Read Online Ripped by Lisa Edward - Free Book Online

figure-skating. Before I’d met Jaz all those years ago, I’d skated mainly with mates on frozen lakes that had turned into makeshift ice hockey rinks. It had been rough-and-tumble, knock-’em-down kinda stuff, not the graceful gliding that Jaz was in to. But when I’d met Jaz and wanted to spend time with her, I’d arranged for a group of us to go to an ice rink, and tried my luck at the more refined style of skating. Jaz had laughed as I’d found my balance on the thinner blades, but I had been determined to improve and had quickly been gliding right alongside her. Fast forward eight years, and ice skating had become one of those things that conjured up too many gut-churning memories, so I hadn’t even contemplated pulling on skates until now.
    My feet had a mind of their own as I tentatively stepped onto the smooth surface and propelled my arms to keep balance. Jaz glided around me in circles as I fought for my body to stay upright.
    “Would you like some help, old man?” she asked with a grin, reaching my side and taking me by the waist.
    I didn’t need help, but any opportunity to get close to Jaz, I’d take. “Sure, let’s do the corny couples skate.”
    With tentative strides, we took off. By the second lap of the rink I was fine; I could have sped off on my own, but I enjoyed having Jaz close, her little peach-shaped ass pushing into my hip.
    There were couples everywhere, and some were beginning to show off a little, pretending they were Olympic skaters like Torvill and Dean. I glanced at Jaz who had also spied one particular couple who were attempting, without much grace, to do a lift.
    “We can do better than that,” she whispered out the side of her mouth. “You can lift me and fling me around with one hand.” She rubbed a hand up and down my bicep. “Especially with these arms.”
    I knew what she had in mind. Back in Boston we had actually managed to do a few overhead lifts on the ice without me falling on my ass and dropping Jaz.
    “Okay.” I chuckled nervously. “I’m game if you are.”
    Jaz skated ahead then circled back. It was the closest thing you could do on ice to getting a good run-up. When she reached me, I braced myself, took her by the waist, and lifted. She went straight up with ease; she was such a feather-weight. I continued skating as Jaz positioned herself in arabesque, arms in fifth.
    Getting her up there was the easy part. Getting her down was going to be tricky. With a lot of muscle power, I just managed to set her back down on her skates. If she hadn’t been such an accomplished skater she probably would have landed on her ass.
    The show-off couple skated over.
    “Wow that was amazing,” the guy exclaimed. “Are you professionals?”
    The laugh erupted from my belly before I could contain it. “No, bro, we’re ballet dancers.”
    He looked me up and down knowingly.
    “And no, I’m not gay.”

    Skating had been a blast. Lunch was delicious. Now for the piece de resistance —a carriage ride through Central Park at dusk. I’d booked the ride and asked them to spare no expense, with flowers awaiting us in the carriage and a full-length ride to take in all the sights.
    As we snuggled, huddled under the blanket, the driver flicked the reins and two majestic black draft horses pulled us into motion. I’d only been to Central Park for the occasional run, which seemed to be the main way that people used the area. There were usually people sitting under shady trees reading or picnicking, but jogging the path was the best way in my opinion to make use of the parkland in the middle of the city. Until now, of course. I ran my hand over the soft leather seat, taking in the gold accents of the carriage that stood out dramatically in contrast to the lacquered black. The horses, too, were dressed in black and gold, with a black and red feather on their headdresses. The driver, a gentleman who looked to be in his fifties with graying hair, was decked out in an old-fashioned