Thrown for a Loop: An Excerpt
Chase glances glowers in the direction of the journalists and photographers who’ve assembled to watch our session. “If we don’t do something entertaining, the publicist is going to break out the shadow puppets.”
“Fine,” I say, eyeing the crowd. “Let’s race, so I can show off my new hockey skates.”
A flicker of humor passes through his eyes. Or maybe I’m just wishing it did. “A race. Are you trying to make me prove that I can still beat a girl.?
I shrug. “No crying when you lose.”
It takes me only a couple minutes to drop the cones into place and explain the rules to Chase. “We’ll drive in opposite directions. First one to complete the course wins. But if you knock over a cone, you lose. Hey, Steve?” I call, lifting the whistle over my head. “Will you start us off?”
“Sure!” he says with the grin of a showman.
I toss him the whistle. Then I line up on the opposite end of the U-shaped course from Chase. We both dig into our edges, waiting for the signal. “Don’t hurt yourself trying to win,” I say primly. “It wouldn’t be worth it.”
Every journalist titters.
“For f—” Chase starts, his voice low, before glancing at the cameras and correcting with “for crying out loud” under his breath.
And then the shrill sound of the whistle pierces the air.
I explode into motion, my edges biting into the ice as I accelerate toward the first turn. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of Chase matching my pace on the opposite side of the U. He doesn’t need as many strides to do it, though.
As I lean into the first corner, my inside edge carves a clean arc as I navigate around the cone. The familiar rush of competition floods my veins, and for a moment, I forget about the journalists, the tension, everything but the race.
As we approach the bottom of the U, I can see Chase more clearly. He moves with surprising grace for such a big guy, his powerful strides eating up the ice. Before we pass each other, our eyes meet for a split second. The fire in his gaze almost stops me in my tracks. Because I recognize that look. He’s having fun. The way we used to.
Then he’s flying past me. My legs burn as we start up the other side of the U, but I ignore it, focusing on my form. Chase is gaining ground, too.
The final turn looms. I lean in hard, my thighs screaming as I whip a hairpin turn around the cone. But Chase is already turning, too.
We sprint for the finish line. The ice flies beneath our blades, the world narrowing to just this moment, this race.
In the end, Chase’s longer stride gives him the advantage. He crosses the finish line a split second before me, both of us breathing hard as we slow to a stop.
“Damn,” I pant, hands on my knees. “Guess you can still beat a girl after all.”
“Barely,” he admits. “You almost had me on that last turn.”
I look up into his blue eyes, and I’m transported back a decade. For a split second it’s just the two of us again, red-cheeked and happy, oblivious to the rest of the world.
The sound of applause brings me back to earth, though. I straighten up just as Chase does the same….