Not Without You

thirty-four

Aria

"Aria," he begs as I practically drag him down the sidewalk, my hockey bag over my shoulder. "This is pointless. My dad skated on Lost Lake. Not at some arena. Besides, I'm not a good skater. This is only going to end badly. Trust me, I'll be in the hospital with a severe concussion by the time this is over. I have weak ankles."

I snort, tightening my grip on his hand. "You have weak ankles. That's the best excuse you can come up with?"

"Oh, give me a second and I'm sure I can come up with more," he shoots back.

A smug smile finds its way onto my lips as I focus on the building ahead of us. Meadow Park Sports Centre is a large world-class, award-winning, multi-purpose recreational facility. During the summers I've stayed in Whistler, this place has been like a second home to me. You can literally do anything here. From strength-training to skating to swimming to playing a quick game of basketball, this place has it. The majority of my experience here is on the ice, but when I'm feeling up for a challenge, I take one of their advanced fitness classes at the top-quality fitness studio they have.

And, if I'm being entirely honest, the merchandise store is another one of my favourite attributes about this place. They're always stocked up on various fitness and hockey equipment: resistance bands, mouthguards, skipping ropes, stability balls, lifting belts, laces, and tape. They also have Whistler-themed merch; water bottles with an outline of the town, workout shirts with positive sayings, and various products from locally-based businesses. It's fun to explore the small shop and browse them.

I'll have to take Leo in and give him a tour after we've finished his skating lessons.

"You're feisty today," I tease, jabbing him in the ribs with my finger. "What's going on?"

His unique eyes shift to mine, an unimpressed look in them. "I can't skate, Aria. You're wasting your time teaching me, okay?"

"Are you worried you're going to embarrass yourself? Because I can tell you tons of stories about when my dad was trying to teach me how to skate. He lost count of how many times I fell and hit my elbows on the ice."

Leo gives me a look. "How old were you?"

I pull my bottom lip between my teeth and gently bite down on it. Okay, maybe I should have thought this reasoning out a little more. The age difference plays a big part. I, however, still argue with him. "It doesn't matter how old I was. The point is, when my dad taught me, I had no freaking clue; I was in the same situation you are now. Don't let the age affect your ego, honey."

Leo opens his mouth. Closes it. His furrowed brows tell me he's not impressed, as does the flat line his tempting lips have been pressed into. I cock my head to the side as my smug grin broadens. Although I love Leo's straightforwardness, it makes him very easy to convince. Technically, he could argue his way out of this one and come up with much better reasoning than age difference, maybe even going as far as to state his dad wasn't around to teach him or that his mom hates skating.