Victor (Chicago Blaze 3)

I’m the worst ice skater ever. As I try to propel myself forward, I have to clutch Victor’s arms while he skates backwards just to remain upright. But once we get into a rhythm, it’s nice. Fun, even.

Our blades cut smooth paths over the ice, our breath making clouds in the frosty air. We’re on the edge of a city where millions of people are laughing, working and sleeping, but I feel like we’re the only two people in the world.

“Your cheeks are rosy,” Victor says as he leads me into a turn on the ice. “You know what that does to me.”

I smile, every butterfly in my stomach taking flight at once. Victor slows to a stop, pulling me into his arms. My feet slide as I let go of him, and a little cry of worry breaks free as I yelp.

“I won’t let you fall,” he says lightly.

I want to tell him it’s too late for that. I fell a long time ago, first for the man I dreamed he was, and later for the man he is. And just like standing so precariously on a sheet of ice while balanced on twin blades, it’s scary as hell. I could wipe out at any second, and it would hurt.

All those fears disappear when he kisses me, though. He holds me close, the air cold and my body warm as our mouths meet again and again. He kisses my lips, my throat, my cheeks and my earlobes.

We make out in the center of the rink for a while and I never want it to end. Eventually, though, my toes get numb and my nose starts running.

“When can we go out again?” he asks as we leave the rink, his arm around my waist to support me.

“Anytime. I mean, as long as I don’t have to work.”

“I’ve got a game tomorrow night and the next.”

“I have to work the next three nights.”

“Damn. I’m on the road the night after that.”

“So then…Sunday night?”

“Sunday night.”

We change out of our skates, turn the lights off and leave the rink. On the drive back to my house, we talk about Victor’s upcoming games. He’s been playing solid, but he still worries he could start to slip again. I tell him that’s pretty much the way everyone feels about the things and people that mean the most to us.

Once we get home, he parks in front of my house and walks me to the front porch.

“I had the best time,” he says. “I hope you did, too.”

“I did.” I smile up at him. “Thanks again for the coat. And for dinner. For everything.”

“You’re welcome. I can’t wait to see you again.”

His kiss this time is soft and sweet, without the urgency I felt back at the rink. But I can feel from the press of his body against mine that he’s plenty turned on by it.

I’m on Cloud Ten Thousand as I walk into the house, resisting the urge to wave at him through the curtains. God, am I happy.

A lamp is switched on in the living room corner and Don says, “How was your date?”

I look around the living room to see that Dad is nearly asleep on the couch and Chuck is snoring in the recliner. There are empty beer cans all over the place. Don is looking at me like a detective in an interrogation room.

“Unbelievable,” I mutter. “I’m twenty-three years old. You guys don’t need to check up on me.”

“How was it, though?” Dad asks, his voice groggy.

“It was good. Really good.”

“Did he get handsy?” Don asks.

I shake my head. “I’m going to bed. Goodnight.”

It’s aggravating, having my dad and his buddies waiting for me after a date. But also, kind of nice. They’re like three overprotective bears, ready and willing to claw off the face of anyone who wrongs me.

I text Ari quickly, then turn off my phone and fall onto my bed on my back, grinning as I look over at the spot Victor’s poster used to hang.

The fantasy was nice, but the reality? It’s so crazy good I can’t even believe it.Chapter Twenty-TwoVictorThe night I’ve been waiting for is here, and now I’m not sure I’m ready.

I’ve just been going through the motions for the past few days, eating, sleeping, playing hockey—biding my time until my second date with Lindy.

I asked her to hang out at my place tonight, because I have to tell her about Bryan. It’s been hanging over my head since I first realized how into her I am.

For once, I’m going to do this right. I’m gonna man up and tell her about the ugliness inside me. That’s what you’re supposed to do in a good relationship. But fuck, I’m terrified.

Just facing the memories as I try to figure out how to tell her has made me physically ill today. I’d give anything to cut this part of me out like the cancer it is, to be rid of it forever, but I can’t.