Intercepted (Page 38)

“There are only two more games this season and if we don’t win, we’re out of the playoffs. I have to be on my game, the defense is struggling without Dre. I need to study.”

“And you are studying, but you need a break. Remember how when I was stuck on my paper, you pulled me out of my apartment and took me to the arcade and then the next day I was able to finish?” I can see his resolve starting to slip. “Let me do that for you. Give your football brilliance a rest for the day. Go ice skating, come back and drink some hot cocoa . . . I even bought jumbo marshmallows.”

“I don’t know. I really need to get all this down.”

“Then after skating we can spend the rest of the night warming up . . . naked . . . in bed.” I approach him and straddle his lap.

“Let me get my jacket.”

I touch my mouth to his before I slowly slide off his lap. Watching his eyes darken as I peel myself off of him, the thought of skipping straight to naked and bed does go through my head.

But we don’t.

Yay willpower!

* * *

• • •

WINTER IS MY favorite time of the year.

Actually, I think I say that about every season.

But it’s true for winter.

Besides the icy roads and the cold air that holds my lungs hostage, there’s nothing I don’t love. Oversized puffy jackets? Love. Boots with the fur? Love. The feeling of being nice and warm under your blanket when the rest of your house is cold? Love times two. Ice skating beneath the twinkling Christmas lights above the rink they put up every year? Best. Feeling. Ever.

As soon as Brynn realized how serious Gavin and I were, she made it so my schedule matched his the best it could. Which means instead of working on my marketing plans for HERS or perfecting my bartending skills, I’m spending my Tuesday night appreciating all life has thrown my way. Especially Gavin Pope.

“I can’t believe skating was your idea and you don’t even know how to do it.”

Of course Mr. Perfect slipped his skates on and jumped onto the ice with no problem. Whereas I slipped my skates on, jumped on the ice, and fell so hard I thought I broke my ass.

“The last time I went ice skating, I was like eleven, and I was awesome. It’s just, sometimes, I forget I’m not a kid anymore and I might not be able to do everything I used to.” Admitting it to Gavin physically pains me. For some reason I cannot at all remember—because I wasn’t even a very good ice skater when I was a kid—I thought I would come out here Nancy Kerrigan–style and kill it.

“So what are you going to do, Blanche? You gonna come out here with me or spend the entire time attached to the wall?” He skates over and stops in front of me.

“Is it weird that I’m turned on by a Golden Girls reference? Because I totally am.”

“Come on, you dragged me out here so you’re going to skate. Hold my hands.”

Gosh. So bossy.

But I can never resist an opportunity to touch any part of Gavin.

“Fine, but disclaimer, if you fall, it’s not my fault.”

“Got it, not your fault.” He grabs both of my hands and pulls me across the ice.

And it is so much fun.

Gliding across the ice, the cold air hits my face as my hands are wrapped tightly in Gavin’s. My smile is so big my cheeks hurt, and I can’t stop laughing at the way Gavin’s forehead creases from concentration. We stay that way, Gavin skating backward, me holding on for dear life, while the people around us stare. Staring because either they recognize Gavin or they recognize themselves in the young couple with hearts in their eyes.

“Okay! Let me go now,” I tell Gavin. I think I’ve finally found my balance.

“Are you sure?” He’s watching me like a dad letting go of the bike as their kid learns to ride without training wheels.

“Not at all.” My butt still hurts from my first fall. “But let go before I change my mind.”

So he does.

And I skate.

Well . . . I give it a valiant effort.

I make it about ten feet before my ankles start to wobble, and my body sways. My arms spin around like propellers trying to keep my body upright. But as I flail and my shrieks mix with laughter, I know I’m going down.

Right as I start to fall, Gavin’s strong arms wrap around my waist and for one shiny, hopeful moment, my butt has been saved. But then, Gavin’s legs start moving at supersonic speed and I’m still going down, just not alone.

We hit the ice with a crash so hard, I’m surprised the ice doesn’t crack. We’re both moaning and groaning until I hear Gavin from behind me.

“Fuck.”

And that doesn’t sound like my favorite four-letter word anymore. No, now it sounds like the scariest thing I’ve ever heard.

“Are you okay?” I turn to him faster than I thought possible on ice.

“My ankle twisted when I fell. It’s probably no big deal, but I think we should head out.” He nods his chin and when he does, I notice the crowd, armed with camera phones, circled around us.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

I stand up, feeling secure on the ice for the first time all day, and help Gavin up. To the people watching, I’m sure he looks fine. But I know him and when he stands, he slightly pinches his eyebrows and his jaw tightens. As much as I want to ignore it, I know this is more than a tweaked ankle.

We walk to his truck in silence and as he’s opening my door like always, I snatch the keys out of hands.

“What are you doing?” He tries to take a step toward me, but his face scrunches up in pain, and he stops.

“I’m driving.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I saw the way you looked when you stood up on the ice and just now when you tried to get your keys,” I tell him in my most mom-inspired voice. “So you’re going to sit in the passenger seat while I drive and you’re going to call Jason.”

Jason is the team’s trainer, and he has his phone on him 24/7 in case of incidents like these.

I wait for Gavin to argue, but instead he aims a weak smile my way, climbs into the truck, and pulls out his phone. Gavin always fights back, even about stuff he doesn’t care about, so him just getting in? It causes the worry in the pit of my stomach to grow.

The drive back to his condo is relatively short. As I navigate the tight, one-way roads, it reaffirms what I already knew: driving anything larger than a Prius isn’t a good idea for me. I feel like a kid at Chuck E. Cheese riding in one of the cars that is way too big for them. Thankfully, we make it home without any added injuries, and Jason doesn’t sound too worried about Gavin’s ankle.

Once inside, I make Gavin hobble his tight ass up the stairs and get him hot chocolate and an ice pack. When the cocoa is distributed evenly between his oversized mugs and as many jumbo marshmallows that can fit are in them, I bring them upstairs.

When I’m climbing up the stairs, ice pack freezing under my arm and cocoa splashing dangerously close to the edge, I hear Gavin talking on the phone. At first I can’t decipher what he’s saying, but as I make my way to the room, it all becomes clear.

“I’m fine, Madison.” He sounds tired and annoyed, which seems like the appropriate response to the shrill, whiny voice I’m sure is coming from the other end. “Marlee and I went ice skating. We fell. I’m fine.”

When I walk into the room he tries to smile, but it’s easy to see he’s in pain.