TWO WEEKS LATER
IT SUCKS that the Blue Demons didn’t even make it into the playoffs and, despite the bad juju, I have to grin when I watch Liam slide yet another puck into the back of the net.
There’s an advantage to my figure-skating coach being late—I got to read some Omegaverse RH until the puck dropped, then I started watching my bro in action.
Speaking of, I cheer to the empty rink when he scores.
My celebration is between me, the ice, and my Kindle, which I bring everywhere with me.
When a notification slides into my DMs, informing me my coach has shown up at long last and has just parked outside the rink, I switch from watching the game stream to my message app. Sending her a thumbs-up, I move over to Hooked-Up when I see a chick swiped right on me.
My nose crinkles when I study her profile.
I’ve got nothing against hot blondes, but I definitely prefer brunettes.
Checking out the next profile, I see a hottie from Midtown. One of her pictures shows her working—her uniform has Chuck’s embroidered on her tit, another has her hugging a cat. That’s good. I don’t hate cats.
As I swipe right, a second later, a notification dings around the rink, echoing and making me jump in surprise.
That’s when I realize I’m not alone anymore.
I look up, on the hunt for my figure-skating coach who’s the only person allowed access during this private session, and my eyes widen as recognition hits.
The chick I just swiped right on is the one skating toward me…
My grin makes an appearance as I straighten up and head onto the ice.
This whole session was born of watching Lewis, one of the first-string right wingers who plays for the Stars, spin pirouettes on the ice. While other morons were giving him shit, well, until Liam called them out for it, I was watching his landing and takeoff.
Poetry. In. Motion.
Ballet isn’t my thing, but figure skating could be.
And now that I’ve seen my coach, hell, I’m more invested in my classes than ever because not only is she hotter than she looked on her profile, that ass of hers?
Fuck. My. Life.
She’s even a brunette.
Of course, I’m too busy checking her out to see the writing on the wall because Mia Charles, of Hooked-Up fame as well as a talented figure skating coach who’s supposed to be helping me with my edge work, skitters to a halt right in the center of the ice and bursts into tears before I even get the chance to ask, “How you doin’?”
