“Hang on,” Dash said before getting out. After chatting with the tuxedo guy and handing him the keys, Dash crossed in front of the car. Then he opened my door. “He’s going to park it downstairs in the lot.”
I took his hand and stepped onto the sidewalk. “You could have taken me down there. I’ve been to the Pershing Square lot before.”
“Not looking like you do. It’s filthy down there. You’re too good for it.”
“Silly,” I said even though I loved every word.
We held hands and walked into the square. It was empty and mostly dark. The playgrounds were locked, and the temporary outdoor skating rink was bathed in white light. The booths were locked. The skate rental had been dismantled until next Christmas season.
“I hope you’re a size seven,” Dash said.
“In what?”
“Skates.”
I gasped. “Are you taking me skating?”
“You’re taking me skating.”
“It’s closed.”
“Not tonight it’s not. Not for us,” he said, opening the gate to the skating area.
“Oh, Dash, I love this!”
His smile was so wide it could have just about broken his face.
Once we were on the turf-covered platform that surrounded the rink, another man in a tux handed us two pairs of skates.
“Thank you,” I said.
I threw myself onto a bench and kicked off my heels. Inside the boots were a new pair of good, thick socks. Excellent, because the stockings were a hundred fifty dollars and would have gotten ruined in the skates, never mind my feet.
Dash held a pair of hockey skates as he said a few quiet words to Tux Man, who nodded and disappeared.
“This is so great!” I said. “How many guys in black suits are helping with this illegal trespass?”
“It’s totally legal and paid for.” He laced his boots up quickly. “They’re just parking the car, keeping people with cameras away, that sort of thing. Here, let me help you.” He kneeled in front of me and methodically tightened my laces.
“The cameras,” I said. “That’s why you don’t do interviews. You don’t like cameras.”
He stopped lacing and put his hand on my calf, brushing his thumb on the smooth stocking. “I like these.”
“Stay below the knee, sir.”
He looked up at me, all mischief, and tied the laces without breaking our gaze. “Really?”
“Really.”
He leaned down and put his lips on the inside of my calf. I gasped. Having him so close to home when we were outdoors made me wild. Even if no one was around, the presence of the sky above felt as if Los Angeles was looking.
“I can respect that,” he whispered. “For now.”
He worked his mouth up along the inside of my leg. Pressed my legs open. Kissed inside my knee. I gripped the edge of the bench.
“Are you wet, Apples?”
Wet? Wet was an understatement. I was soaking a pair of panties I couldn’t afford. “I’m not telling.”
He stood and held his hand out for me. “You don’t need to. Come on. Show me what you got.”
I took his hand, and we went onto the empty rink.
My muscles remembered what to do, pushing side to side, balanced in movement. I couldn’t have worn a more perfect dress to allow my legs proper movement, though keeping the underwear under wraps would be difficult. I pressed down the flared skirt.
He skated to me, pants fluttering against his legs, grace and power in male form.
“You skate?” I said.
“Everyone in Ithaca plays hockey.” He circled me twice, and I spun to keep my eyes on him. “I was a traitor when I went to baseball.”
“Why did you change?”
“Love. I just loved it.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me along.
The wind blew my hair all over my face, and I sped up to catch then pass him. “What did you love?” I said as I passed him.
“The downtime. You can process every play, then there’s this burst of activity, and all the processing just clicks. Like dominoes. All the calculations you made in the past two minutes, it fills in like an equation.”
“And you catch the ball.”
“Sometimes.”
“Always.”
He put his arm around me, and we circled the rink. I turned my face to the sky. The speed, the scratch of blades on ice, the crisp January air, this man’s ridiculous body next to mine. My heart felt lighter than it had in a long time.
He twirled me under his arm then pulled me with his arm around my waist. We synchronized our steps, laughed when we missed, turned, and did it again.
I didn’t know how long we were circling before he got ambitious and sent me spinning to the center of the rink. It could have been an hour, but when he did that, I forgot what I was wearing and went into a scratch spin. It was slower than I did when I was more practiced but fast enough to pick up my skirt.
When I slowed down, he was standing still on his skates, mouth open, hands slow-clapping.
“What are you gaping at?” I asked, still thinking it was the spin that had impressed him. I skated over to him, and he pulled me into his embrace.
“We’re going now,” he growled.