Book #3 in the Medley Series
ZEKE MITCHELL:
With the World Championship in swimming approaching and our medley team in better condition than ever, nothing can stop us.
Expect, as the season starts, an old injury rears its ugly head again, potential...
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I look at the area in front of me and the kids zooming around with serious skepticism.
Turning my gaze on Zeke, who's rubbing his hands together to warm them up, that goofy, excited smile on his face, I huff a white breath.
"Is this a good idea?"
His head swings to me, panic flashing over his features. "You don't like it?"
"I didn't say that." I try to force enthusiasm into my tone. He's clearly planned this carefully; it's just... unexpected. "But are you even allowed to ice skate?"
The holidays are over, but since it's still cold at shit in Ann Arbor, and I've been told we're not even at the worst part yet - yay - skating rinks around the area are still open. And Zeke thought it would be a good idea for our first date.
He slings an arm around my shoulder, grinning. "I checked with Lucy. She says it's cool as long as I don't fall and shatter my knee. But I don't think we need to worry about that." He winks, exhibiting all the confidence of a white man who's always excelled at sports.
"Have you ever skated before? On ice or not?" I inquire because I sure as shit have not.
We grew up in Florida, which is too hot and humid for these kinds of outdoor rinks. While I dislike going cold places, Zeke has always liked his water more fluid than frozen.
"How hard can it be?" Zeke grabs my hand and drags me towards the little shed beside the rink. There's a window, and behind it sits a teenager engrossed in their phone.
Zeke gently taps the glass, smiling brightly. The boy looks up, sighing as he slides the little panel aside to speak with us. "What's up?"
"Two tickets, please."
"Entrance for two adults?" the boy checks, his face completely void of feeling and his voice monotone. Jeez, so much for customer service.
"Yes, please. And the rent for two pairs of skates, too," Zeke says, fishing his wallet out of his pocket and paying.
Something twists in my stomach. Normally, Zeke and I don't mind paying for each other, and we often take turns without really discussing it. In any event, if this were a few weeks ago, I'd never have thought to offer to pay for my own ticket since Zeke is loaded, but now it feels very obvious that he's paying for me because this is a date.
There's an angry little feminist in me who wants to stomp her feet and complain that men shouldn't assume they're paying. And then there's the part of me who, despite having thought of little less since New Year's, isn't quite at ease with the fact that this is a date.
Should I offer to Venmo him half? Jump in front of him at any other expense of the day and demand to pay? Should I simper and thank him? Ignore it? What is the procedure?
Jesus, I'm already sweating, and we haven't even started yet.
Zeke is oblivious to my emotional and existential turmoil, and he hauls me to the next shed, where a perky teenage girl hands out skates. Zeke's eyes fall to my feet, and he puckers his lips in thought. "You're a size nine, right?"
