Page 24 of Lucky Shot (Moonshot Hockey #1)

NICK

I’m trying really, really hard not to laugh.

Ruby glares at me as she stands on the ice, clutching on to the wall so hard her knuckles are white.

“No,” she says for maybe the millionth time since I suggested she learn to skate. “I want to go back.”

“You can do it.” I’m standing two feet away—close enough that I can catch her if she falls but far enough away that she can’t punch me—which feels likely right now.

“You can do it,” she mocks back to me.

I can’t help the rough chuckle that slips free. She glares harder.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to grab a skate aid?”

“My pride is already taking a real hit here and you want me to use a walker in front of a professional hockey player?!”

“We all start somewhere,” I assure her as I move closer and hold out a hand.

She eyes it, blue eyes on fire with a mixture of annoyance and determination. She’s sexy as hell. Not that I should be noticing.

Slowly, she lets go of the wall with one hand and then flings it at me, now gripping my forearm like a lifeline.

“I’ve got you. Now let go with the other hand.”

She shakes her head as the tip of her mouth pulls down at the corners. It’s a real role reversal, her glowering at me like she’s always accusing me of doing. I doubt she finds it as hot as I do.

“This is the most humiliating moment of my life.”

“Really?”

“No.” She sighs, staring down at her feet. “But it’s top five, for sure.”

“No reason to be embarrassed. You’re doing great.”

“I’m barely moving and only upright because you’re a brick wall of muscle keeping me that way.” Her tone is full of exasperation so I fight another laugh. “And I’m a fashion disaster.”

I told her to wear socks, but the little, flimsy things she had were going to give her blisters, so Ron pulled out a pair of socks for her too. They’re way too big and come up over her knees. Maybe it isn’t fashionable but it’s doing something for me. Really, really doing something for me.

“Also, this dress was the worst possible option in my suitcase. If I go down, you’re going to see my underwear.”

I press my lips together to keep from smiling. “I promise not to look.”

“Joke’s on you because they’re my full-coverage, comfy undies. Not cute, like at all.”

A disbelieving huff leaves my lips. “I doubt that very much.”

Her blue eyes finally lift to mine. “Seriously. Picture the ugliest undergarments you can imagine.”

Instead, an image of her in that red bikini last night flits into my mind. I skate backward while she’s focused on me instead of falling. “I’m struggling to believe anything looks that bad on you.”

“Because you think I’m beautiful?” One brow quirks up as she repeats my words.

Oops. I hadn’t meant to say it last night, but I was proving a point. I can’t tell if the look she gives me now is because she thinks I’m full of shit or if she thinks I’m a creep.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to hit on you.”

Now she laughs. Probably at my expense, but it doesn’t matter because the truth is no matter how beautiful she is, getting involved with her is a terrible idea.

She’s here for a short time and staying next door.

No matter how attractive or fun she is, I’m not looking for anything messy or complicated.

Not that she even wants to. She’s more likely to hook up with Travis or D-Low. My jaw tightens at the thought.

“Why are you back to glowering at me?” she asks, breaking me from my thoughts.

“Was I?”

She nods.

I force the unease away. What the hell do I care who she hooks up with? This is a business arrangement, plain and simple. Her being the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen is irrelevant.

It’s my turn to look away from her. “I didn’t want you to feel left out, with all the glaring you’ve been doing at me.”

“I have not!” She squeaks out the denial, then laughs. “Okay, fine, maybe I was.”

I flick my gaze back to her. “Maybe?”

She smiles at me, that big, sunshine smile that feels much more natural for her. “I guess we swapped places today. You’re less grumpy in skates.”

That’s probably true. On the ice everything feels a lot simpler.

“Grumpy doesn’t suit you, Red. Besides, you did it.”

Her grip on me has loosened but when I come to a stop, her fingers tighten on my arm. She glances around as if to verify that we’ve gone around the rink. Her lips part and then slowly pull into a huge grin.

I like her spunk and determination and how quickly she slips back into her happy and carefree demeanor. When was the last time I felt like that?

“Oh my gosh! I did it. I skated around the rink!” She bounces in place, which has her feet sliding on the ice. Her legs go out from under her, and she careens backward, arms flailing.

My arm slides around her waist, catching her before she bounces off the ice. Her fingers find purchase on my forearm again and she holds on with a death grip.

My heart hammers in my chest at the thought of her hitting her head. I should have insisted she wear a helmet. She’d scowled when I suggested it, but now I’m thinking I should have made her anyway.

“You good?” My voice comes out hoarse.

Her eyes are squeezed tight like she was bracing for impact but at my question she squints them both to look at me. “Am I dead?”

The tightness in my chest eases. “No, not dead.”

I pull her back upright, but because she’s holding on so tightly, we’re standing close. She tips her head back to look at me.

“Good.” The word is breathless. “I’d never live down the shame of dying in rented shoes.”

I chuckle.

“Why is ice so cold?!” She shivers.

“Necessity, I suppose. Want to go for another lap?”

She nods and this time she looks a little more at ease.

I tell her to start with small steps, alternate lifting one foot then the other, glide, push off with one skate.

One side of her mouth tugs up. “That’s what you told the kids.”

“Is it?”

“And to feel the shift of weight.”

“That was my next instruction.”

We fall quiet as we skate. I take both of her hands in one of mine. There’s a momentary look of panic on her face until I say, “I got you.”

I’d dive under her before letting her land face-first on the ice. Although my hard head may not be any softer of a landing.

“Somehow, I believe you.” Another smile loosens on her lips.

“You’re a good coach. Is that what you want to do after hockey?”

“I’m not sure. I haven’t given it a lot of thought, but I am looking forward to teaching you.” I stop near the gate and grab my stick.

“I can barely stay upright. I don’t think I’m ready for that.”

“Just take it.”

She does, and I send up a silent prayer that she doesn’t go off-balance and take us both down.

“It’s heavier than I expected.”

I adjust it in her hands so she’s holding it correctly. I amend my earlier fantasy to this. Ruby Madison in a dress and skates holding my hockey stick. Fuck me.

“Sometimes focusing on something else helps.”

“And I can lean on it for support.” She tests this and I put a hand out just in case. She seems determined to fall.

I take it back after she appears more stable and less focused on standing upright. The next time we skate around the ice, she’s gliding on her own. It isn’t graceful but she stays on her feet.

I stick close, letting her use me for balance as needed but with every lap she needs less support.

“Am I ready for the team yet?” she asks once she’s gone around twice without assistance.

“Definitely,” I answer. “We just need to speed you up a bit.”

“Like how much?”

“Fast enough that you can beat the defenders to the other end.”

“I think I could take you,” she says with so much confidence that I laugh. Thirty minutes ago, she was terrified. I might have liked that version better. She reaches for the stick in my hands, and I let her have it, admiring again how good she looks with it.

“Maybe we should get you a helmet.”

“Give me a puck.”

“You’re not ready for that.”

“I want a puck,” she all but demands.

“Feisty thing,” I mutter and skate over to the bench without taking my eyes off her. “Don’t move.”

“I’m feeling more confident,” she says, then wobbles. Thankfully, she rights herself without falling and shoots me a sheepish smile. She has a knack for making my blood pressure rise.

I come back with gloves, a few pucks, and a helmet.

She pouts adorably as I toss the pucks onto the ice and move toward her with the helmet.

“I really don’t look good in hats.”

I know that’s a lie. She looked hot in my old baseball cap. Come to think of it, I can’t remember a single time she hasn’t looked gorgeous. “Better than you will with a concussion.”

She rolls her eyes. See? Fucking adorable.

While she holds still, I put the helmet on her. It’s one of mine so it’s a little big, but it should do the trick. I slide the visor down, then take the gloves from under my arm.

She holds out her right hand and lets me put it on, then the left. I’ve helped a lot of kids put on gear, but this is…different.

“These are very uncomfortable,” she announces, moving one around like it’s a robot arm.

“You get used to it,” I say. “And they’ll keep you warm.”

“I haven’t been warm since I left Arizona.”

My lips twist into a smile. She’s all geared up now and ready to go.

“All right, Madison. Let’s see what you got.”

She quirks a brow with an amused grin. “Look out, Galaxy. I’m coming for your job.”

And then she falls on her ass.

Things I learn about Ruby over the next hour.

She is stubborn. Maybe more than anyone I know. She hits so many pucks at the net, determined to get one in the goal. Any other person would have given up long before she finally manages to get one on target.

When she’s excited and happy, she bounces in place, which almost always ends with her on her ass.

As such, I learn she lied about her underwear (as I suspected) and that they’re pink. I tried not to look, promise.

And lastly, she is by far the clumsiest person I’ve ever met.

“My entire body hurts,” she groans as we take a seat on the bench.

“I have no doubt.”

She gives me a side-glare but can’t manage to keep it up for long. Her lips curve and as she laughs, she rubs one hip.

“There’s an ice bath in the therapy room.”

“More cold?” She shakes her head vehemently.

“It might help.”

“All I need is a hot shower and to not move for twelve hours.”

“All right.” I chuckle.

She lets out a groan as she attempts to bend down to untie her skates.

“Never mind. I’m never leaving this bench. Got any pillows around here?”

“I have some sweaty pads that might do the trick.”

She wrinkles up her nose.

I reach down and wrap my fingers around her ankle. “May I?”

She nods and I lift her leg up onto my thigh to take off her skates. I’ve done this dozens of times for Aidan and the kids at camp, but the intimacy of it hits me too late.

“How’s the book coming?” I ask as my fingers work at the laces, untying and then loosening them.

“I finished the first chapter,” she says in a cheery tone but grimacing.

“Isn’t that good?”

“I was hoping to be further along by now.”

“Ah.”

“I will figure it out,” she announces with a sigh. “I have to.”

“Anything I can help with?”

“No. Well, actually, this helped, I think. Getting out of my head, experiencing a little of what it’s like for you—minus all the falling of course.”

“Of course.” I smile back at her. “And I’m glad it helped.”

“What’s the equivalent of writer’s block for a hockey player?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe a scoring slump?”

“What do you do when that happens?”

“Take more shots, try not to let it get in my head too much.”

“More shots, huh?”

“What do you usually do?”

“Binge-watch reality TV and eat ice cream.” Her lips twist into a shy smile.

“That works?”

She thinks for a moment, gaze flicking up. I take the time to study her. Her blue eyes framed with long, black lashes, and the cold of the rink has her cheeks a bright pink. The gold four-leaf clover necklace she’s always wearing catches the lights.

“No, I guess it doesn’t really work except for eventually I get so disgusted with myself I finally force the words.”

“So writing gets you unstuck.”

“Take more shots,” she mutters as she repeats my words.

“We’re more alike than I thought.”

She lets out a soft laugh.

“What’s the deal with your necklace?”

“The deal?” She lifts a hand to it and smirks.

“You know what I mean. You always wear it. It must be important to you.”

“My sister gave it to me a long time ago and I found it while packing up my apartment. Four-leaf clovers are lucky, and I need all the luck I can get right now.” She scrunches up her nose. “That probably sounds silly. I’m not usually so superstitious.”

“Nah, everyone can use a little luck, now and again. I know guys who wear the same socks during the playoffs or follow the exact pregame routine down to the smallest detail.”

“Do you have a lucky charm?”

“I have a routine, but no one thing I rely on like your necklace.”

“Maybe you need one,” she says playfully. “Though I’m not sure yet mine is working.”

“Maybe.” I pull the skate off and set it on the ground.

“Oh, god that feels good.” She moans and scrunches up her socked toes. My thumb slides into the arch and rubs softly. She lets out another contented sigh that has my blood warming.

“I changed my mind. Keep doing that and I’ll sleep on the sweaty pads.”

My chest feels tight as I give her foot one last squeeze. Our gazes lock and the air feels thicker around us. She pulls her leg off my thigh. I glance to her other skate, a silent question, but she flushes and looks away. “I got it.”

I nod, then stand and head back onto the ice to pick up the pucks. I need to get a hold of myself. Jesus. I’m blaming the pink panties for my brain and body being on high alert over touching her foot. What. The. Fuck?