Total pages in book: 156
Estimated words: 155203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 776(@200wpm)___ 621(@250wpm)___ 517(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 155203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 776(@200wpm)___ 621(@250wpm)___ 517(@300wpm)
“I said you’re not supposed to be here,” he barks.
Just like that, I snap out of it. Oh, okay. This guy’s a dick.
“And you’re supposed to be?” I challenge. Camp doesn’t start until nine. I know for a fact because I helped Tommy photocopy the schedules for everyone’s welcome packages.
“Yes. It’s the first day of hockey camp. I’m here to warm up.”
Those magnetic eyes sweep over me. He takes in my tight jeans, purple sweatshirt, and bright pink leg warmers.
Lifting a brow, he adds, “You must have mixed up your dates. Figure skating camp is next week.”
I narrow my eyes. Scratch that—this guy’s a huge dick.
“Actually, I’m—”
“Seriously, prom queen,” he interrupts, voice tight. “There’s no reason for you to be here.”
“Prom queen? Have you ever seen yourself in the mirror?” I retort. “You’re the one who looks like he should be voted prom king.”
The irritation in his expression sparks my own. Not to mention that smug gleam in his eyes. It’s the latter that cements my decision to mess with him.
He thinks I don’t belong here?
And he’s calling me prom queen?
Yeah…kindly screw yourself in the butt, dickface.
With an innocent look, I tuck my hands in my back pockets. “Sorry, but I’m not going anywhere. I really need to work on my spins and loop jumps, and from what I can see”—I wave a hand around the massive empty rink—“there’s plenty of room for both of us to practice. Now if you’ll excuse me, this prom queen really needs to get back to it.”
He scowls again. “I only called you that because I don’t know your name.”
“Ever consider just asking my name then?”
“Fine.” He grumbles out a noise. “What’s your name?”
“None of your business.”
He throws his hands up. “Whatever. You want to stay? Stay. Knock yourself out with your loops. Just don’t come crawling to me when the coaches show up and kick your ass out.”
With that, he skates off, sullying my pristine ice with the heavy marks of his blades. He goes clockwise, so out of spite I move counterclockwise. When we pass each other on the lap, he glares at me. I smile back. Then, just because I’m a jerk, I bust out a series of sit spins. In my one-legged crouch, I hold my free leg in front of me, which means it’s directly in his path on his second lap. I hear a loud sigh before he cuts in the other direction to avoid me.
Truth is, I did indulge in some figure skating as a kid. I wasn’t good enough—or interested enough—to keep at it, but Dad insisted I’d benefit from the lessons. He wasn’t wrong. Hockey is all about physical plays, but figure skating requires more finesse. After only a month of learning the basics, I could already see major improvements in my balance, speed, and body positioning. The edge work I honed during those lessons made me a better skater. A better hockey player.
“Okay, seriously, get out of the way.” He slices to a stop, ice shavings ricocheting off his skates. “It’s bad enough I’m stuck sharing the ice with you. At least have some fucking respect for personal space, prom queen.”
I rise out of the spin and cross my arms. “Don’t call me that. My name is Gigi.”
He snorts. “Of course it is. That’s such a figure skater name. Let me guess. Short for something girly and whimsical like…Georgia. No. Gisele.”
“It’s not short for anything,” I reply coolly.
“Seriously? It’s just Gigi?”
“Are you really judging my name right now? Because what’s your name? I’m thinking something real bro-ey. You’re totally a Braden or a Carter.”
“Ryder,” he mutters.
“Of course it is,” I mimic, starting to laugh.
His expression is thunderous for a moment before dissolving into aggravation. “Just stay out of my way.”
When his back is to me, I grin and stick my tongue out at him. If this jerk is going to intrude on my precious early morning ice time, the least I can do is get on his very last nerve. So I make myself as invasive as possible. I pick up speed, arms extended to my sides, before executing another series of spins.
Damn, figure skating is fun. I forgot how fun.
“Here we go, now you’re about to get it,” comes Ryder’s snide voice. A note of satisfaction there too.
I slow down, registering the loud echo of footsteps beyond the double doors at the end of the rink.
“Better skedaddle, Gisele, before you piss off Garrett Graham.”
I skate over to Ryder, playing dumb. “Garrett who?”
“Are you shitting me right now? You don’t know who Garrett Graham is?”
“Is he famous or something?”
Ryder stares at me. “He’s hockey royalty. This is his camp.”
“Oh. Yeah. I only follow figure skaters.”
Flipping my ponytail, I glide past him. I want to get one last move in, mostly to see if I still remember any of the stuff I learned during my lessons.