“I’ve been asked to get them soft pretzels,” Nate says as he rests his hand on the small of my back. “Come with me?”
“Only if you’re buying me one too.”
“That’s it … isn’t it?”
As we step off the ice and sit to take off our skates, I give him a quick glance. “What’s it?”
“It’s not an infinity tattoo you have on your right butt cheek. It’s a pretzel.”
I laugh. “Yes. With extra salt.”
“I knew it.” He shoves his feet into his loosely laced sneakers and holds out his hand.
I take it and let him pull me to my feet—way too close to his chest. A slight pause turns into a good ten seconds of just staring at each other. I make the responsible choice to nod my head toward the refreshment stand. “Pretzels.”
Nate has a way of grinning at me like he knows exactly what I’m thinking. God … I hope not.
“Four pretzels with salt,” Nate orders and pays.
While we wait for the teenaged boy to get the pretzels for us, we stroll around by the cases filled with skates and other equipment to purchase.
“I saved forever to buy my first pair of new skates.” Nate shakes his head. “My parents didn’t have a lot of money, so I burned through so many pairs of hand-me-downs from friends who seemed to get a new pair of skates every six months. I still remember how incredible it felt to stick my feet into a brand-new pair of skates.”
I smile. “I bet you also remember how it felt to endure blisters while breaking in those new skates.”
“That might be true too.” He chuckles as his hand brushes mine. His index finger clasps mine, and we just stand side by side peering at skates.
“Here you go,” the kid from the counter calls.
He curls his finger tighter around mine like he doesn’t want me to pull away as he leads me back to the counter.
I’m on a man ban, yet I feel oddly disappointed when he does release my finger so we can each carry two pretzels toward an empty table—they are all empty since the couple and their two girls left.
“Morgan!” Nate holds up a pretzel.
I glance at my watch. “Do you realize they close in fifteen minutes?”
“I do.” His lips contort like he’s fighting a grin, but his gaze stays on Morgan and Gabe heading our way. “Eat up,” he says to the kids and winks at me before disappearing around the corner toward the entrance.
“Where’s he going?” Morgan asks with her mouth full.
I shrug, taking a slow bite of the warm pretzel.
A few minutes later, Nate returns. “Let’s do this, Elvis.” He’s carrying two sticks and a stack of pucks.
“Do what?” I furrow my brow.
“See who has the best shot.” He nods toward the rink and the guy placing a goal at one end and several cones in a line.
“Yes! I bet my dad will win.”
I frown at Morgan. She giggles, picking salt off her pretzel.
Nate continues past me. “Chop, chop, Elvis.”
I roll my eyes and take one last bite of pretzel before following Nate. We put our skates back on and step onto the ice.
“Three shots each. You have to weave between those six cones and make your shot before the line.”
“What does the winner get?” I stop a few yards before the first cone.
“If you win, I’ll send you to the spa for a day.”
A spa day perks me up a bit. “And if you win?”
He smirks, shifting his gaze for a brief second to the kids eating pretzels. “I get to see your other tattoos.”
I release a nervous laugh. “Um …”
“What’s wrong? Are you worried I’m the better hockey player?”
I shouldn’t have agreed to cut his hair. Just like I shouldn’t agree to this little competition, but I’m terrible at not doing what I shouldn’t do.
“Deal.”
Nate’s grin reaches his ears. “Fantastic. Ladies first.” He drops three pucks near my feet.
I roll my neck a few times and hold my stick out, twisting my torso side to side a few times. “I could use a spa day. It better include a mani-pedi too.”
“Anything your heart desires.” He winks.
I glide the puck in and out of the cones and land my first shot in the net by an inch at best.
Nate says nothing when I return to the start of the cones wearing a cocky grin.
My speed picks up along with my confidence as I take the second puck through the cones and shoot my second shot right in the middle. “I want a hot stone massage … at least ninety minutes.” I toss him a wink as I skate in circles around him twice.
“Watch it … I feel a choke coming on.”
“Never.” I go full speed with the last puck, and it bounces off the crossbar.
“So close.” Nate greets me with a devilish smirk.