Page 58 of Perfect Score
What a shit boyfriend.
How did I not see all of this happening when Liam and I were still on good terms? How did I idolize him for so long?
I guess because we grew up together and I saw him as the big brother I never had.
If Zoey had been mine, I would have gotten her out on the ice with me as often as possible.
“You’ll want them tight. You’ll have more control if they fit snug.” I offer.
She nods in response, but I can see in her eyes that she’s trusting me to make the call on this.
“Size seven,” she tells me.
“Can my girlfriend get a size six and a half and a size seven, please?” I ask the guy on the other side of the rental desk, putting emphasis onmy girlfriendin case Liam’s listening in. But maybe I like saying it too.
“Holy shit! You’re Brent Tomlin!” The kid says.
“Yeah, I am.” I smile back at him. “How are you?”
“I can’t believe this! Will you help me with my backhand?” he asks.
He can’t be more than seventeen years old, and although I want to spend every minute I can with Zoey, I like helping out the next generation of hockey players.
A few pointers out on the ice won’t take long.
“Sure, do you have a break soon?”
He looks up at the clock attached to the wall behind him.
“Yeah, lunch in twenty,” he beams.
I can feel Zoey's eyes on me. She's enjoying this for some reason.
“Come on out later, and we’ll run a few drills together. We’ll pinpoint where you need to improve and go from there.”
His eyes widen, and he fist bumps into the air.
“Yes! Thank you," he says. "None of the guys are going to fucking believe me.” Then he turns behind him and pulls Zoey’s skates out of the cubby stacked behind him.
“Here you go,” the kid says, setting Zoey’s skates on the table.
“Thanks,” she says with a smile.
She grabs one set of skates, and I grab the other. We move to an open area with blue-painted wooden benches.
We sit side by side as we pull on our skates.
I lace mine up in record time but watch as she struggles.
“Here, let me help you," I offer, sliding off the bench and placing one knee on the ground, kneeling in front of her in the same position I’d be in if I were proposing.
A kick to the stomach radiates at the thought of proposing to Zoey. Then I realize that the feeling isn’t of dread but of excitement. There has never been a single woman in all the years away from Zoey who has ever inspired the idea of wanting to propose.
We try the size six and a half first.
“How do those feel?” I ask, helping her to stand up on them to see how they feel.
Her attention is down on her skates too. “A little tight but not uncomfortable.”