I hold a finger up under my nose and then offer it to her. “Wanna check?”

“Oh my God. No.” She bats it away.

“Smells like luscious lilies.”

“You have a problem.”

“What can I say? I’m an addict.”

“You’re insane is what you are. Go get me a latte. You’re making Finlay nervous.”

“Good. That’s exactly what I want him to be.” I consider how my presence might affect Lily in this situation. “Am I making you nervous?”

“No. Just harder to do my job.”

“Horny?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

She pushes on my chest. “Can you go? You’re such a distraction.”

I take her hand and kiss her fingers. “Are you mad at me?”

“The jury’s still out on that. Now go, and don’t rush back.” She pulls her hand from my grip and skates off, flipping me the bird behind her back. She also has to adjust her tights, which means she draws attention to her ass. That would be fine if it was just me checking it out, but I’m about to leave, which means Finlay will have plenty of opportunity to stare at it while I’m gone. Damn it.

I want to be back to the rink as fast as possible, even though Lily doesn’t seem to want me there, so I take my truck instead of walking. It only takes two minutes to drive to Starbucks. But it’s the kind with no drive thru, so I end up having to circle the block and find a spot down the street.

There must be some kind of event going on nearby, or a fucking field trip, because the place is packed with people—and not just with the usual laptop-toters. There’s a huge line waiting to order and a sizable group congregated at the counter, still waiting for their drinks. I get asked for an autograph three times, and of course there are subsequent selfies to be had.

By the time I get back in my truck, Lily’s session with that Finlay fucker is already over. Fucking tourists and their frappe-lappa-what-the-fuck-evers and their ridiculous indecision. When I’m back at the arena I check the rink anyway, in case they’re still there, but it’s now filled with little kids bumbling around. I head for the changing room to find the door locked.

Shit.

I really hope she isn’t super pissed at me. That would not be a good way to start our weekend. Particularly since I’m hoping it will contain a high amount of nudity and sex.

I stand in the hall, holding her latte and an oat bar—plus a muffin because Lily is always hungry—and wait. And wait some more. My phone buzzes, so I check to see if she’s messaging. It’s Miller, wondering when we’re going to be there. I send him a voice memo saying we’ll be on our way soon.

Then I text Lily to let her know I’m waiting on the other side of the locked door.

As soon as it opens, I step forward and force her back in. “Are we alone in here?”

“Yes, but you’re not pulling that stunt on me again.”

I close the door and lock it, which makes it look like I’m trying to do exactly that. I’m not.

“I’m sorry.” I set the latte down and take her face in my hands. Then I kiss her. I don’t attempt tongue. She might bite me. Instead I wrap my arms around her and hug the shit out of her. She wriggles at first, but then she just stands there. After another minute she gives in and hugs me back. I turn my face into her neck and drop a kiss there, then another on her jaw, and one on her cheek. She lets me get as far as her lips, but when I add a little tongue, she puts a hand on either side of my face and disengages our mouths.

She purses her plush lips until they’re a straight line. “I thought you said you were okay with me teaching pairs.”

“I am okay with you teaching pairs.”

“Really? Because the locker room pussy diving and flag pole territory-claiming indicate you’re not.”

“I wanted to meet him.”

She gives me a look.

“Do you know the history on this guy? He’s had relationships with his last two partners.” Honestly, when she said she was teaching pairs, I didn’t stop to think that part of it would be demonstrating moves with the fucking dude before he tried them on the other chick.

“But I’m not his partner. And I’m with you, so that’s not relevant anyway. How do you even know that about him?”

“I read it somewhere. And you’re his instructor, which makes you, like, his number-one wet dream. I bet he wants to bone you more than he does his partner.”

“Did you internet stalk him?” she asks, sounding incredulous.

“No. I read a couple of articles because I was curious, and I wanted to see what he looked like—I mean, who you were working with.” I’m digging myself a deeper hole with all this honesty crap.

“First of all, he’s my student.”

“Yeah, but he’s nineteen.”

“He still has acne, and he probably only has to shave once a week. Secondly, I already have a seriously hot boyfriend. Thirdly, he’s not even remotely as attractive as you are. On a scale of one to ten, you’re a twelve, and he’s maybe a—”

“Two?” I offer.

“I was going to be nice and say six.”

I can tell she’s trying to appease me even though she’s still kind of mad.

“So that’s what this whole set-up was about today? Me teaching pairs and you needing to make sure my student knows you’re my boyfriend? And that I live with you, in your house?”

“I figured that was pushing the line. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you to be sorry. I want you to trust me.”

“I do trust you. It’s the nineteen-year-old bag of hormones I don’t trust.” I take a deep breath and decide to come clean. “My sister called this morning. I think she’s, like, homesick but doesn’t want to come out and say it. I’m kinda worried about her. The season’s starting soon, and my dad called last week for the first time in months. Those conversations are always uplifting, and he called again today saying he might be in the area. I don’t feel like dealing with him, and then there’s this pairs thing. It’s great, and I totally support this because you’re amazing on the ice, but I didn’t realize this guy was gonna get to put his hands on you for, like, an extended period of time and, like, touch you and shit, and that fucking song is our song, and I don’t want him to touch you.” Jesus. I sound like a controlling dick. Maybe I am. I really fucking hope not.