I consider slinking down to the floor and crawling out of here, though I still might not escape his attention once I reach the stairs, which are out in the open.
If I don’t move, he may not see me. I swallow carefully and slowly ease my phone out of my pocket, powering it down to avoid any notifications drawing his attention.
Victor skates over to a small silver bucket, which looks like it’s filled with pucks. I didn’t see it on the ice before. Now that I’m looking, though, I see that the ice is carved up with curved skate blade lines. He’s been in here practicing by himself.
My heart melts. In regular clothes, skating around the perimeter of the rink with a focused expression, Victor looks…mortal. There’s an air of vulnerability in the way he hangs his head that I feel like I’m not supposed to be seeing.
But there’s no way I could leave now. I’m mesmerized, getting a private show from my favorite player.
He’s out here after hours because he knows his position on the first line is in jeopardy. I’ve heard the talk. My dad and I had a heated discussion about it as we watched the last preseason game on TV. He says Victor’s gotten lazy; I say everyone has ups and downs. I’ll admit he’s been sluggish, but he’s proven himself to this team time and time again.
I can’t look away; he’s a perfect mix of polish and power. The way his legs push forward, propelling him around the rink so smoothly and quickly, it’s obvious he’s been skating his whole life.
Victor is one of the better skaters on the team; I’m not sure why he’s drilling on this. Maybe he’s just out here for fun, enjoying a chance to have the rink to himself.
At 1:00 a.m., though? When rumors about Easy getting his first line position are swirling around the NHL blogs?
A few droplets of sweat fly from his hair onto the ice behind him. He’s working hard, and the team has a home game tomorrow. There’ll probably be a pregame skate during the late morning.
He glides to a stop near the goal and disconnects it from the ice. I think he may be done for the night. This could be my only chance to sneak out of here unnoticed; he’ll have to skate right past where I’m sitting to leave.
But before I can make up my mind, he’s sliding the goal across the ice with one hand and carrying the bucket of pucks with the other. As he skates over to the bench, he leaves the goal on the ice and carries the bucket with him, closing in on where I’m sitting.
I will myself to be invisible as he glances up, doing a double take when he sees me. His brow furrows slightly.
“How’d you get in here?” he asks, sounding more amused than annoyed.
“I…uh…”
Come on, Lindy. Don’t be an idiot.
Wrapping my arms around myself, I manage to say, “Work. I work here.”
I smile nervously. Victor swings one leg over the wall and then the other, sets down the bucket, and then hefts his body over the wall separating me from the bench.
When he sits down next to me, my heart pounds in a panicked rhythm and I get lightheaded.
“You work here, huh?” He eyes my casual outfit.
“Oh, uh…” My laugh is cringeworthy. “I, yeah, I do.”
I flash my Carson Center badge on the lanyard around my neck.
“Belinda,” he reads out loud.
“Lindy. I’m Lindy.”
Oh God. Please stop talking before you humiliate yourself, Lindy.
“I’m Victor.” He holds out his hand to shake mine.
I couldn’t stop it if I tried. My mouth just drops open. I’m suddenly sweating hard. Never did I imagine sitting here next to Victor Lane with his attention focused on me. I don’t know if I can shake his hand without fainting.
I can’t just leave him with his hand out like that, though, so I regain most of my composure and try. It’s quick handshake, so he hopefully won’t notice my shaking hand.
“Nice to meet you,” he says. “How long were you watching me?”
Well, for about four years, if I’m being honest…
“Oh, not long. Just since you came back in and skated laps. I’m from the Concessions Department, and I’m sanitizing machines tonight, but one of the areas isn’t closed down yet, so…” I halfheartedly gesture at the tunnel I walked into the arena through.
Stop talking, Lindy.
Victor nods and smiles, his eyes bright. “If you watched me shooting, I thought you might have some advice for me.”
“Me?” I squeak.
He shrugs. “Just kidding. I’m in here trying to figure out what I’m missing lately.”
“Well…you don’t need to drill on skating. You’re still one of the fastest, when you want to be.”
He turns his body to face me, widening his eyes. “When I want to be?”