Evan is holding my hand as I fumble my way around the rink. I feel like a baby, learning to walk for the first time. Or a zombie, all stiff-legged and totally lacking coordination.

“I’m so bad at this,” I complain with a laugh. “I thought we were going sight-seeing?”

“I just had this vision of teaching you to skate,” he says. “Hang in there. It gets easier.”

“I don’t know about that.” I look down at the skates. “I’m used to my running shoes.”

“Do you still run?” he asks as he moves behind me, his hands at my waist to hold me steady. “Try not to lock your knees. Just let yourself move like you normally would.”

“I do, yes. Every day almost. It really helps me decompress.”

“Did you start running for any specific reason?”

“Um, I guess I just realized it helped me tune out stress,” I say, trying to will my body to relax. “My parents had already divorced by the time I was in high school. My mom and her new husband moved to France like the minute I started college. My dad’s job had always taken him overseas, and he eventually made his home in Saudi Arabia. So, it’s safe to say I’ve mostly been on my own to figure things out.”

“They fought a lot? And you ran to shut it out?”

“Yeah. Started running in middle school, actually. Got good at it. I was determined not to allow myself to be a pawn in my parent’s legal battle over money, so I pushed myself through high school, got the attention of the UCLA cross country coaches.”

Talking like this has helped me relax, and I feel myself getting more comfortable on the skates. Evan moves back to my side, taking my hand again as we keep making our way around the ice.

“Well, you must have been damn good, then. Maybe we can go for a run together sometime. I must confess seeing you all sweaty and in some tight running shorts is kind of a fantasy of mine,” he says with a wicked smirk on his too-handsome face.

I roll my eyes and slip a little, my concentration utterly broken. Evan is there in a heartbeat, pulling me close to his body, his arm snaking around my waist. We’re not moving, and I’m wrapped in his arms. He looks down at me and before I can say a word or make a joke, his lips are on mine.

At first, I stiffen. Do I want to go there with him?

The answer is: I do. I want him. I reach up and run my fingers through his hair, finding it as silky as it has been in my dreams. I move my hands to his face, his thick, short beard covering a chiseled face.

I let out a little moan and he uses it as an opening to deepen the kiss, his tongue finding mine. We kiss and kiss until I’m breathless. When I pull away, I feel my cheeks heat with a blush that I’m sure has spread to other parts of my now-overheated body.

“I knew it would be good.” He takes my hand and helps me get started skating again.

“You did, did you?” I ask, grinning, still blushing. “What if I’d had tuna breath or something?”

“I like tuna okay,” he says, grinning back, “and your cheeks are all pink now. It’s lovely on you.”

There’s been music playing the whole time, mostly classic rock songs. “You like classic rock?” It’s my feeble attempt at distracting myself from the way he just said “lovely” in his sexy accent.

“I do,” he says. “Hockey tradition. Like the mullet. It grows on you.”

“I like it okay, but I like modern music better. Pop-punk, alt rock. Fall Out Boy, The Black Keys, Twenty-One Pilots.”

He nods. “I know the first two, not the last one.”

“They’re a little different,” I say. “Really, I like most music. I have different favorites for different paces.”

The Police’s Every Breath You Take comes on and I smile at him. “I love this song.”

“Me too,” he says. “I love the Police and I love Sting. Did you know he and his wife are like yoga gurus?”

“I didn’t,” I say, laughing. “Do you do yoga?”

“Hell no. I’m bloody well sure I’d pull a muscle or something. Not flexible enough.”

“I like yoga. It’s very relaxing.”

He grunts his dissent. “Sorry about your parents,” he says. “You don’t talk to them much?”

“Every couple of months. I mean, they love me, and they check in, but they were both so unhappy for so long, it just felt like they both needed a total restart. I’m a big girl. It’s no big deal.”

“My parents are also divorced. My father is from the Ukraine, my mother is from Boston. She was the one who insisted I go to an English school.”

“Is that where you learned to play hockey?”

“I’ve been on skates since I could stand upright, I think,” he says. “I certainly started skating before I went to school. But they had a competitive team, and I was a competitive kid.”

“Sounds like a good fit, but when did you realize you could make it as a professional player?”

He shrugs. “Always? Is that cocky?”

I laugh. “A little.”

He stops us and pulls me close again, his lips brushing mine. This time, the kissing becomes more intense, deeper, and I feel like I’m being pulled into an undertow that I might not be able to escape. I can’t seem to help myself either. I turn to putty when his lips are on mine.

When he pulls away, I feel a little dazed. He looks so gorgeous. I’ve never seen a man that looks like him, who makes me feel the way he makes me feel. Of course, I’m not going to tell him this. He already has a huge head.

“So, what do you think?” he asks.

“About?”

“Skating, of course.”

“Oh,” I say. “It’s pretty fun, I guess. It would be hard to do it in thick pads and with a stick and having to track a puck, though.”

“We’ll get there.”

“Oh, we? No,” I say. “I don’t think I need to actually play hockey to promote it.”

“I disagree,” he says. “Tell me about the blue line.”

I laugh but see he really is trying to quiz me. So I answer that, plus a few more questions about the game and the basic rules. He corrects me a couple of times, but the best part are the kisses I get between each question.

We make our way off the ice, to the benches where we pull off our skates. Evan goes to take the skates back to wherever he got them from. His phone buzzes on the bench. I glance at it and see it’s from Kacey King.

Evan returns, all smiles until he sees my face. It must be drained of color, because I suddenly feel totally cold and empty. And a little bit sick. I point to his phone where it sits face up on the bench, right where he left it. “Kacey says you were awesome the other night.” I know my tone is bitchy, but I don’t care.

He gives me a grin, but it falters a bit. “Yeah, I did an interview with her before the home game. No biggie.”

“It’s a biggie to me.” All of my good feelings have been sucked away, like a balloon deflating as it circles its way to the ground. “Evan, I—”

“You what? You expect I’d just sleep around with anyone and everyone?”

“I had a fiancé who cheated on me. I haven’t been with anyone since, because obviously”—I point a thumb at myself— “trust issues. And I keep telling myself that I should walk away from a guy like you.”

“What kind of guy am I?”

“One who, you know, sleeps with lots of women. Who can’t be tied down.”

His lips press together. I can see him trying to figure out how to respond. “Holly, I’m not going to pretend I don’t have a history. But I’m not interested in Kacey. And I haven’t slept with anyone in months. I’m interested in you, and not just for sex.”

“I just…she confronted me the other day at work.” I feel tears welling up in my eyes. “She threatened to make me lose my job if I didn’t stay away from you. And I can see she’s really trying to get your attention.”

“She can’t make you lose your job, Holly.”

“She can. She knows Fiona,” I insist. “She wants you, and she won’t stop until she gets you.”

“Don’t I get a say? I told you I don’t want Kacey.” I can hear the irritation in his tone. I’ve made him mad. Everything good that happened between us today is now ruined.

Suddenly I feel trapped, in almost a claustrophobic way. I need get away from him and away from the helpless intoxication I feel whenever I’m with him. “I’m gonna go, Evan, I’m sorry.” I say, grabbing my shoes and sprinting towards the exit. Running is my talent after all.

I slip into the ladies’ lounge at the front of the building and plop down onto a soft bench, so I can put my shoes back on. I request an Uber and wait it out inside the lounge until the driver alerts me he is arriving. Only then do I hit the front exit. I manage to hold onto my pathetic tears until my butt is safely planted in the back seat of my ride.

Just barely, and not for long, though.

Because as we drive away, Evan comes striding outside, his face a mask of concern. Still handsome as hell, but I can tell he is thoroughly offended by my behavior. Facing him at work now is really going to suck.

I go straight to Pam’s apartment, desperately in need of my friend’s shoulder to cry on.

And one huge-ass reality check.