smile.
“Yeah, I’m good,” I said.
Atlas didn’t look like he believed me, but he didn’t argue. He cupped my face and leaned in, brushing the tip of his nose against mine. The action was unusually sweet, and if my heart clenched at the romantic gesture, I wouldn’t admit it. But he’d said he loved me last night, hadn’t he?Fuck.
“I’m gonna take a quick shower in the locker room, and then we’ll head out? We’ve got somewhere else to be.” His breath tickled my mouth, and I closed my eyes, leaning a little closer.
His words hit me after a few short seconds, and I frowned, opening my eyes again. “Do you have this entire day planned for us or something?”
“Or something.” He winked, and then he was gone, leaving me to stare out at the rink while he showered.
When he was done, he came to get me, and we walked slowly back down the hallway. He locked the door on the way out and guided me toward the SUV again. Once he helped me up into the passenger seat, he rushed around to the driver’s side and got into the cab.
I stared at him, appreciating the angular lines of his jaw and cheekbone and the curve of his ear. He had a small pale scar at the side of his cheek, close to one of his sideburns, and I hadn’t realized until now. I’d never allowed myself to justlookat him without a sense of awkwardness consuming me, and I enjoyed taking my time to appreciate everything about his face, including the blemishes.
“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”
He shot me another grin. “Nope.”
“Asshole.”
Laughter spilled from his lips. “Yep.”
I leaned back against the seat and glanced down at my leg. In jeans, it was difficult to tell anything was wrong. My immobilizer was strapped tightly against my knee under the material, and while I appreciated the normalcy, the pressure against my skin was a heavy reminder of what had happened. The low throbbing pain was another.
About ten minutes into the drive, he pulled into a parking lot that belonged to an Italian restaurant. The oval stained glass window on the front glittered in the sunlight, a contrast to the white cinderblocks that made up the walls. On the side of the buildingManzi’swas written in swirly black letters on a red sign.
“Food? You know the way to my heart.”
