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She moved closer and held out her hands. This was probably a mistake. “If you pull me down with you I’ll hurt you more than the fall will.”
He hesitated, gave her another head to toe with those know-it-all dark eyes, making her feel self conscious in her shortie hip hugging cut-offs and the skimpy singlet that didn’t meet the waistband of the denim.
“Got it.” He took her hands, but didn’t grab them like a lifeline. He eased his big paws over hers and she knew he’d let go as easily as he held on.
“Keep your knees relaxed. The more bent the better.”
“The lower my centre of gravity, the better.”
“Right. I want to see you go down on one knee.”
He laughed. “So soon?”
She snatched her hands back and he let one go, but gripped the other. She glared at him, but he wasn’t cowered, his eat shit grin stayed in place. “Moron, it’s the safest way to fall. Do it.”
He bent his right leg till his knee touched the track. Then he stood, rock solid, not a wobble. That was his surfing skill coming to the party. “When you feel like you’re going to fall, lean forward, keep your arms tight to your body and go down on your knees.”
“Got it.”
“We’re going to move now. Keep your feet wide, keep your weight forward.” Bree slid back as she said that and Ant leaned forward and slid a foot out to the side, then another until they were moving slowly together. His balance was good, but his eyes were down on his skates. “Look at me not the floor.” His head came up and his eyes arrowed to hers. She felt the intensity of the look all the way to her wheels. She had to cough first to get her throat to work. “Don’t look at me like that.”
He grinned. “Like what? Like you’re the only thing holding me upright?”
“Like the cat that got the cream.”
His grin got more shit eating, if that was possible. “That’d be you not me, Kitty.”
“Shut up and concentrate.”
“On you, no problem.”
“On what you’re doing, dickwad. I’m taking my hand away.” She pulled her hand and he let go. They kept moving, Bree going backwards so she could watch him. “Stay low. Keep your knees bent. Eyes up, watch where you’re going.”
He nodded and did as she said. He was doing well, all those hours on a skateboard and a surf board embedded in his muscle memory for balance. She skated over to the DJs turntable and stuck one of the bout half time recordings on. A compilation of classic hits with rhythmic beats. The familiar riff of AC/DC’s Thunderstruck started up. She watched as Ant hit the tracks curved corner and stumbled, his head going down, his arms shooting out for balance like he was on a wave.
“Forward and tuck,” she shouted, skating across to him.
He tucked immediately, but his body weight pulled him forward and he went down on both knees. She glided to a stop in front of him. He sat on his heels. His eyes were down, he was breathing heavily, and a trickle of sweat dribbled from his hairline towards his brow. “Okay, up you get. You’re doing well.”
He lifted his head slowly and Bree felt all the muscles in her legs tighten as his eyes worked their way up her body. “You needn’t bother.”
“I like looking at you.”
“It’s waste of your time.”
“I don’t think so.”
She shook her head. “So damn sure of yourself. Why are you here?”
“You don’t prefer girls do you?”
“What does it matter?”
He brought one foot up and rested. “It doesn’t. I want to be around you anyway.”
AC/DC bled into Queen’s Another One Bites The Dust. She should’ve helped him up. But surely he didn’t mean that. She skated a few steps away from him. He pushed up to stand, knees bent, his hands on his thighs and weight forward. He looked for her, then straightened further and pushed off. He was a moving a little too fast, she shifted to get out of his path, but he reached out with one too long, muscular arm, grabbed her and slammed into her, nearly lifting her off her feet, miraculously not taking them both down.
