Tangled Heartstrings

There’s a certain sensation that hits you when you step on ice. It’s electrifying like a lightning bolt. A burst of energy gets sent throughout your body and for the meantime you develop confidence while breathing in refreshing, frosty air. The faith in yourself goes deep, you feel powerful. Ayla does.

That is, until she takes one glide that’s too fast and optimistic. Her second foot branches out onto the platform and she instantly loses control. The hardest part is knowing that she’s going to fall, her balance is stripped from her and she runs through a set of difficult maneuvers to try to keep herself planted on two feet. Ayla’s arms and legs are panicking. It looks like she’s swimming in air as she struggles to re-process jurisdiction. As most would predict, she slips.

James shuffles down the runway expeditiously with a look of concern expressed upon his face. He gets to his company’s side only to hear a muffled sound. Is she crying? He listens closely with his head tilted as she rolls on her back and looks up towards the stands. A giggle escapes her lips and she finds it impossible to contain her laughter. The noise is coming from her diaphragm and is echoing in the area.

“I take it you’re okay?” He questions confused, sitting down beside her on the rock hard, slippery ice.
“I’m perfect, humiliated: but still perfect.”

“Yes you are.” James flirts.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Ayla says while he lies down on the flat surface, joining her. They’re on their backs with their hands on their stomach, a deep breath is being inhaled into their respective lungs, and they’re both admiring their surroundings.

The University student is fascinated at the beauty of the place. It’s inviting, welcoming, and open. It’s bright too, fluorescent lights are warming up the place and although they’re being operated: it seems like a natural source. There’s a certain charm in the thousands of black and gold seats being un-occupied. It’s relaxing. Her body is calm. “I’ve never noticed how blue and clear your eyes are.”

“Do you like blue eyes?”

“I absolutely adore blue eyes.” She pauses rising to a seated position, her knees are slanted with her weight pushing down on her left side reminding him of how a mermaid sits. James bolts straight up into a cross legged, butterfly pose. His arms are flat and swung comfortably at his sides with his fingers lightly tapping the ground below him.

Ayla steals his hand and slips hers into it. The action isn’t forceful and demanding, it’s a relief for each of them. James closes his eyes. He’s been refrained from coming into contact with a person of the opposite gender for so long, the tingling joy returns. She, too, embraces the connection. “Do you remember the question you asked me at dinner a while back?”

“Maybe, which one are you referring to?”

“You told me that you were attracted to me and wondered if I liked you back.” She explains wincing at the memory. That was not one of her best moments; the memory haunts her like a nightmare. “Ti adoro”

“You’re speaking Italian, right?” He clarifies grinning. Personally, he finds her speaking a different language a huge turn on. The way that she says ti adoro is enchanting, if only he knew what it meant.

“I am, I said I adore you.”

“I adore you too.” James adds with a sense of freedom. He can say whatever he’d like and not have it come off as creepy or desperate. “By the way, I absolutely love green eyes.”

Ayla smiles at his compliment and holds out her hand. For her, it’s a big step. The vulnerability sprayed on her body is washed away and erased with the touch of his skin. His hands are abnormally warm; they’ve always been that way just as her body has always been cold. The two compensate each other. It’s as if James’s hands are moulded just for her. They fit perfectly with their fingers intertwined and their creases sinking into one another’s.

She notices strength in his grip, he has her hypnotized and there’s no escaping. She feels safe beside him; he gives her room to be bold and audacious. In this moment, he’s beginning to earn her trust. Ayla’s clinging onto him and is her fate is decided by him, he literally has to catch her if she falls. Her thin blades stroke the ice. She’s clinging to him for support as she glides forward and if she slips, he’s right there to lift her back up. Overtime she gains confidence but no speed.

“You’re doing well and have mastered this pace; maybe it’s time to kick it up a notch. My hope is that someday you can beat me in a race.” James announces, giving her motivation and encouragement.

“Like that’s going to happen. From what I’ve heard you’re a top notch NHL forward who’s participated
in an Allstar game.” An impressed look comes upon the goal scorer’s face causing her to add. “I did my research.”

“I can tell. Let me guess, you went on Wikipedia?”

“I did, I may have contributed by adding the fact that you’re a hopeless romantic who believes in Santa Claus and that you watch romantic tear jerkers.

“Did you add the fact that I’m a hockey god?” He questions intentionally sounding cocky, his eye brows raise and he surprisingly keeps a straight face.

“No.” She pauses pretending to be disappointed. “How do you expect me to beat you in a showdown if you’re a gift to the sport?”

“I have faith in you.” James says stopping in his tracks, they’re on their second lap around the rink. “But for now, I have to get you there. Follow my lead.”

He turns around so he’s facing her and holds out his arms. Obediently she places her palms on his. They’re close to each other like a married couple in a slow dance; the distance between them is small and ideal. Ayla strides forward attempting to move her feet separately, for some reason they keep moving in conjunction. James comfortably traces a C pattern while skating backwards. He mastered backwards skating in Peewee, the same memorable year that he selected his signature number: eighteen.

They skate laps like that for a while. Ayla continues to get faster and more skilled until moving with James becomes natural for her. She’s determined to get it down pat until she can do it on her own and keep up with him. Of course, she knows her limitations and that it’s impossible for her to be as good as the male. She’s just very competitive.

The clock continues to tick and although she’s not tired, her legs are starting to slow down. James recognizes her lack of strength by this point and against her will orders her to stop. She’s not going down without a fight.

“I’m not leaving this rink.” She protests, whining like a child who’s not permitted to have candy. Her lips fold over top of one another and her eyes start to water, the look hits a weak spot in James.
“Fine, you’re not skating though. I don’t want your pretty, little legs to fall off.” He concludes. Ayla tilts her head in confusion before he comes in, swoops her up into his chest, and skates while carrying her weight. Her knees hang over the edge of his inner arms. He’s lifting her up in bridal style.

At first the female fidgets and screams for him to put her down, it seems unsafe skating rapidly with another human being in your arms. Really unsafe! James hates listening to her so scared, so as one can imagine he motions to set her down. She, however, is beginning to enjoy it. He can tell by the way her eyes are lit up and the corners of her mouth are raised. His judgement proves to be correct. Ayla’s so happy she’s yelling with joy.

From this, he decides to attempt something else. He sets her down. A look of disappointment shoots across her face only to have him lift his index finger, telling her to wait a minute. He squats down in front of her and instructs her to hop on and grip his shoulders. James wants to give her a piggy back. She can’t remember the last time that she had one of those, maybe thirteen years ago.

Every Sunday over the course of the summer a local park three blocks away from her house would put on fireworks. Her father would hoist her up above his head; it gave her a clear view of the exploding colours. The crackling sound was soothing. By the end of the night she’d already be fast asleep in her father’s possession. He would carry her straight to her bed and pull her Dora the Explorer blanket around her.

She may have only been a small kid with piggy tails and a stuffy in her hand but the thrill is still there. It’s exhilarating.

She turns her attention back to the man lugging her all over the rink. He’s wearing a cheeky smile, His eyes are clear with his hair creeping down to the tip of his line of vision, and he’s concentrated. Ayla can hear his breathing. It’s light, raspy, and even. As he blows out oxygen she picks up on his minty, fresh breath. Good, he has the same intentions that she does.

The female twists her head to the side and kisses his neck. Instantly he moans in satisfaction and sets her back down on her feet. James pulls her in close; he wants their chests up against one another. He takes a deep swallow of air before her lips connect to his, its every bit as perfect as he’d hoped. They both gasp for air when they disconnect.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to do that.” He states. The yearning to kiss her was growing strong and it began taking energy to resist.

“I might have an idea.” Ayla counters going back for a second peck, it’s as enjoyable as the first time. She’s glowing like she’s never glowed before and James can’t help but admire how beautiful she is when she’s happy. He stares peacefully at her for a while without it being creepy; she’s lost in his demeanor as well.

James is starving, it’s as if he were a hungry lion locked up and chained, only to all of the sudden be let free to roam. He’s no longer restricted. There comes a moment when he’s so fond of it and he keeps going back for more. Ayla’s reluctant. She’s cheerfully engaged in the experience, so why would she be rejecting him? Number eighteen notices she’s distracted. No words are needed from her; all she has to do is point. Sure enough, on the big score board hanging over their heads their make-out session is being broadcasted across the arena. It’s as if they’re looking in a mirror.

Instantly James has his answer, the culprits are none other than Beau Bennett, Kris Letang, and their star goaltender Marc Andre Fleury. They’re leaning on the home bench with a video camera in their hands. Damn bastards! When he meets their gaze they bolt down the runway, scared for their safety. His fellow teammates are too fast for him to catch up with.

“Nice one boys.” He yells loud to ensure that they hear his sarcastic congratulations. “On the bright side, we make a pretty cute pair if I do say so myself.”
“We do.” She agrees following him off the ice and into the dressing room to untie their skates. Nothing can describe the day that she’s had.