Page 14 of The Dating Coach (Hearts on Ice #4)

The Winter Festival had transformed the campus quad into something out of a romantic holiday postcard – twinkling lights strung between trees, vendors selling hot chocolate and questionable crafts, and a temporary ice rink that looked like a lawsuit waiting to happen.

I'd suggested attending as "practice" for my dating skills, but really, I just wanted an excuse to spend time with Gemma outside of crisis management and chemistry tutoring.

"This is excessive," Gemma declared, but she was smiling as she watched students attempt to navigate the ice rink in rental skates. "Who thought giving college students sharp blades and encouraging them to move at high speeds was a good idea?"

"Probably the same person who thought deep-fried chocolate sandwich cookies were a healthy carnival snack," I said, nodding toward a vendor whose sign proudly proclaimed 'Artery Clogging Specials!'

"Hey, don’t disparage deep-fried chocolate sandwich cookies until you've tried them," she defended. "They're a religious experience."

"A religious experience?"

"You see God right before the heart attack hits." She grinned at my expression. "Come on, hockey boy. Show me your moves."

"On rental skates?" I looked dubiously at the scarred pieces of equipment the rink attendant handed over. "These things have toe picks. It's like asking a racecar driver to navigate in a golf cart."

"Excuses, excuses." She was already selecting her skates and lacing them up with practiced efficiency. "Afraid I’ll outshine you, Delacroix?”

Twenty minutes later, I was forced to admit that figure skates were my nemesis. I'd caught the toe pick three times, nearly taken out a group of freshmen, and was currently clinging to the rink wall like it was a lifeline.

"This is humiliating," I groaned as Gemma glided past, backwards, because apparently she was part graceful ice angel.

"This is hilarious," she said, executing a neat turn that made several guys stop and stare. "The great Liam Delacroix, brought low by rental skates."

"These aren't skates, they're torture devices." I attempted to push off from the wall and immediately caught the pick again. "How are you good at this?"

"I figure skated before switching to swimming," she said, circling back to me. "Turns out ice time at 5 AM builds character. Also, ankle strength."

"Why'd you switch?"

"Couldn’t afford the rink fees." She shrugged like it didn't matter, but I caught the flash of old disappointment.

She reached out her hands. "Come on. I'll teach you."

"Teach me?" I stared at her outstretched hands. "I've been skating since I could walk."

"You've been playing hockey since you could walk," she corrected. "This is different. Trust me."

And I did. That was the thing – I trusted Gemma Spears implicitly, which should have been terrifying but felt as natural as breathing. I took her hands, letting her guide me away from the wall.

"The trick is to think of it as dancing, not skating," she said, skating backwards while I stumbled forward. "Smooth movements, weight transfer, embrace the toe pick instead of fighting it."

"Embrace the toe pick sounds like really bad self-help advice," I muttered, but I tried to follow her guidance.

"See? Better already." Her hands were warm in mine despite the cold, and I found myself focusing more on that than on my feet. "And one, two, three, turn—"

I turned. Successfully. Without dying. "Holy shit, I did it!"

"Language, Delacroix. There are children present." But she was beaming at me, proud and bright, and I forgot about the rental skates and the cold and everything except how beautiful she looked with snowflakes catching in her hair.

"Gemma?" A male voice cut through the moment. "Gemma Spears?"

She tensed immediately, her smile vanishing as she turned toward the voice. A guy about our age stood at the rink entrance – tall, conventionally handsome in that prep school way, with an expression that immediately set my teeth on edge.

"Devon," she said, and the flatness in her voice told me everything I needed to know about their history. "What are you doing here?"

"I transferred this semester. Dartmouth wasn't working out." He stepped onto the ice with the confidence of someone who'd never questioned his welcome. "Wow, you look... the same."

It was an insult disguised as an observation, and I felt Gemma's hands tighten in mine. Devon's eyes tracked the movement, his expression shifting to something calculating.

"And you are?" he asked me, though his tone suggested he didn't actually care about the answer.

"Liam," I said, resisting the urge to add 'her boyfriend' because that wasn't my call to make. "And you're the ex, I'm guessing?"

"Such a harsh term." Devon's smile was all teeth. "Gemma and I had a deep connection. Until her trust issues got in the way, of course."

"Devon," Gemma warned.

"What? It's true. You have to admit, your whole 'I don't need anyone' thing was exhausting." He turned to me with false sympathy. "Fair warning, man. She'll push you away eventually. It's what she does. Too damaged to let anyone get close."

"That's enough," I said, moving slightly in front of Gemma. Not blocking her – she could fight her own battles – but making it clear whose side I was on.

"Protective. That's cute." Devon's smile turned mean. "Did she tell you why we really broke up? How she accused me of cheating because I had study sessions with my lab partner? The paranoia was intense. But I guess when you grow up in a family as fucked up as hers—"

"We're done here," Gemma said, her voice steady despite the way her whole body had gone rigid. "Enjoy the festival, Devon."

She turned to leave, but Devon kept talking. "Still running away from confrontation, I see. Some things never change. Good luck, man," he called to me. "You'll need it. Girl's gorgeous but way too complicated to be worth it long-term."

I saw the words hit Gemma like physical blows, each one confirming some internal narrative she carried about being too much, too difficult, too damaged for love. Something protective and fierce rose up in me.

"You know what?" I said, turning back to Devon. "You're right. She is complicated. But she's also brilliant, loyal, fierce, and worth a hundred of whatever uncomplicated, boring alternative you ended up with."

Devon’s jaw tightened. “I’m engaged, actually,” he retorted. “To someone who doesn’t see the world as a threat and actually trusts—”

I laughed, cutting him off. "Trust? You want to talk about trust? You just spent five minutes publicly trying to humiliate your ex-girlfriend—to prove what, exactly? That she was wrong about you? Yeah, you seem super trustworthy."

Devon's face flushed. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"I know enough." I took Gemma's hand again, felt her trembling slightly.

"I know you're the kind of guy who tears down the woman he claimed to love because she saw through your bullshit.

I know you're still bitter that she was strong enough to leave.

And I know you're going to walk away now before this gets less civilized. "

"Is that a threat?" Devon puffed up like an offended peacock.

"It's a prediction," I said calmly. "Based on the fact that you're surrounded by hockey players who really like Gemma and really don't like guys who treat women like shit."

Sure enough, Henry and Frank had materialized at the rink edge, drawn by some sort of protective friend radar. Jesse and Tyler flanked them, creating an imposing wall of athletic disapproval.

"Everything okay here, Cap?" Tyler asked, cracking his knuckles in a way that wasn't remotely subtle.

Devon looked between them, then at Gemma, then at me. "Whatever. She's your problem now." He stalked off, nearly wiping out on the ice in his haste to leave.

"What a tool," Frank announced. "Want us to slash his tires?"

"We're absolutely not slashing anyone's tires," Gemma said, but her voice was shaky. "I need... I'm going to return the skates."

She left before anyone could respond, her movements careful and controlled in a way that broke my heart. I followed, finding her at the rental counter fumbling with her laces.

"Hey," I said softly. "You okay?"

"Fine," she said automatically, then sighed. "No. Not fine. Sorry you had to see that. Devon brings out the worst in me."

"Devon is a manipulative asshole who was trying to hurt you," I corrected. "None of that was your fault."

"Wasn't it?" She finally got her skates off, movements sharp with agitation. "He's not wrong. I do have trust issues. I do push people away. I did accuse him of cheating."

"Was he?"

She paused. "I don't know. Maybe. There were signs, but..." She shrugged. "Maybe I was just looking for reasons to leave before he could leave me. It's what I do, right? Self-sabotage?"

"Gemma." I waited until she looked at me. "Having boundaries isn't self-sabotage. Protecting yourself isn't pushing people away. And trusting your instincts about someone isn't paranoia."

"You're just saying that because—"

"Because I think you're incredible? Because watching that asshole try to make you feel small made me want to throw him into a snowbank?" I ran a hand through my hair, frustrated. "Yeah, I'm biased. Doesn't make it less true."

She stared at me for a long moment, something vulnerable and wondering in her expression. "You defended me."

"Of course I did."

"No, you don't understand." She shook her head.

"Devon spent our entire relationship making me feel like I was too much.

Too intense, too suspicious, too damaged.

And I believed him. Part of me still does.

But you..." Her voice caught. "You stood there and told him I was worth it. Like you actually believed it."

"I do believe it," I said simply. "Every word."

She kissed me then, right there at the skate rental counter with the bored attendant watching and our friends probably taking pictures. It wasn't gentle – it was fierce and grateful and a little desperate, like she was trying to communicate something words couldn't capture.

When we broke apart, both breathing hard, she rested her forehead against mine. "This thing between us terrifies me."

"I know," I murmured. "Me too."

"I'm probably going to screw it up. Push you away. Get scared and run."

"Maybe," I agreed. "Or maybe you won't. Maybe this time is different."

“I don’t know if I can do this.”

“Then we’ll figure it out,” I said, stealing another kiss before our friends inevitably interrupted.

Sure enough, Frank's voice carried across the rink. "If you two are done making out, Henry bought everyone hot chocolate and I'm about to drink Gemma's!"

"Don't you dare!" Gemma called back, but she was laughing.

We rejoined the group, accepting hot chocolate and good-natured teasing with equal grace. But something had shifted between us, solidified in the face of Devon's attempted destruction. She didn't pull away when I wrapped an arm around her shoulders, didn't tense when I slipped my hand into hers.

Later, as we watched Frank attempt to teach Mia to skate while Henry provided commentary, Gemma leaned into me. "Thank you," she whispered. "For what you said. For seeing me."

"Always," I whispered back, meaning it completely.

The night ended with Frank challenging me to a speed skating race in rental skates, which ended exactly as badly as expected.