Page 26 of In His Skates

She stops in her tracks, body rigid as a board. “Don’t ever mention my ex again. Are we clear?”

I keep walking. “Fine. As long as you don’t give me shit about my dating habits.”

She follows me. “On a scale of one to ten, how big of a dog are you?”

“I’m not answering that.”

“Ten, then.”

I stop next to my car and turn to her. “Why do you care? Are you jealous?”

She wrinkles her nose. “Jealous? Of you? Don’t make me laugh.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

I slide behind the steering wheel, then have to adjust the seat and the rearview mirror because of the height difference. Leigh remains quiet with her arms crossed, pouting like a spoiled child. Do I really look like that when I’m mad? I asked if she was jealous only to get a rise out of her. I didn’t truly believe she was, but now, I’m not so sure.

Get a hold of yourself, Keanu. Of course she isn’t jealous.

We don’t speak to each other for minutes. A sane person would enjoy the reprieve, but I realize I prefer the verbal sparring with her over the silence.

I see a sign for a drugstore and have an idea, so I turn on the blinker and pull into the parking lot. Leigh doesn’t seem to notice where we’re going until I park in front of the store.

“What are we doing here?”

“Getting insurance in case you’re a disaster on the ice.”

LEIGH

We’ve been practicing for thirty minutes, and it’s clear I can’t pretend to be Keanu. Even in his body, I can’t skate as fast as he wants me to, and I can’t handle the puck. My aim is abysmal. We are so fucked. If I don’t play well, I could get hurt, but Keanu’s career will go to shit.

“Come on, Leigh. Focus!” he yells when he passes the puck, but I can’t control it.

“I am focusing! I told you it’s been ages since I played hockey.”

From the corner of my eye, I notice movement. I turn and see that we’re no longer alone. Some of Keanu’s teammates have arrived, wearing their “Property of LA Royals” training jerseys—the same one Keanu made me wear. Shit. Time’s up.

“Yo, who’s your guest, Keanu?” one of the guys asks.

“Uh…”

Keanu removes his helmet and skates toward his teammate. “It’s me, Jack. I asked Keanu if I could watch his practice.”

Oh, that’s Jack Schaefer, the guy I met yesterday.

“Hi, there.” He smiles lazily. “If I’d known you’d be here, I’d have come earlier.”

Ha! I want to see how Keanu will react to being on the receiving end of his teammate’s flirtation.

But instead of being uncomfortable like I predicted, Keanu smiles coyly as he curls a strand of hair around his finger. “Oh… Jack.”

He’s flirting back! And badly to boot. I’d never act like that, even if I was interested.

While I’m staring at them, I don’t notice someone skating in my direction until I get shoved on the shoulder and end up sprawled on the ice. “What the hell!”

“Jesus, Keanu. I didn’t tap you that hard.” The guy offers me his hand, which I ignore, but maybe I shouldn’t have, because I get up without any grace. I definitely don’t look like a pro hockey player.

“What was that for anyway?”