Page 116 of Top Shelf

Her gaze remains on mine, and for a moment there’s no arena or contract, no summer waiting with a deadline hidden inside it. Only Heidi with my ring on her finger, looking at me like she understands exactly what we’re talking about, and me standing here, useless with the need to give her everything she asks for.

Blue eyes trail my face with a soft smile before darting back down to the stick, and I guide her through the first shot. The puck lifts a little, hits the goalie pad someone left leaning beside the net, and drops.

“That was basically professional,” she says.

“It was a shot.”

“A top shelf shot?”

“No.”

“A middle shelf shot?”

“It was floor.”

“Rude.”

We do it again. And again. Each time, I remove a little more of my help. She mutters at the puck and the ice, argues with her own elbows, and accuses physics of having a personal vendetta. I correct her hands, and her hips, the angle of her blade. She learns fast, even when she pretends she’s suffering for drama.

On the seventh try, she drags the puck back, shifts her weight, and snaps the shot clean. It rises and kisses the upper right corner of the net before dropping inside with a satisfying clink.

She freezes with a gasp. Then she screams. I start laughing before I can stop myself, and Heidi throws both arms around my neck and nearly takes us down, but I catch her around the waist.

“Did you see that?” Her voice is loud next to my ear.

“I was here, wasn’t I?”

“Top shelf, baby!”

“It was top shelf,” I agree.

“I’m amazing.”

“You are also very loud.”

“And very gifted.”

“Mm, you are this too.”

She pulls back just enough to look at me, breathless and shining, her cheeks flushed from the cold. The overhead lights catch the blue in her eyes, and she holds my shoulders tight as the rink blurs around us. Another piece inside me slowly moves toward her, the same way they have been moving for weeks. Months, even. Long before she ever sat on my bike.

My eyes dart to where her lips curve, and I kiss them before either of us can pretend I shouldn’t. Her hands tighten at my neck, and the sound she makes is small and pleased and far too private for center ice. I keep it gentle because there are staff somewhere in the building, because cameras have been pointed at us all afternoon, because wanting Heidi is easy, but keeping her safe from the vultures takes care.

“Was that kiss for the shot?” she asks when I lift my mouth from hers.

“Yes.”

“Very generous coaching style.”

Heidi’s hands slip from my neck, but she stays close, skates braced between mine, breath warming the cold air between us. Down the tunnel, someone laughs. A door opens, then shuts. The spell between us thins, but it does not break.

Above us, the banners still hang, and around us, the ice waits to melt. Ahead of us, Sweden waits for Midsummer, and my family, and a house I’ve been fighting to keep long before I realized what I wanted to bring home to it.

Heidi squeezes my hand, and I look down at her.

“You want to go again?” I ask.

Her smile stretches wide. “Obviously.”