Page 48

Alex

T he shrieking giggles that escape Olive as I pull her toward the exit make me smile. “Lift your leg. Balance. Step up. Good.”

Once she’s standing on solid ground, I carefully guide her to the bench and sit her down.

I kneel in front of her and start unlacing her skates. “I think you did well today,” I praise, pulling the first one off. “You only fell twice. That’s better than I expected for a first lesson.”

“Technically, I fell three times. You caught me. I don’t know how I didn’t take you down.” She watches me as I undo her other skate and peel it off, setting it beside me. “Sebastian tried teaching me, but he gave up. Not that I blame him. I’m bad.”

“You’re not,” I reassure. “I’ve seen bad skaters. Trust me. I used to teach kids how to skate when I was younger. It was decent money. They were bad. It just takes practice and consistency. And patience.”

“And you have that?” she asks.

I look up at her through my lashes. “I learned how to be patient,” I tell her quietly. “Because of my mom.”

A softness crosses her face. “Then I’m lucky to have you.”

That does some weird shit to my heart—like somebody is tapdancing on it before grabbing ahold of the organ and squeezing.

I brush it off. “When do you have to go back to Lindon?”

The change of subject makes her stare at me for a brief moment longer before she answers. “I should leave Sunday to get back in time to prepare for classes. I need to get the rest of my books from the store.”

So we have a few days.

“Is there anything you want to do while you’re here? There isn’t much to see in Pittsburgh, but we could probably make a trip to Philly. I know you like history. Can’t get much more historical than that place.”

Her eyes find mine, her brows arched like she’s surprised by the suggestion. “I don’t know who you are sometimes, but I like this version of you. He’s a lot more carefree.”

I’m not sure I’ll ever be that, but I appreciate her optimism. “So is that a yes to Philly?”

“I went there when I was in sixth grade,” she admits, nibbling her lip. “For safety patrol.”

Safety— “You were one of the people who signed up for that?” There’s a small grin on my face. At the school I attended, the safety patrol were the nerds who monitored the halls and helped teachers during end-of-day activities. We called them teachers’ pets.

She playfully nudges my shoulders with her palms, barely moving me. “Don’t judge. I can see that look in your eyes. Sebastian was one too. Everybody who does it gets to go to either Philadelphia or Washington DC. I thought it would be cool to go.”

My lips twitch up. “Did you wear the orange belt and badge?”

She tries not to smile but fails. “Possibly.”

I’m picturing a young version of her in a neon orange safety patrol belt with those dumb badges they used to give everybody to make them feel important. Everyone I knew who did it thought they had actual authority. “Did you yell at people about sitting on the bus when it’s in motion?”

Her eyes narrow. “You’re mocking me.”

“I would never,” I say seriously, setting the skates down beside me and grabbing her shoes. I make quick work putting them on her feet and tightening the laces. “It’s cute. I never had any interest in doing that, but I was jealous when the field trip happened. Did you see the Liberty Bell?”

Her smile reappears. “Yes. And Independence Hall. And the Rocky statue, although I didn’t really care about that. I never liked those movies.”

“Don’t say that too loudly here,” I warn her.

She looks around the empty area. “I think I’ll be fine.”

I meet her eyes. “Yeah, you will be.” Once her feet are covered, I carefully drop them to the floor and peer up at her. “On a scale from one to ten, how hard are you going to fangirl the boys tonight?”

Olive gives me a contemplative look, puckering her lips in thought. “Eight point five. On a scale from one to ten, how nervous are you to let me interact with them?”

“Zero.”

“That’s not on the scale.”

“It’s still the truth.” I stand and take a seat beside her on the bench. “I’m more concerned about them not being dicks to you. Clarkson and I will try to keep them on their best behavior.”

She puts her hand on my leg. “He thinks I can handle my own.”

I lift a shoulder. “He’s right. Doesn’t mean I can’t be concerned about how people will treat you. It’s considered unethical to beat your teammates for saying stupid shit.”

Her tongue slowly drags across her lips. “Do you think they’ll say something?”

Yes. Thing is, I don’t know what. They goad anybody they think they can get a reaction from. “I’m sure your brother will come up as soon as they realize who he is. They’ve all played him.”

She slowly nods. “I don’t think that’s what you’re really concerned about. I’ve been dealing with conversations about my brother for years. So why are you worried?”

Can’t it be a compilation of things? “I don’t even get along with some of these guys. I don’t know how they’re going to act around you.”

She puts her hand on mine. “Then we’ll find out together. But I know a lot about your team. I can woo them with my facts. And if that doesn’t work, I can roast them. I’m good at that.”

I’m glad she’s confident, because knowing her and Moskins will be in the same room makes me uneasy. The guy has no filter and a lack of respect for most women. What if he says something that I can’t do anything about?

“Is it because of how I look?” she asks, snapping me out of my head. “Because I’m fat? I know I’m probably not most of their types, so I doubt it’s a jealousy thing.”

What the fuck? “I don’t ever want to hear you say that again,” I all but growl.

“What? That I’m fat?” My jaw grinds, making her rolls her eyes.

“Spoiler alert, Alex. I am . I’m not skinny.

I’m nowhere near what my BMI says I should be.

Although, in all fairness, I think that chart is bullshit to begin with.

I’ve never been like the girls you or your teammates have been seen with.

I like food. I hate exercising. Salad makes me gag.

And Coca-Cola might actually be my soulmate.

If it’s not that, it’s carbs. Specifically, bread; the fresh kind from the bakery.

Or cheese, because I really love cheese too.

And I’m okay with that. I like who I am, but I’m not oblivious or blind or stupid.

My body is the first thing people notice about me. ”

Anger boils my blood as I turn to her. “You want to know the first thing I noticed about you the day you came up to me at that bonfire?”

She goes to answer, but I don’t let her.

“Your eyes. They’re like no color I’ve seen before,” I state, locking with them. “They’re fucking hypnotic; like they can see right through me and the mask I put up. You want to know the second thing I noticed?”

She wets her lips. “What?”

I cup one of her breasts. “Your tits. It’s pretty obvious I’m a boob man. I have no shame about them. And touching these, playing with these, are my favorite. So, yeah. I definitely noticed those.”

Her throat bobs as my finger grazes the front of her breast until I can feel her nipple pebble under the pad of my thumb. “Somebody can walk in and see you fondling me.”

“So let them. I think you’d like that based on how hard you came around my cock this morning.”

Her face turns red, but she doesn’t deny it.

“I need you to understand that not everybody sees what you think they do,” I tell her, squeezing her boob before releasing her.

“And if there weren’t people on their way to clean the ice right now, I’d be stripping you down and fucking you right here and now until you got that into your stubborn head. ”

The choppy breath she releases tells me she’s turned on. “I’ve spent my whole life being bullied over my weight, Alex. This isn’t anything new to me. I’m not hurt by it. Not anymore.”

“Baby,” I say slowly, letting my hand drift downward to cup her between her legs. “Real men like having a little extra to hold onto. Feel me?”

Oh, she feels me all right.

But before she can say another word, the doors open and the Zamboni comes out to clean the ice off for the day.

Letting her go, I stand up. “I’m worried because I care about you,” I say. “I’m worried because I don’t want people to be assholes when you’ve already dealt with that more than you deserve in life. That’s why.”

I’m worried because Kyle reached out to me about a picture of me, Olive, and Mom at the diner that was circulating online.

I told him to do what he could to kill it before the comments started getting out of hand.

It was down in a matter of thirty minutes, which is exactly what Bodhi Fucking Hoffman should have done when he put her on blast like an idiot.

Since Olive opened up to be about dealing with depression, I’ve felt even more protective of her.

I don’t want anybody to make her feel less than the amazing person she is.

No matter what. If that means ensuring that people online aren’t being dickheads, or that my team treats her with the utmost respect, then I’m going to do it.

She trusted me with that information, and I’m going to do my damndest to be the person who deserves that trust.

Olive looks at the hand I extend out to her for a minute before accepting it and letting me pull her off the bench. “Thank you.”

I brush my lips against her forehead. “You don’t need to thank me, Olive.”

Her palm squeezes mine as if to say, I do, though .

*

If I were a jealous man, I wouldn’t like the way Olive is staring at Nelson. But I know the admiration in her eyes has more to do with his stats than the pretty boy’s looks.

Pointing at her chin, I say, “You’ve got a little drool there.”

She flips me off. “I do not. He’s played over eight hundred games and scored almost three hundred goals. And fifty of those were game winning.”