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When I heard about this, and found out that one of the volunteering opportunities was giving ice hockey lessons at a local community rink, I jumped on it. Shane, our new goalie who just transferred in to replace Cole who graduated last year, did the same.
Shane explains the deal to Phoebe.
“So, what areyoudoing trespassing atourrink?” I ask Phoebe.
“It was my rink first. I volunteer here, too.”
My brow arches. “So, we’re co-workers then.”
“Let’s not say it out loud, Hunter. It’s too early in the morning for me to throw up.”
“Oh, you’re all here!” The group turns around to the source of the greeting behind us. A middle-aged woman is walking up the hallway from the entrance. She’s short and thin but her body language is vivacious, and a wide smile beams from her face. “I’m Audrey. You must be the Ridley boys here to volunteer.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I say.
“Ma’am, ha!” She throws back her head and laughs, a booming sound full of personality. “Please, call me Audrey. I don’t need to feel any older than this hip of mine already makes me feel. That’s what too many Triple Lutzes will do to you, I guess.
“You got it, Audrey,” Shane says with a grin.
The rest of the guys we’re with aren’t from the hockey team, just regular students, and from what I can tell none of them have much experience on the ice. They just chose this placement as one of their classes this semester because it sounded fun and easy.
So, I imagine Shane and I are going to take the lead when it actually comes to teaching these kids anything about skating or hockey.
I wonder how involved Phoebe’s going to be in what we’re doing …
“Well, let’s get started!” Audrey cuts off that train of thought with an energetic clap of her hands. She sure seems like she has the right personality to be corralling a bunch of rambunctious kids for ice skating lessons. “Follow me.”
“See you soon,” I say to Phoebe as I turn to follow Audrey with the rest of the group.
“Please, Hunter, no threats.”
A chuckle rumbles silently in my chest as I leave her behind.
We walk to a meeting-style room past the end of the rink.
There’s a window on the wall that looks out onto the rink, and even though I’m trying to pay attention as Audrey launches into a more detailed explanation of what we’ll be doing this semester, I can’t help but let my attention be pulled away by the sight of Phoebe skating.
When she was standing on the other side of the dasher board, I only saw her from the torso up. But now that she’s skating in the middle of the rink, I get a full view of the tight yoga pants she’s wearing that are glued to her long, shapely legs.
She makes a turn, and my eyes lock to her breathtaking, heart-shaped ass. It’s so perky and looks so fucking soft.
I’ve spent a big chunk of my life thinking about touching it, but it’s never happened. If Phoebe were any other girl looking the way she does, I’d have touched it and everywhere else on her body.
But she isn’t any other girl. She’s Phoebe Sinclair.
When I realize my cock’s so hard from looking at her that it’s straining against my jeans, I rip my gaze away, back to where it belongs, at the front of the room. Some blood flow goes back to my brain as I try to focus on the orientation.
Audrey dismisses us and lets us know that our first session teaching the kids will be next week. We’ll have different shifts every week that will work around our class schedule and be posted a week in advance, just like at a part-time job.
On the way out, my neck is a swivel, eyes locked on Phoebe skating while I walk with the group.
I remember being absolutely, downright mesmerized that first afternoon we met, when I saw her skating on that small rink in our hometown.
Her skating now is on a different level. On a different level from anything I’ve ever seen. She’s not doing anything fancy, just gliding around the ice, but every movement has such a grace and finesse, it’s hard to believe.
It’s like how a genius artist can add a couple brushstrokes of paint to a canvass, and it defies belief how those simple motions, that you’d think anyone should be able to do, produce something breathtaking, something unmatchable.
Phoebe’s the same way on the ice. Anyone can lace up a pair of skates and push themselves forward on the ice. But Phoebe makes every slice of her blade, every skillful turn of her body, look like an artwork.
