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She’d let Brody drive her car, but hadn’t thought to ask where he was taking her. She’d been content to sit in silence, trying to make sense of everything her father had said to her tonight. Now she kind of wished she’d been more curious about their destination.
The night guard had let them in. He’d seemed surprised at the sight of Brody Croft showing up at the practice arena way after hours, but didn’t object to Brody’s request. After digging up an old pair of boys’ skates for Hayden from the equipment room, the guard had unlocked the doors leading out to the rink, flicked on the lights and disappeared with a smile.
“Trust me,” Brody said. “There’s nothing like the feel of ice under your skates to clear your head.”
“Uh, I should probably mention I haven’t ice-skated since I was a kid.”
He looked aghast. “But your father owns a hockey team.”
“We’re not allowed to talk about my father anymore tonight, remember?”
“Right. Sorry.” He flashed a charming grin. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you don’t fall flat on your ass. Now sit.”
Obligingly, she sat on the hard wooden bench and allowed Brody to remove her high heels. He caressed her stockinged feet for a moment, then reached for the skates the guard had found and helped her get a foot into one.
“It’s tight,” she complained.
“It belongs to a twelve-year-old boy. No figure skates here, so you’ll have to make do.”
Brody laced up the skates for her, then flopped down on the bench and kicked off his shiny black dress shoes. He’d retrieved a spare pair of skates from the bottom of his locker, and he put them on expertly, grinning when he saw her wobble to her feet. She made quite a fashion statement in her party dress and scuffed black hockey skates.
She held out her arms in an attempt to balance herself. “I’m totally going to fall on my butt,” she said.
“I told you, I won’t let it happen.”
He stood, took two steps forward and unlatched the wooden gate that ringed the ice. Like the pro hockey player he was, he slid onto the rink effortlessly and skated backward for a moment while she stood at the gate and muttered, “Show-off.”
Laughing, he moved toward her and held out his hand.
She stared at his long, calloused fingers, wanting so badly to grab onto them and never let go. Yet another part of her was hesitant. When she’d picked him up at the bar five days ago, she hadn’t imagined she’d see him after that first night. Or that she’d sleep with him again. Or that she might actually start to like him.
And she did like him. As much as she wanted to continue viewing Brody as nothing more than a one-night stand who’d rocked her world, he was becoming unnervingly real to her. He’d listened when she’d babbled about art, he’d let her cry on his shoulder, he’d brought her to this dark arena just to take her mind off her worries. One-night stands weren’t supposed to do that, darn it!
“Come on, Hayden, I won’t let you fall,” he reassured her.
With a nod of acceptance, she took his hand. The second the blades of her skates connected with the sleek ice, she almost keeled over. Her arms windmilled, her legs spread open, and her skates moved in opposite directions as if trying to force her into the splits.
Brody promptly steadied her. “You’re not very good at this, are you?”
“I told you I wasn’t,” she returned with an indignant glare. “Ask me to lecture you about Impressionist art, I can do that. But skating? I suck.”
“Because you’re trying to walk instead of glide,” he pointed out. He clamped both his hands on her waist. “Quit doing that. Now, take my hand and do what I’m doing.”
Slowly, they pushed forward again. While Brody’s strides were effortless, hers were clumsy. Every few feet the tips of her skates would dig into the ice and she’d lurch forward, but Brody stayed true to his word. He didn’t let her fall. Not even once.
“There you go,” he exclaimed. “You’re getting the hang of it.”
She couldn’t help smiling. Once she’d taken his advice and stopped treating the skates as shoes, her movements had become smoother. She felt giddy as they picked up speed, gliding along the ice like a pair of Thoroughbreds rounding a racetrack.
The boards, the benches, the bleachers—it all whizzed by her, the cool air in the arena reddening her cheeks. Although there were goose bumps dotting her bare arms, she didn’t mind the cold temperature. The chill in the arena soothed her, cleansing her mind.
She cast a sideways glance at Brody and saw he was enjoying this, too. God, he looked delicious in his tuxedo. The jacket stretched over his broad shoulders and powerful chest, and the slightly loose trousers didn’t hide his taut behind. She noticed his bow tie sat a little crooked, and resisted the urge to reach out and straighten it. She didn’t want to move her arms and risk falling, so she tightened her fingers around his instead.