by S. R. Grey
“Oh, really now? We’ll see about that.” She points her empty margarita glass at me. “I’m declaring that the nineties beat the eighties every time, hands down. And to prove it, I can name a one-hit wonder from my favorite decade that’ll top any of your eighties ones.”
“Any song, you say?”
“Yes, any song.”
“It’s on. Hit me with even just one good one from the nineties.”
“That’s easy,” she says. “What about ‘Steal my Sunshine’ from Len? Hello! It’s only like one of the best one-hit wonders ever.”
She hums a few bars, like that’ll convince me.
“That song’s lame,” I scoff. “‘Tainted Love’ by Soft Cell kicks Len’s ass any day.”
“No way, and it sure doesn’t beat ‘Kiss the Rain’ by Billie Myers.”
“That one is a total girl’s song,” I counter.
“How can you say that? There’s so much heart in it.”
“Thank you, you just proved my point.”
“Come on, Dylan. You’re not even that old. You must like something from the nineties.”
I think it over and come up with one. “Okay, there is something from that lame decade that I kind of like.”
“Ooh”—she rubs her hands together—“what is it?”
“It’s ‘Wicked Game’ by Chris Isaak.”
She rolls her eyes. “Oh, please, like I can’t figure out why you chose that song. I’m sure the sexy video had nothing to do with it.”
“Well, now that you mention it…”
She reaches over and swats my arm. “You’re such an ass.”
“An ass with good one-hit-wonder taste,” I amend.
“Hmm, maybe, but your sexy video song will never top ‘Kiss the Rain.’ That one stands on its own.”
Laughing, I remark, “You really like that song, don’t you?”
“I love it,” she replies.
“More than ‘Steal my Sunshine’?”
“I think so, Dylan.”
Since I’m still determined to win our eighties/nineties showdown, I toss out, “What about ‘867-5309/Jenny’ by Tommy Tutone? Everyone loves that one.”
“Eh…” She shrugs. “It’s not bad. But The Flys’ ‘Got You (Where I Want You)’ would win out over that.”
“Hold up,” I say, stumped. “I don’t think I know that song.”
“Whaaat? Hush your face!” She whips out her phone, I assume to cue up the Flys’ song I’ve never heard.
Sure enough, she plays it for me.
“What do you think?” she asks about a minute in.
“It’s not bad,” I grudgingly admit.
“It sounds even better cranked up.” Jumping up from the sofa, she syncs her phone to a wireless Beats Pill she grabs from the other room.
Sitting the Pill down on the coffee table, she says, “Here, listen to it at full blast. It’s the best way.”
I have to admit, she has me sold.
But I have more for her too.
I take out my phone next and sync it. And then I play “You Spin Me Round” by Dead or Alive.
And you know what? I think I win, seeing as we both get up and start dancing all over the place.
“Your neighbors must hate us right about now,” I yell over the music as I thumb over to the connecting wall.
“Not likely,” she shouts back. “They moved out before I moved in.”
“Well, hell.” I turn up the volume as loud as it goes, and when “Jump” by Kris Kross starts, we dance and jump and sing along.
I discover that acting like kids makes for great stress relief. Tonight is a testament to that old adage that music soothes the soul. It really does, as I haven’t had this much fun in ages.
Chloe even gets me to do the Macarena at one point…and I like it!
But I feel my absolute best when I get her to slow-dance to “True” by Spandau Ballet.
The next song up is Biz Markie’s “Just a Friend,” and it sure has a lot more meaning than it used to.
Chloe and I are friends, tonight more than ever. I even end up spending the night at her place—on the sofa, of course.
I have to leave early the next morning, though, as practice is at seven.
Needless to say, I’m dead-tired from staying up half the night. But it doesn’t matter. My heart is awake and alert.
I don’t wake up Chloe before I go, but I do leave her a note, letting her know that I had a really good time and we should do it again “real soon.”
After I hang the Post-it to the coffee machine, I program the damn thing so she’ll have a fresh cup ready for her at ten sharp. That’s when she told me she has to get up for her afternoon shift at the coffee shop.
I head off to practice then, humming one-hit wonders the whole way there.
Ouch, My Ass
I find Dylan’s note. His words, and the fact that he took the time to program the machine to have my coffee ready, leave me feeling all warm and fuzzy inside.
I definitely want more from him. But it’s not based on just attraction anymore. There’s an amazing connection driving us together. It was there from the start, but instead of waning, it’s gotten stronger.
I don’t think I can fight it much longer.
Maybe though, this is the way it’s supposed to work. If only I’d known this before meeting Sten. It was so wrong with us from day one. I sensed it, but ignored all the warning signs. Looking back now with a fresh perspective, I realize it was all too forced with him.
With Dylan, it’s not like that at all. Everything is natural and easy.
As I sip my coffee and think things over, I text Dylan to let him know I had an amazing time.
He sends back a text immediately, letting me know that practice just ended. He goes on to mention that there’s a game tomorrow night, but he’s free in the morning.
Do you want to do something? We could go grab breakfast.
That sounds great, I type back. But I have an even better idea.
Oh, yeah, do share.
He’s going to love this one… I want you to teach me how to ice skate.
WHAT???? Don’t you dare tell me you don’t know how to skate! That’s blasphemy.
Even via text, Dylan has the ability to make me laugh.
Now wait a minute, I retort. I lived in Arizona all my life. Ice is hard to come by down there.
It’s not the early 1900s, babe. There are such things as indoor rinks, you know. Yes, even in Arizona.
Ha ha. For your information, I never went to one. So I never learned to skate.
We must remedy that. I’ll buy you a pair of ladies’ skates and block out some ice time for us in the morning at the arena.
That sounds perfect. By the way, I’m a size seven.
Seven it is, Miss Tettersaw.
Smiling, I set my phone aside and finish my coffee.
I really do want to learn to skate, and now’s the time. I checked this morning and the next step in the X Your Ex program is “Learn to Do Something New.” How awesome is it that I’ll have the best teacher—a freaking professional hockey player, and a cute one at that.
I just hope I don’t fall too much.
“You won’t,” I state out loud with the utmost confidence. “Dylan will make it so you learn the correct way and stay on your feet the whole time. You probably won’t fall once.”
Wrong, wrong, wrong.
The next morning I discover that even with the most kind and gentle instruction—Dylan is infinitely patient—the ice is unforgiving.
“Ouch, my ass,” I mumble when I fall for what feels like the fiftieth time.
Dylan and I are at the arena where the Wolves play. He reserved the ice, as promised, so it’s just the two of us.
Thank God, as I wouldn’t want strangers, or his teammates, out here watching me slip and slide and flop around on the ice like a fish out of water.
“I’m really out of my element here,” I remark as Dylan helps me up.
“No, you’re slowly
getting the hang of it, Chloe.”
This man is way too nice.
I shake my head as I hold his arm in an absolute death grip. “I’m definitely a girl from the desert. This ice knows it too. It’s intent on taking me down.”
Dylan takes my hand and we start skating in tandem.
“Don’t feel bad,” he says. “The ice takes everyone down when they’re just learning.”
“Well, it better stop. Or I’m fighting back. I’ll go out and grab some sand from the desert and sprinkle it all over. That’ll provide some traction.”
“Oh, the owners would just love that. I can see the headline now—Girl Ruins Wolves’s Playing Surface by Turning it into a Sandbox.”
We reach the point where I last fell, and he releases my hand. Since I made it a whole rotation without falling, I ask him if we can go around a few more times. “Stay close, though,” I add. “I may need your arm…or your hand.”
“You can have any part of me you want, Chloe,” he replies.
Is he trying to make me fall for him? If so, it’s totally working.
As we begin to skate again, slowly for my sake, I remark, “I bet you never fall anymore.”
“I do,” he says, laughing. “Sometimes your skate will catch in a weird way, or there’ll be a bad spot on the ice.”
“All of the ice is one giant bad spot, if you ask me.”
That makes him chuckle.
I then hit on what must be one of those “bad spots,” and I almost do a header. Dylan catches me, though, and keeps me from falling.
“Ugh, that was close,” I mutter as I straighten up.
“You’re not going fast enough. That’s why your skates keep catching. You need to pick up a little speed so you can glide.”
“That’s easy for you to say.”
“Here, let’s try it this way.”
He turns around so he’s skating backward and starts pulling me along.
“I feel like I’m five years old,” I state dryly once we’re really moving.
“You sure don’t look like you’re five years old,” he replies under his breath.
Ah, so Dylan has noticed the black leggings and formfitting black performance mock turtleneck I chose for this little outing.
I may not move like a sexy ninja, but I sure look like one.
“See, you’re doing really well now,” he says as we begin to soar down the straightaway.
Dylan takes me around the ice several more times. I’m awed that he never seems to tire. And I can’t help but think, with stamina like this, I bet he’s amazing in bed.
Yeah, this friends-only status isn’t going to hold much longer.
Too bad we’re on the ice. Otherwise, I might just make a move on this hot man.
As it is, I best stick with conversation.
Sighing, I ask, “You don’t mind skating backward like this?”
Laughing, he reminds me, “I’m a defenseman. I skate backward most of the game.”
“Hmm, good point.”
Since I’m enjoying skating now, and I feel like I’m getting it down, I decide to share the X Your Ex program with Dylan.
“Graham got me onto it,” I say after explaining the basics.
“It sounds like a fun way to move forward,” he notes.
“Yeah, it’s fun and lighthearted, but it really helps. ‘Learning to Do Something New’ is step four.”
“Ah, that’s why you wanted to learn to skate.”
“Pretty much,” I confirm.
“So what’s the next step?”
“I don’t usually peek until a step is completed, but I did page ahead this morning.”
“And what is it?”
“Umm…” I’m suddenly wishing I’d not brought this up. “I don’t know if I should say.”
“Come on, how bad could it be?”
“It’s not bad. I just don’t know how I’m going to complete it.”
“How do you mean? What is it?”
“Uh…”
“Come on, Chloe, tell me. Maybe I can help.”
That’s what I’m afraid of, I think.
And I am. I’m worried Dylan will think I only brought it up because I want him to help me complete the step, which I kind of do.
“Chloe,” he prompts.
“Okay, okay. The next step is ‘Let Someone Do Something Nice for You.’”
“That doesn’t sound so bad. I can definitely help you out with that one.”
See, I knew he’d feel obligated.
“Dylan,” I begin, taking a breath. “Really, you’ve done enough. Look at us now. You’re teaching me to skate, for heaven’s sake.”
But he insists, “No, I’m definitely helping. In fact, I already know what I’m going to do that’ll be nice.”
Curiosity wins out, and I ask, “Okay, what do you have in mind?”
We skate over to the boards for a break. Dylan grabs a bottle of water he left on the edge and takes a drink.
When he hands it to me, I say, “Are you purposely keeping me in suspense?”
“Oh.” He laughs. “So that’s how it is now. No more ‘you’ve done too much already, Dylan.’ I knew you’d cave.”
“Oh, stop.” I push him, but of course he doesn’t budge. “Just tell me.”
Finally, he does.
“I’m going to make you dinner, Miss Tettersaw. But I should warn you ahead of time that I’m not the greatest cook in the world. Scrambled eggs are my only real specialty.”
“That’s fine. Scrambled eggs work for me.”
“I think I can do better than that, Chloe.”
I’m excited that Dylan’s making me dinner, so excited I could just kiss him. Too bad I don’t have the nerve.
“Do you want to skate around one more time?” Dylan asks. “I only rented the ice till noon, and it’s now ten to.”
“Yes,” I reply. And since kissing him is still forefront in my mind, and that’s going to require us being face-to-face, I ask, “Can we skate like we were doing before?”
“Sure.”
Dylan spins around, takes my hands, and starts skating backward.
As we glide along, it’s like a clock is ticking. But how can I angle myself to give him a hint? I’m not skilled enough to do anything fancy, like gracefully skate into his arms.
Damn!
Seems short of crashing into him, my options are limited.
Still, I decide to give it a try.
I start skating faster. And Dylan, naturally, thinks I’m gaining confidence.
“There you go, Chloe. I knew you had it in you.”
Ha, I have a lot more in me than this. Just wait till I end up in his arms. It’ll be like a scene from a movie, our own Ice Castles moment.
And with that, I propel myself forward.
Oh, no!
Instead of skating into Dylan’s arms, I crash right into him. It’s an Ice Castles moment all right. Though it’s more like the scene where she wrecks into all the metal chairs than any tender moment one. You know the one, the scene where she freaking blinds herself.
I’m a little blinded myself since my face is pretty much mashed into Dylan’s chest. Not that it’s bad, but I’m aiming to kiss more than his pecs.
Bravely committed to making this work—damn it!—I toss back my head and twist my body into what I hope is a good kissing position.
Bad move—our skate blades end up tangled.
“Chloe, what the hell are you doing?”
“Oh, oh, shiiiit.”
We fall together into a heap. Guess Dylan wasn’t lying, he does still fall. But it wasn’t bad ice. I, Hurricane Chloe, single-handedly took him out.
Somehow, we get our skates untangled, and Dylan ends up on his back…with me sprawled out on top of him.
Hmm, not the original plan, but this could work.
He’s so big and warm, so I kind of lie on him.
I could get used to this, though maybe with fewer clothes. Oh my God, Chloe, get a grip.
/> I scramble to sit and end up straddling him. So much for getting a grip.
But I like it. Dylan’s chest is so firm beneath my hands. And his heart beats are so strong—one two, one two.
Why did I ever think I needed to make this happen?
It’s going to happen all on its own.
Dylan’s gaze burns with want and need, and I’m sure mine does too.
“Dylan,” I whisper.
One two, one two…
“Chloe…”
One two, one two…
It’s so quiet in the big arena, just me and him sharing this magical moment.
He places his hands on my hips, and I slide down a little.
Oooh, he’s freaking hard as, well, ice…but so much warmer.
His hands flex as he rasps, “Sweetheart, what are we doing right now?”
“This,” I reply as I lower my mouth to just above his.
He doesn’t move; he lets me take the lead.
So I do.
Slanting my head, I boldly touch my lips to his.
One two, one two…
His hands wind in my hair, tugging it from my ponytail. Yes!
Dylan’s knees are up and he’s pushing me forward to get me closer to him, to kiss me more fully, like his life depends on it.
I think mine does right now too.
I lose myself in kissing Dylan, and letting him kiss me, until suddenly a male chuckle echoes throughout the arena.
Who the hell is that?
“Hey, Culderway.” I hear. “What’s with sexing it up on the ice, dude? We gotta skate over that same spot tonight, you know.”
I lift up from Dylan, breathless and panting.
Meanwhile, he’s grumbling, “What the ever-loving fuck?”
“Who is that?” I whisper, too embarrassed to glance over my shoulder to see who just caught us making out and basically dry-humping on the ice.
“It’s one of my fucking nosy-ass teammates,” he replies loud enough for said teammate to hear.
A chortle sounds out from behind me, and I just have to turn around and see this guy now.
Hmmm, Mr. Voyeur is a good-looking dude with sandy brown hair and a sure-as-shit cocky smirk, one I bet gets him loads of girls. He’s casually leaned over the boards, watching our every move with keen interest.
Well, we have been putting on quite a show.
“Which player is that?” I whisper to Dylan, since I have no clue.
