Page 65 of Puck Your Feelings

"Teach me," I repeat. "Show me how to do one of those spinny things without falling on my ass."

He studies me for a moment, like he's trying to figure out if I'm messing with him. Then he stands, extending his hand. "Come on, then."

Back on the ice, Kane demonstrates a basic spin, his movements fluid and controlled in a way that makes it clear this isn't his first rodeo. And more importantly, he does not land onhis ass. The whole team gradually stops to watch as he executes a perfect turn, one leg extended behind him.

"Holy shit," Wall says. "The Robot has hidden talents."

Kane ignores him, skating back to me. "Your turn. Start with your feet like this." He positions himself behind me, hands on my hips again, adjusting my stance. "Weight on your right foot, left toe pointed out."

I'm suddenly very aware of how close he is—his chest nearly touching my back, his breath warm against my ear. And I'm even more aware that the entire team is watching us with varying degrees of amusement.

"Now push off and turn," Kane instructs. "Keep your core tight."

I attempt to follow his instructions and manage a wobbly half-turn before stumbling. Kane steadies me with a hand on my lower back.

"Better," he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. "Again."

After a few more attempts, I can almost complete a full spin without looking like I'm about to face-plant.

It's not pretty, but it's progress.

"You two!" Svetlana's voice cuts through the rink. "Come here!"

We skate over, and she eyes us critically. "You." She points at Kane. "You know lifts?"

Kane's eyes widen slightly. "Basic ones. It's been a while."

"Show me," she commands. "Lift him."

"What?" Kane and I say in unison.

Svetlana rolls her eyes. "You lift two hundred pound men in fights. This same but prettier. Do it."

"I don't think—" Kane starts.

"Do it or run laps," Svetlana barks.

The entire team has stopped to watch now, sensing imminent entertainment at our expense.

"Fine," Kane mutters. He positions himself behind me again. "I'll put my hands on your waist. When I count three, jump slightly and I'll lift you. Try to hold your core tight."

"This is going to end badly," I warn him.

"Probably," he agrees. "Three, two, one—"

I jump, he lifts, and for a split second, it seems like it might actually work.

Then physics remembers we exist, and we go down in a heap of tangled limbs and wounded pride.

But instead of being annoyed, Kane's laughing—actually laughing, not just that eye-crinkle thing. It's a deep, rich sound that I've rarely heard from him. And it's infectious. Soon I'm laughing too, sprawled half on top of him on the ice.

"Again!" Svetlana demands, but she's almost smiling now.

Kane stands first, pulling me up with him. "Ready?"

"Why not? My dignity's already in a dumpster fire."

This time, when he counts to three, I'm ready. I jump, he lifts, and suddenly I'm airborne, Kane's hands secure on my waist, holding me steady above him. For three breathless seconds, we're perfectly balanced—me suspended above the ice, him solid and strong below.