I turn the water off and wrap myself in a towel, forgetting momentarily that Rhodes was not gone for good, just gone to get coffee.
“Iced Americano, with vanilla and oat milk,” he calls from the kitchen. I assume he heard the bathroom door open. My damp feet pad against the hallway. Rhodes has his laptop open. He’s changed somehow, and he smells delicious, something masculine like cologne or aftershave. He glances up and smirks, unashamedlyraking his gaze down my damp and towel-clad body. His eyes are dark, slow-moving—remembering. He whistles low.
“I think we still have time for round two, Abrams. Wanna go again before we have to get on the ice?”
“Head out of the gutter, McKnight,” I mutter without conviction, snatching my coffee from his outstretched hand.
“Whatever you say, sweetheart,” he says, eyes returning to his computer. I peek over his shoulder to see what he’s working on. Clinic notes fill the screen. Hockey drills, skating techniques—the sister version to my figure-skating notes.
“Are we starting them out together on the ice?” I ask, needing something else to focus on.
Rhodes nods. “Yeah, I think we’ll get them all in their skates, running some generic drills back and forth until they’re feeling comfortable. Then maybe we split them up and work on our own stuff for a while. Bring them back together at the end.”
I nod in agreement. “Yeah. That sounds good.” I take a sip of my drink, feeling life return to me as the caffeine floods my system. I glance at the stove clock. Six-forty.
Shit. Okay, time to start moving. I head to my room to get dressed, way too aware of Rhodes making himself right at home in my apartment.
Once I’m dressed, I grab my computer, keys and phone, and tug on my shoes. My skate bag is by the door, and Rhodes swings it over his shoulder easily.
“Don’t you have to grab your stuff?” I ask. “You’re going to be late.”
Rhodes just shakes his head. “Last night’s Rhodes was an optimist. I packed my bag already. It’s in the car.”
I gasp and shove his arm. “Rhodes McKnight, what kind of girl do you think I am?”
He holds the passenger door open, and mutters something barely intelligible under his breath that sounds a lot likemine.
I hesitate. Arriving together at the rink will make a statement. Do I care anymore?
“Yeah, all right,” I grumble, sliding into the Land Rover. He gives me a satisfied smirk and shuts the door. Apparently, I do not.
I don’t have time to worry about the implications of this ten-minute ride, because Rhodes cranks up his pre-game playlist and tells me to get in the zone.
When we pull up to the rink, my brain is in go-mode. Rhodes hops out, opens my door for me, and grabs both our bags. I move to take mine, but he hoists it over his shoulder and out of my reach.
How is he not attached to someone already? Hockey captain Rhodes McKnight is perfect boyfriend material. Notmyboyfriend material, obviously. But someone’s.
I follow him into the rink and find Elsie, who’s busy setting up name tags and sign-in sheets at the front of the building.
“Seven-oh-three, you two,” she says, not looking up from her task. “I distinctly remember saying seven.”
“You’re absolutely right, Els,” Rhodes says, laying the charm on thick. “Won’t happen again.” He winks at me before grabbing chairs and setting them up for the volunteers. I watch his arm flex as he takes them three at a time, and I shake my head.
We spend the next half-hour in comfortable silence as the three of us putter around, making sure everything is ready for twenty-four hopeful skaters to walk through the door at eight a.m.
“Monroe,” Elsie calls as I’m picking up my bag to put my skates on, and I pause. She walks up to me and stands there, arms crossed, brows pinched together. “I know we threw you head-first into the deep end with this. But your dad and I? We knew you weren’t going to drown. Never doubted it for a minute. I’m glad your life preserver over there,” she tosses a thumb back toward Rhodes, “helped you figure out how to swim.”
“Oh, we’re not—” I start, but Elsie stops me.
“Doesn’t matter. I’m proud of you, kid. Knock ’em dead today,” she says gruffly. She pats me on the shoulder, then walks off, shaking her head.
“You ready to roll, sweetheart?” Rhodes says into my ear, slinging an arm around my shoulders with a grin. I roll my eyes and shrug him off. Neither my head nor my heart really knows what to make of the last few weeks and I can feel myself already putting space between us.
“I’m going to put on my skates,” I say, walking away without making eye contact. “See you on the ice, McKnight.”
Rhodes tracks me as I walk away, and I can feel his gaze hot on the back of my neck.
A flurry of little kid noise reaches the rink as little girls and boys come in from the locker room, skates laced up and ready to go. Rhodes and I have a pretty even spread of boys and girls between the two of us, and I love to see it. It used to be pretty divided, girls in figure skating and boys in hockey, but over the last few years we’ve seen a much better mix between the two.