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“I’m teaching you,” he says.
A thrill shimmers up my spine at the thought. But I can’t ask him to do that. “You don’t have to?—”
Hudson swiftly cuts me off. “Of course I do. A hockey girlfriend who doesn’t know how to ice skate? If I didn’t teach you, I’d instantly be branded the worst boyfriend on the planet. You don’t want that, do you?”
The way he smiles at me makes it impossible for me not to do the same. “Well, if everyone knew I had the worst boyfriend on the planet, Sean might think he had an opening.”
“Exactly. What are you doing this weekend?”
“Nothing much.”
Hudson’s blue eyes sparkle like sunlight glittering on the surface of a frozen lake. “Correction, then: this weekend, you’re learning to skate.”
Two things occur to me at once: I’m really looking forward to Hudson teaching me how to skate; and this whole time we’ve been picnicking here, I never even bothered to look for Sean to make sure he saw us.
23
SUMMER
“Oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh …”
I’m battling for my life over here and Hudson is behind me laughing.
“You’re doing fine, Summer,” he says, his voice calm and soothing. At least it’s meant to be, but my heart is still galloping. I feel like I’m being tossed back and forth in a boat on choppy waters.
My knees are bent to bring me closer to the ground, but I still feel totally off kilter. I have my arms fully extended at either side, and with each miniscule shift I feel underneath my skates I’m flapping them like a bird to stabilize my balance.
Suddenly, my left skate seems to develop a mind of its own, sliding on the ice and changing my trajectory. I let out a yelp of alarm as I start to glide towards the center of the ice: the giant, yawning, terrifying center, so far away from the safety of the dasher boards.
“Hudson! Help!”
The jackass laughs again.
“Straighten your knees a little,” he coaches, “push forward lightly off your left skate and …”
“Straighten my knees!?” I gasp. “I’ll fall! I’ll die!”
I’m used to walking on solid ground like a normal freaking person. Who in the world ever came up with this idea of sliding around a frictionless, freezing surface on razor-thin steel blades? I’m not a circus performer!
Have I mentioned that I’ve never been a great athlete and that I sometimes freak out a little when I don’t feel totally in control of my body?
I get like this about heights, too. I’m sure if I told Hudson that right now, he’d recommend we go rock climbing so he can laugh at me some more.
“You won’t fall, and you certainly won’t die, Summer.” Hudson’s tone carries all the patience in the world, but there’s no mistaking the sliver of amusement laced through it.
“I will fall, and I will die,” I insist, knowing full well I sound stubborn and bratty.
My concern about falling and dying evaporates in an instant when I feel the steady pressure of Hudson’s hands gripping my sides.
“Straighten your legs,” he says, his command firm but calming.
I wonder if he’d be firm in his commands of what I should do with my legs in certain off-the-ice scenarios …
My stomach flips, and for once today that motion has absolutely nothing to do with thinking I’m a millisecond away from slipping and cracking my head on the ice.
I do as he says, feeling more comfortable now that his hands hold me safely in place. I know that even if the ice suddenly fell out from under my blades, Hudson would wrap me up in his arms effortlessly to keep me safe.
“Lower your arms, too,” he coaxes.
