Always Only You by Chloe Liese (z-lib.org).epub

sounds of smooth, wet ice, the scrape of my skates as I spin and travel backward,
my mind quieting, my body centering. Breathing deeply, I soak up that frosty
bite in the air, a bursting cool that fills my lungs.
Pure tranquility.
Until I look up and lock eyes with Frankie. Her face is tight, strained in a
way I haven’t seen before. She looks worried and nervous. Skating her way, I
stop near the bench. One hand’s worth of fingers are tangled in her necklace, the
other holding her phone, white knuckled by her side.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
She swallows as her eyes dance between mine. “Nothing.”
“Obviously it’s not nothing. You look anxious.”
Her hand drops from her necklace. “I’d like to formally request you not get
beaned in the head tonight. That’s all.”
I frown, turning only long enough to slap the puck away, returning it to Kris
across the ice. Then I spin back around. “I always try not to, Frankie.”
“Didn’t stop you from getting pancaked to the plexi last time we were here,”
she grumbles.
A small grin pulls at my mouth. “Francesca.” I lean in. “Are you worrying
about me?”
“No.” She wrinkles her nose and flicks her hair behind her shoulder. “And
scoot back. You stink like a sweaty hockey player.”
“I am a sweaty hockey player, Francesca. I’d think you’d be used to the
smell by now.”
She closes her eyes like she’s searching for serenity and coming up short.
“I’m just reminding you, it’s in everyone’s interest here that you play it safe.”
My stomach tightens with a surge of nervous happiness. Frankie cares
enough about me to be worried I’m going to get hurt. Enough to scowl at me
from across the ice and offhandedly warn me to take it easy.
Kris sends the puck back my way. I flick it up onto my stick and juggle it.
“Don’t worry, älskade. I’ll be careful.”
Her frown deepens. “Of course you speak one of the few European
languages I have no familiarity with. That word at yoga. Now this. I don’t like
this recent development of second-language use, Søren.”
“Hm.” Smacking the puck toward François who was not remotely
anticipating my shot on him, I earn one of his colorful French oaths. “This
coming from the woman who was talking smack in Italian behind my back
during yoga with Fabi. Pretty hypocritical.”
“That—” She huffs. “Fine. Fair. But just so you know, I can still look up
what you said.”