“Nice.”
They sipped coffee and he realized he didn’t have much practice anymore in talking to regular women who weren’t either famous themselves or involved with celebrities.
While he racked his brain for something to say, she said, “What team do you coach?”
“Honestly, I’m not sure I’m going to coach them. It’s the fire and police team, but I came here today as an observer and what I observed is there’s no teamwork. No sense of a common goal. They’re like a bunch of little kids, all trying to grab the glory.”
A smile lit up her face. “Ah, maybe I can help. I know a lot about organizing little kids.”
3
HE WAS SO CUTE, SIERRA thought, gazing at the earnest expression in the green eyes across from her. He had sun-streaked brown hair and a craggy face that was more appealing because it was so imperfect.
His nose had obviously been broken at least once and there was a toughness to his body that she liked. He had a scar that started at his left cheekbone, a little too close to the eye for her comfort in imagining what injury might have caused it, that jagged its way down an inch or so into his cheek. When he smiled, the scar creased like an overenthusiastic laugh line. She found it fascinating.
She’d never felt so comfortable with a man so quickly. It was as though she already knew him.
“I teach grade two. When the boys aren’t getting along on the playing field, or aren’t working together, you know what I do?”
He seemed absolutely fascinated. He leaned forward and cupped his chin in his hand. “What do you do?”
“You see, boys are very visual, and they’re competitive. It’s simply in their nature. So I tell them to imagine they are building a big fort. If each of them only looks out for himself, then there will be a bunch of little forts, none of them strong enough. But if they work together, they can build something stronger and better.”
“And does it work? “
“Pretty well.”
“Would it work with a bunch of overgrown boys? The kind who fight crime and put out fires?”
“I have no idea. But I’ve sometimes thought that when it comes to competition and games, big boys have a lot in common with little boys.”
The man across from her laughed. “You know a lot about men.”
“No,” she said sadly. “I don’t think I do.”
He gazed at her quizzically for a moment, but instead of calling her on possibly the stupidest remark she’d ever made to an attractive stranger, he said, “I have an idea.”
“What?”
“You help me with my overgrown kids and I’ll teach you to skate well enough to be able to play hockey.”
“I’m not sure I’m cut out for hockey,” but to her own ears it sounded as if she was saying, “persuade me.” And so he did.
“It’s a fun sport, and if you want the respect of your young male pupils, tell them you play hockey. They’ll think you rock.”
She couldn’t help a slightly smug smile from blooming. “My male students already think I rock.”
When he smiled his whole face lit with charm. “That I can believe. I think my first love was my grade-two teacher. You know, those boys will still get dreamy-eyed about you decades from now. So, play hockey to push your boundaries.”
“I’m not sure I want my boundaries pushed.”
“All right, then. You and me, on the ice, right now, for thirty minutes. If, at the end of half an hour you don’t want to continue, what have you lost? Half an hour of your time.”
“Why would you want to teach me how to skate?”
“The truth is, I’ve never coached before. I think if I can get you interested in hockey, then maybe there’s a chance I could actually be a coach.” He drained the last of his coffee. “Besides, I like you. I want to spend more time with you.”
She couldn’t believe it. He announced interest in her as a woman as though it was a perfectly normal, everyday thing, not a big deal. And because he saw it that way, she was able to keep her own perspective.
She was pretty sure after half an hour dragging around the klutziest woman who had ever donned skates he’d be ready to call off his idea to teach her about hockey. But for half an hour, this interesting man was hers.
She nodded. “Okay.”
“Great. Now, first thing we need to do is get you some skates.”
“I have skates,” she reminded him.
“Please. Wayne Gretzky couldn’t skate in those things. They’re trashed.”
And he reached over and picked the dingy white boots up and strode out of the coffee shop with her trailing in his wake.
He received a flattering degree of attention from the rental place compared to how she’d fared. He must be a regular. And before long she was wearing a pair of proper hockey skates that definitely supported her ankles better. This time, when she stepped onto the ice, she felt more confident.
Jarrad ran back to the rink where the cops and firefighters were still practicing, returning with a sports bag. He pulled out his own skates. Mean-looking black things, which he laced up with incredible speed.
When they hit the ice, he took her hand. She couldn’t believe how much she liked this, the holding hands, gliding across the frozen surface. Already she was feeling better.
“The first thing you have to do,” he said, “is stop being so scared. You’ve got padding. So what if you fall? You’ll slide. Get over it. The ice is your personal highway. Make friends with it.”
Make friends with the ice?
She thought she might manage a nodding acquaintance, but at the end of half an hour she was skating. By herself. Without looking at her feet. He didn’t call a halt and neither did she. Instead, he worked with her on a drill. He’d skate alongside her passing the puck, which she was able to retrieve most of the time.
She was having so much fun, she forgot to be scared. And that’s when she fell. And slid.
She glanced up to find Jarrad gazing down at her.
She laughed. “You’re right. It didn’t hurt at all.”
He held a hand down for her and helped her to her feet.
“So? You coming back for more?”
His hands rested on her shoulders and she felt some kind of sizzle run through all the layers of padding right to her skin. Coming back for more? Oh, yes, please.
She had no idea if he’d
