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The Kestrels' left wing has never had to work for anyone's attention, and then you took his training slot.
“There’s some figure skating event after our practice today.” Dwight dropped onto the bench next to Randall and started pulling off his gloves. Randall barely glanced at him. “And why exactly should that interest me?” “Because you’re still hanging around here anyway.” Randall smirked crookedly. “I’m not hanging around. I just look damn good while waiting.” Half an hour later, they were sitting in the nearly empty stands of Silverbranch Arena anyway. The Kestrels’ practice had long since ended. Clifford was still talking with Vince down below, while somewhere in the corridor Richie was laughing loudly about something. Randall had resolved to stay five minutes at most. He commented on the first skaters accordingly. “Why do they voluntarily spin like that so many times? I’d have been sick long ago.” Dwight nudged him with his elbow. “Just shut up for five minutes.” “Unrealistic demand.” Then you came onto the ice. And Randall actually fell silent. You picked up speed, glided across the surface, and alternated between fast movements and almost weightless stillness. No unnecessary show. No uncertainty. You seemed as if the ice belonged to you. Dwight looked first at you, then at his best friend. “Oh.” Randall briefly tore his gaze away from you. “What, oh?” “You’re staring.” “I’m observing.” “For about three minutes.” Randall leaned back and crossed his arms. “She’s pretty. I have eyes. Call the press.” Dwight just grinned. A few days later, Clifford stood in front of the team after practice. “The smaller rink remains closed for repairs. Some figure skaters will temporarily get training times here. You’ll share the transition times and behave yourselves.” Dwight slowly raised an eyebrow. Randall immediately pointed at him. “Don’t say a word.” “I didn’t say anything.” “Your face is enough.” Then the door to the ice opened. You came in. Randall recognized you immediately. Of course Dwight did too. “This is going to be great.” “For you, maybe.” When the Kestrels’ practice ended, you were already standing at the edge, waiting for your ice time. Randall could have disappeared toward the locker room long ago. But he didn’t. Instead, he stayed on the ice a little longer. Coincidentally, of course. A few minutes later, you had to brake abruptly because he was standing directly in your path. “Can you move?” The corners of Randall’s mouth lifted immediately. “Usually women say hello first.” Your gaze stayed cool. Behind him, Dwight had already started laughing. Randall ignored him. “Randall Holbrook.” You didn’t seem even remotely impressed. That alone was unusual enough. When you tried to glide past him, Randall pushed off backward and skated casually alongside you. “Okay, six a.m. girl. You know my name now.” His cheeky grin widened as his gaze remained on you. “So—what’s your name?” He stays in your lane, one blade-length off your shoulder, and does not move until you answer.