Page 15 of 10 Things I Skate About You

8

ADAM

“Cabernet Sauvignon from the Stumbling Bear Estate in Oliver, BC,” Bucky, the host, says as he pours a glass for Red. “One of the most respected wines in our province, it pairs beautifully with steak…”

“I know this wine,” Kate says quietly, almost like she’s admitting defeat. “I love this wine.”

This is already the best eighty-five bucks I’ve ever spent.

I raise my glass to her. “To bears who stumble and the movement coaches who teach them how to improve their hip stability.”

“I’ll drink to that,” she says, smirking. And she clinks glasses with me. Over the rim of my glass, I watch her savor the wine I special ordered for us. Her eyelids flutter. Those ice-blue eyes that usually roll around in annoyance are rolling to the back of her head like she’s in ecstasy.

Honey, if my choice of wine is doing it for you, I’m not sure you can handle what else is coming your way…

She catches me staring, and there’s that other kind of eye roll. That was the eye-roll equivalent of a double axel in figureskating. I feel honored that I got to see both variations. I bet I’m the only guy who has.

She goes back to drinking the wine.

Kate is, if I’m being honest, always pretty—even when she’s scowling at me or ranting about me on her podcast. But tonight she’s just…stunning. Not like she’s trying hard or anything—those boots are doing a lot of heavy lifting and that tight dress isn’t fancy, it’s just…hot. Because her body’s hot. Womanly. Athletic. Strong. Graceful. Like she could strangle you with her thighs while wearing a tutu. Her long hair is down tonight, which is rare, and it makes her look wild. Like some mythical Irish she-beast who kills you with her screams while fucking you senseless. She’s wearing makeup on her pale skin, so I can’t see her freckles in this dim lighting, but I know they’re there.

She’s just glowing. And I don’t even care that she sees me staring. I want her to feel good.

Because I want that new team logo.

She leans in across our small table, ever so slightly. She probably doesn’t even realize she’s doing it. “So, why is the host your buddy? Why do they accommodate you when you have wine and flower arrangements sent here? Do you bring dates here often or something?” she asks, trying her Kate Pogue best to seem nonchalant. As if she didn’t give a shit whether I’ve brought other dates here or not.As if she isn’t swooning because of the heady fragrance of the flowers I ordered for her. As if she isn’t showing her hand by asking.

I see you, Red. I wish I didn’t, but you are all I see when I close my eyes. And not just in my nightmares either.

“I was a busboy here in high school,” I tell her.

“You were? I thought you worked with your billet dad.” She seems genuinely skeptical. Like it couldn’t possibly be true if she didn’t know this.

“I was his apprentice when I turned seventeen, yeah. But I bussed tables here in the summers part-time.” Grinning, I add, “That’s why I know all the good private spots to make out in around here. Did this not come up when you did a deep dive into me, Red? Pretty basic stuff.”

“I have never and will never do a deep dive into you, Foley.”

“Right. You just say stuff that isn’t true on your podcast.”

Her eyes are ablaze, but I watch her face as she catches herself before snapping at me. She tosses her head back, forcing a laugh that comes out as cackle and then says through a brilliant smile, “I have never said anything that isn’t true—I merely call it as I see it!”

I lean in across the table. She leans in again. Our knees are touching under the table. We’re facing off. She thinks she knows the game we’re playing, but she has no idea what she’s up against tonight. “Wouldn’t you like to take this opportunity to ask me a few questions and get some real answers? Straight from the source? Since y’all have never invited me on your podcast.”

Her brow furrows. “Did you want to come on the podcast?”

“Is that one of the questions you want a real answer to?”

“No.” She studies my face, and I’m pretty sure what she finds is that I’m not fucking with her. She sighs, not in defeat so much as she’s surrendering. “Okay. We’ll take a time-out and talk for real for five minutes.”

“You’ll want more than that, but don’t worry—I’ll give it to you.”

Her nostrils flare and she shakes her head a little. But she doesn’t roll her eyes at me.Baby steps, baby girl. Baby steps.“Okay,” she says. “Iamcurious as to why you came back to Kenton after your knee injury. Instead of your hometown.”

“You mean Fort Worth?” I take a sip of wine and settle back into my chair. “I haven’t thought of Fort Worth as my hometownin a long time. I was born there. I lived there for fifteen years. My blood family’s there. But Kenton is my hometown.”

“Didn’t you work on your family’s horse ranch before you moved here for the Comets?” So hesitant the way she’s asking. Like she knows this is a touchy subject for me, but she’s leading with it anyway. I respect that.

“I did. When I turned nine I started playing elite youth hockey in Dallas. So our housekeeper, Carmen, drove me to Fort Worth four mornings a week before school for practice. And on weekends my uncle who lived in Fort Worth would pick me up and drive me to games. My parents were too busy running the ranch. But after school I was a ranch hand.”