Page 65 of With the Assist

“We’d only just agreed to do this.”

He glances up at me. “Yeah. I thought ice skating would be a good fake date sometime, given what I do.”

“There’s no one here.” I gesture vaguely to the empty arena around us. “It doesn’t count as a fake date.”

“Caught red-handed.” He shrugs.

I narrow my eyes.

His smile is unbothered. “We’re just friends. Friends can skate.”

“I’m not going out there.” I point to the ice as if it’s insulted me.

“Oh, come on, Miller. You run circles around me regularly. It’s my turn.”

“You asked me to train with you. It’s not my fault you’re slow.” I unlace my shoes, realizing that I’ve started a competition I won’t back down from.

He scoffs. “You think I’m slow?”

“On your feet?” I glance up, sliding the skates onto my feet. “You’re the one who said I run circles around you, not me.”

The skates fit. Of course they do. Nathan pays attention more than anyone gives him credit for.

He stands up, now multiple inches taller than normal with his skates on, towering over me.

“Out there, I’m the fastest there is.” He points to the rink, flashing a cocky smile and determined eyes. That look, the one that says he’s the best and knows it. That’s the Nathan that Boston sees. The onewho might only actually feel that way on the ice. The one who doesn’t seem to truly feel that confident at all anymore.

Something about his competitiveness has me spurring him on. “That’s only because I haven’t had a chance to kick your ass out there yet, too.”

I pull the laces tight and stand up. Even standing, I’m forced to look up to him.

Before stepping toward the ice, I test my balance on the rubber mat. Nathan is completely at ease, like the blades are extensions of his body. Leaning forward, I reach out as if I might grab his hand, but instead, I push open the door and skate past him onto the ice.

Only once I reach the middle do I turn back to face him. He hasn’t moved, still standing at the bench, but his arrogant grin is replaced with something far more dangerous. It's the same look he had after we kissed. The look that’s been circling my mind for days. Warmth spreads low in my stomach as his eyes trail me.

I shouldn’t be here.

“What, Wilder? Afraid that you can’t keep up?” My voice echoes against the boards, spurring him into action as he steps onto the ice with a gracefulness I hadn’t expected.

I’m utterly unprepared for the image of Nathan Wilder gliding toward me as if skating were as easy as walking.

“You can skate.” His voice is low as he reaches me in the middle.

“You don’t grow up in Colorado and not know how to skate.” I glide backwards to create space.

The action breaks the tension that’s been building between us. Nathan’s easy smile returns as if it never left. I should feel relieved.

He pulls back, skating a slow circle around the ice, letting his hands hang loose at his sides.

I might know how to skate, but Nathan is another story. I can easily see why he’d fight to keep this. It’s a part of him.

“You move like the ice is your home.”

Nathan circles back toward me, skating backward like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “It’s more of a home than anything else I have.”

“What about your actual home?”

“My apartment is just a place to sleep.” He pauses as if he might stop there, but then continues, “I don’t go home to my parents’ house very often. We don’t really get along.”