“Oh.” She hesitated. She didn’t have any money.
“I need a pair too,” Dane said, handing over his plastic. “I’m not skating in dress pants. Put everything on my card.”
She gave him a look. He didn’t have to buy a new pair unless he was going to fall over and rip his clothes, which she doubted he’d do. “Thanks.”
“Don’t thank me. I don’t want to give you any reason to cry foul.”
Oh, this is going to be good. “I’ll try not to lose too ungraciously.”
She selected a pair of black workout pants and went to the locker room to change. The scene felt so familiar, her eyes prickled with moisture. This had been her life for so long.
After warming up and stretching quickly, she picked out a pair of figure skating skates. They weren’t as nice as her old ones, of course, but they would do for forty laps. Dane had changed into a black workout shirt and matching pants. He looked great, the fitted top showing off the lean, strong lines of his entirely too lickable body. Predictably, he was in a pair of hockey skates.
It was too bad that he wasn’t the kind of man she’d thought he was. She could see herself being in a relationship with that man, but not this cynical person.
“You’re going to trip and fall,” he said, pointing at the toe picks.
“Why Dane, are you worried about me? I thought you wanted me gone.”
He looked down at her. “Regardless, I don’t want you injured.”
She smiled with bemusement. He always denied that he was capable of being nice, but then he had to ruin it by saying he didn’t want bad things to happen to her. If he just wouldn’t do that, she would’ve found it easier to dislike him. “I’ll be fine.”
He shrugged. “Suit yourself. But don’t expect me to take you to the hospital if you break something.”
“You won’t have to.” She looked at the rink. There was a single line running around the edge. “So how’s this going to work? There’s only one lane.”
“Hmm. I suppose we’ll have to go one at a time.”
“Okay. You can go first if you want,” she said.
“Nervous?”
She shrugged.
He studied her expression, but she knew he wouldn’t pick up anything. She’d perfected her game face when she’d been ten. Her competitors had never gotten a good reading on her.
“Fine. I’ll have Timothy time us.”
Dane went around the rink a few times. He was better than she expected, sure on his skates. She didn’t know how long he’d played hockey, but it couldn’t have been more than a few years when he was in school.
When Timothy was ready with his stopwatch, Dane started in earnest. He was quite fast. Men generally had the advantage of power, and given that he ran and kept himself in great shape, forty laps was nothing to him.
He grinned when he finished and Timothy read him his time. “Damn, I’m good.”
“I have to admit, it’s an impressive time.” She smiled, said, “Guess it’s my turn,” and stepped onto the ice.
It felt strange to be back on it. She’d been convinced she would never return when she’d realized she could no longer skate like she used to. But there was an odd sense of serenity and comfort as she glided across the ice. After all, she’d literally spent more waking hours on the ice than off. It felt so effortless to push herself forward, knees soft and edges precise.
Forty laps was child’s play. Her coach—the sadist—had often made her do over a hundred laps at full speed. No longer in competition shape, she still had the muscle memory and technique that had been drilled into her since childhood. She went around and around, then switched directions easily as Timothy called out the twentieth lap. Everything became a blur of smooth, sustained effort. Her heart thundered, and the good, clean fire of exertion burned in her legs.
She was going to beat Dane. And not just because of the bet. She hated losing. There was no feeling worse than not being at the top of the podium, and she wanted the euphoria of victory. She deserved that much after the mess her life had become.
Timothy whistled as he clicked the stopwatch on her final lap. “Wow. She beat you by more than thirty seconds.”
Dane scowled. “Are you sure?”
Sophia came to a full stop in front of them. “I told you you were going to get embarrassed.”
“But thirty seconds? Let me see that stopwatch.”
Timothy showed it to him, but was looking at her. “Miss, I have to ask… Are you Sophia Reed?”
She made a small curtsy. “I am.”
His face split into a huge smile. “I thought you looked familiar. Knew for sure when I saw them edges. You always had the best ones.”