Page 8

I’m used to seeing her before she sees me, and the gym is no exception.

I know the Arctic staff have access to the weight room and equipment any time we aren’t training.

She and I met in these exact rooms for days on days on days while I fought to fix my damn body into some semblance of a professional hockey player.

I watch the swing of her dark ponytail, hints of the pink strand peeking through as it moves.

Her skin glows under the fluorescent lights and her lips move, mouthing the words to whatever song is blaring through her headphones.

She wears the big kind, the ones that go over her hair and ears, but that’s not the real reason she doesn’t notice me.

I’m used to this, watching her from the sidelines. Not in a weird way. I know that sounds creepy, but I would never….

I don’t go looking for her. I don’t stare, but I do notice.

She walks into a room and just… glows. Everyone circles her like she’s the sun, the center, combusting in the middle of the crowd.

It’s a physical pull to be in her orbit.

The tug a visceral yank deep in my belly.

I want to push closer, bask in her warmth, but I don’t.

If she wanted me there, she’d invite me.

She has before. Muscling my way into her presence would be like a herd of reindeer trampling the ground into dust. Laying waste to the ecosystem, destroying the delicate balance.

All those friendly conversations? The smiles? They would screech to a halt. They always do.

So, I hang back and I watch. A little.

“Rags,” she smiles at me, never losing her pace, not sounded winded at all. It does funny things to my internal organs. “I just started. Wanna join me?”

I knew she’d be working out now. I had her schedule memorized before I even realized what I’d done.

Spend enough time aware of someone and you’ll recognize their patterns.

Where they like to go, what they like to do.

She gets a smoothie from upstairs after her workout.

Since it’s off-hours, she’s wearing a bright pink workout set.

When the team is floating around, she sticks to the more neutral team colors. And less skin.

I swallow and avert my eyes. Watching her the way I do is already bad enough. I should not be ogling her body. Her skin. And if my mind slides to her in the split second before I come, well, no one needs to know. I feel guilty about that as it is.

“I’ll even slow down just for you, old guy.” This time it’s a wink and I drop my chin to my chest, grinning too.

“I d-don’t w-w-want… to i-intrude.” It’s decades of training that stop me from wincing at the stutter in my words. Shame, embarrassment, they only make it all worse.

I choose the treadmill next to her, keying in a slow warmup. I’m allowed to run, but I’m not supposed to push myself here. I can save that for the ice. I’ve already done my workout today. This slow, steady pace is good for my muscles.

She pulls her headphones down around her neck and punches the button on her treadmill; the machine whirring as the speed slows. My heart turns over in my chest in an almost sickening swoop.

“P-p-pl-please d-don’t…” don’t what? I don’t want her to ruin her workout just because I needed to be near her.

But I also don’t want her to put her headphones back on.

I like her attention on me, even if I don’t know what to do with it.

The focus might be painful, but the alternative—not being on her radar—is infinitely worse.

She doesn’t rush me into the second half of my sentence. She doesn’t fill in the words she thinks I’m trying to say. She smiles encouragingly and waits; her gaze dipping back to the numbers on her machine.

“You don’t h-h-have to st-stop for m-me.”

The smile that curves her lips could rival the sun. She could power Los Angeles during a blackout. Or Texas when their power grid fails. It’s a quick here-and-gone thing, and my gut twists because it’s meant just for me.

“I don’t have to,” she agrees, slowing her pace even more. “But I want to.”

Warmth spreads through my veins like honey.

“And not just to keep an eye on you,” she winks. “We’re friends, Rags.”

Right. Friends. I love and hate that in equal measure.

“I also have some school shit I have to get done.” She curls her lip, telling me she’s avoiding it at all costs.

“I-I-I thought you…you liked sc-school?”

Her mouth twists to the side as she looks at me.

“It’s fine,” she says. “I do like the practical applications. I like helping people.” She bites her lip.

But? I want her to finish the sentence.

“I’m not…. Naturally good at the math and science stuff. I can learn it, I think, but I thought it would get easier the longer I studied.” She shakes her head. “Not the material, but I thought the connections would come easier. Or I’d remember more when I use it more?” She shrugs.

That’s all the stuff I’m good at. The logic. The reasoning. Memorizing specific names and numbers and finally seeing the world make sense.

“It’s too late to change my mind, but I thought I’d love it by now.” This smile doesn’t meet her eyes. I can tell even as she stares down at the display on her treadmill. Suddenly, her face brightens. “It’s okay,” she says. “I made a commitment and I’m almost done. I can see it through.”

I may not have gone to college to pursue a professional degree, but I took some college-level math classes during the off-seasons. Math is universal. Math has easily understandable rules. Math rarely attracts the most social individuals, and I can study while being left alone.

Sadie stretches up, the smooth skin of her abs and arms glows at me. I try to look away. Try being the operative word.

What I can do is trip over my shoes like a small child just learning how to walk.

“Fokk,” I say under my breath, catching my hands on the rails. I move my feet to the side of the belt, taking stock of my hip. No pain. I didn’t wrench anything. I was just surprised.

“Hey.” Sadie’s hand covers mine. She’s off her machine and looking up at me, concern darkening her honey-brown eyes. “You okay?”

I nod.

Her skin is touching mine. Not for an exercise, or a stretch. Not to get my attention—not that she ever doesn’t have it—but because she’s concerned. For me. It feels like my blood is boiling in my veins, tingling bubbles starting under the skin covering my knuckles, and spreading up my arm.

I want to pull away.

I want this to never stop.

“Yes.”

“Good.” she steps back, severing our connection, and my hand stings with the loss of contact. “We just got you all fixed up. I’d hate to have you back on injured reserve because you have two left feet.”

“I-I’ll ha-ave you know I have two r-r-right feet.”

“Ah well, that’s completely different.”

I resume my leisurely pace and she jumps back on her machine, too.

Silence settles between us as the belts whir and we both try for steady breaths.

Sadie takes the headphones off her neck and hangs them over the rail of her machine.

Does she think she can’t put her music back on? That I’ll be offended?

“Y-you can…can listen to your…” I point at the headphones. “I-I-I do-don’t m-m-m-mind.”

“I don’t either,” she says, and I blush.

We return to our workouts.

Twenty minutes later, she stops her machine and uses a small hand towel to mop her forehead.

She’s leaving, my brain supplies, always stating the obvious.

I don’t want her to go, but I don’t really have a reason for her to stay.

One of her shoelaces is untied. She doesn’t notice, using the spray bottle to wipe down her machine.

I keep an eye on that little white string, waiting for it to snag, or for her to step on it.

Something. She reaches for her ponytail, pulling the scrunchie out until dark waves fall over her shoulder and down her back.

I’m jealous of her fingers as she digs them into her scalp, practically moaning as she works out the tension.

Sadie has a lot of hair. It’s probably heavy when she has to wear it up all the time.

Katrín told me her head hurts sometimes from things like that.

My little sister has the same copper orange hair I do, but she has thick ringlet curls.

It’s…a lot. Sadie might have even more hair than Kat.

It waves down her back in a sleek waterfall of midnight silk.

I want to offer to do that for her, massage her scalp, but it would probably cross a boundary. It seems…intimate.

My neck is tight, probably I slept wrong or something. I could go home now, but I want to prolong this moment. I grind my head in a big circle, slow and deep. It feels good; the stretch pulling all down my spine.

“Ragnar!” Sadie yelps, lunging over and grabbing my arm like I’m about to set myself on fire.

I freeze. Is she okay?

Her eyes are wide, horrified. “No. Absolutely not. Do not do that.”

I blink at her, confused. Do what? Stretch? It probably isn’t the right way. In fact, I’m sure it’s not. I roll my neck again, slower this time. Trying to compromise.

She slaps my arm.

“Stop! I’m serious! You can’t just grind your neck around like that. That’s how you herniate a disc or pinch a nerve or—God, just don’t.”

I frown, still not seeing the problem. “I-it feels g-g-good.”

“Yeah, well, so does staying up all night with a good book, but that doesn’t mean it’s good for you!”

I know for a fact that Sadie has this problem on a regular basis. Mostly because I’ve heard Greg tease her about it and Tristan demand title recommendations. I smirk. “You d-do tha-at.”

Her mouth drops open, then snaps shut as she rolls her eyes. “Okay, but that won’t paralyze me. I’ll just be cranky and take it out on you.”

I laugh, holding up both hands in surrender. “A-all right. N-no more n-n-neck grind-grinding. What should I…I…Id-do instead?”