Hunter

"Hunter, your bum is falling out!"

I lift my arms out of the way and swivel my upper body to look at my bottom. Yup, there is definitely an expanse of white skin poking out of my black Lycra pants. My bum is indeed falling out.

It's about time!

"Thank you, Liddy," I tell the observant little girl who gave me the good news in a shrill voice, echoing effectively through the central area of the Ice Arena, where the splash pool we're standing in is located.

Well, that's what I call it, though there's generally not any splashing going on here.

It's a small ice rink where I teach young kids how to skate and right now, I'm surrounded by about ten of them, joined in the mission of pointing out that my ice-skating pants got ripped in the back. They're making sure that the dozens of amused faces, looking my way from out there where the big people are returning their skates, all understand exactly what happened to me.

Oh, joy!

Just to clarify, I'm not saying about ten kids because I've forgotten how many pupils I have; it's just that June and Marva are, as usual, more interested in pushing their dolls around on the colourful seal-shaped skating aids than they are in actually learning to skate.

It's fine. For most of Snowglen, Cristalcrest and Shivermore's (yes, that's the town's name) parents, their kids' ice skating lessons with Hunter Fairlane mean that they get a break from being abused by their young. They really don't care how I occupy their little ones as long as they get the hour off to do what they want.

Technically, I could lock the kids in one of the party rooms with me and arm them with finger paints while I lounge in a hammock above the mess, keeping an eye on them and reading a book. As long as I return their kids more or less clean and in one piece, they will be happy.

That is an excellent idea for Benji's party!

One of my kids is turning six in a couple of weeks, and they are having the party here, of course. It wouldn't be torture for me if they held it anywhere else. His mom asked me to try and come up with a fun idea for his party. Benji is a hooligan! He loves chaos and action.

We can dress the kids in rain jackets and visored helmets, create barriers and hide-outs in the big party room and let them shoot each other with icing!

The boy is always saying he wants to play paintball, but those things bruise like a bitch. I've tried it. It hurt! There's no way little kids can do that, and it's way too cold for water balloons, but icing! Yes! He will love it!

I can feel a plan coming on!

I can also feel the cold puckering the skin of my exposed bum and am happy to see that the big clock above the skate kiosk is telling me that it's time to wrap up my class for today. Some of the parents are already sitting on the benches, having coffee while waiting for their kids.

There was a blizzard warning for this evening. It kept most of the regulars away, but not my kids. Nothing ever keeps them away, even when I want it to. Still, we're closing a bit earlier today, and once I get myself into new pants, I'm going to have the ice all to myself until it's time for the storm. My favourite part of every day is coming earlier today.

"Okay, let's line up, please!" I call out, wrangling the stragglers until they're all in a row, holding onto the barrier. "One, two, three... seven... yup, there are ten. Did you have fun?!" I shout, enjoying their happy little faces.

Kids are monsters placed on Earth to terrorize people who get paid to babysit them – or teach them to skate - but dammit, I just love them!

"Yes!" comes the happy chorus, unsynchronized and chaotic - as usual - but I'll take it.

"Yay!" I laugh. "What do you need to remember?"

Now for the worst part, where they all try to shout the lines together but generally just make one big fat noise. It's so awesome!

"Noses dry and bottoms warm! Bend the knees and..." As expected, some are shouting glide, glide, glide, as they're supposed to, while the rest are shouting fart, fart, fart, following their leader in anarchy and mayhem.

Benji Donegal has infected more than half the group now with his warped wording of my chant. At this rate, I'm going to have to come up with a new one again, and poetry has never been my strong suit.

"Hunter, you're not keeping your bottom warm!" Joey points out, and now there are laughter and chants about my cold bum, and according to some of the boys, I farted so hard it tore my pants. I'm not even listening any more.

Seriously, little boys, big boys, men, they are all the same!

"Okay, okay, okay! Thank you! Now hurry before the storm hits. Those who rented skates, with me, please; the rest, find your parents!" And drive them nuts! Of course, I never say that part out loud. "Let's go, let's go! Come, Casey, take my hand; I'll help you to the bench."

"Hot new look, Hunter. It definitely has my motor running," Denny Watson smirks when I'm done helping the kids find their parents and be on their way and bend over to slip blade guards on my skates. For a second, I forgot about my pants emergency. Rising, I flip my braid over my shoulder and wink at him.

"Thanks, Den," I grin. "But to be fair, a strong wind will get your motor running."

"Damn straight!" he agrees proudly, pulling his bag onto his shoulder, mainly because he has no idea what I meant. He just likes the words wind, motor and running, and there they were, all together in the same sentence. Denny is really easy to please.

He proves it with the scores of girls he gives rides on his submarine. Denny is a sweet guy - in small doses - but it's not his superior intellect and conversation skills that have girls falling over themselves to hang out with him. It's the way those jeans ride just right on his hips and the cherubic smiles he tosses around like confetti.

Fielding similar jokes and remarks from other Farm boys, getting ready to leave the arena, I waddle into the cluttered shop selling everything and anything an ice skater could need, from skates to new skating pants. What I need right now is Brenna Cooper, the store manager, standing head-first in a deep box behind the counter.

"Need a hand?" I ask, startling her into stiffening, and then she removes her upper body from the box to look up at me. Bren is what one would call small and dainty, and when I'm in my skates, I feel like a giraffe next to her.

"Hey, Hunter," she grins, rubbing a hand over her short black pixie-cut hair. She's one of the few women I've met who really pulls off the style big time, mainly because she will be an awesome pixie if she's dressed in the right outfit. As always, she looks flushed and harassed without actually being harassed.

"I'm just getting the last of these rolls of muscle tape out of the box, and then I'm heading home to curl up in front of the TV with a good book, my dog and a mug of thick hot chocolate to wait out the storm."

"Wow! A book and TV! You go big!" Sure, that is how she's going to wait out the storm.

"The competition will be fierce to see what puts me to sleep first."

Right!

I dive into her box to find those last rolls for her. Having the extra height given by my skates and being able to bend at weird angles, I reach them easily, stacking them on the counter for her.

"Thanks," she says, grinning when I turn to look at her again. "I think I saw why you're in here, and today, it's not just to shoot the breeze. Those pants finally retired. Congratulations."

"Thank you," I laugh. "Yeah. It put up a good fight, but it was time."

"The extremes you go to just so that your father will pay for your exercise outfits."

If it's just to look pretty, it's on my account. If it's necessary because my old gear gave up on me, my dad pays for it. That's the deal. I wore the same skating pants to every practice for a couple of weeks in a row, hoping for today to arrive since they were pretty old. Yeah, I have others not on the verge of retiring, but a deal is a deal.

Today, I'm looking for necessary and pretty.

"So, new pants. The same style as this one?"

"Nope," I say, tapping my forefinger on my bottom lip. "I want a different look. A whole new set. Something fancy. My dad owes me. We have a new guy moving in today, and that means house training a new brute."

He always lets me pick whatever I want when a new housemate happens to arrive when my clothes die on me.

The number of times this coincidence occurs is staggering. It's almost like I plan it.

I'm quite serious. Most of the boys my dad takes in are barely human, which means that I constantly have to remind them to take off their muddy, snow-covered boots in the foyer, mop up their splashed coffee and not just walk through it.

I have to tell them to wipe the kitchen counter when they've made a snack and take their dirty dishes to the kitchen if they ate that snack in other areas of the house. I cannot even count the number of times I've had to say: 'Don't walk around naked; I don't need to see that much of you.' Simple things like that. Dirty communal bathrooms cause fights among the guys, too, and I try to prevent that.

I hate doing it. I'm not good nag material.

I love kids, but I don't want to mother big guys about things that should be logical to anybody who knows what common decency is. We're a lot of people in that house; we need to respect each other, or it will get bad, especially during snow storms when we're trapped together.

Most of them catch on quickly and settle in perfectly, but we've had our share of stubborn Neanderthals who wouldn't even cook or clean the kitchen when it was their turn to do so.

"Oh, right! Four boys dropped out recently," Bren says, looking wide-eyed and interested, ready for gossip. She cries when boys - she often didn't even get to know - leave the academy because they simply couldn't keep up, got injured or realised they have different dreams... or got expelled for consistent bad behaviour.

She gets equally excited when new ones arrive. To her, life in Cristalcrest and the academies is one big soapie filled with yummy guys.

"So, you're getting one of the new recruits? How exciting!"

"Yup," I confirm, picking up a set of pretty hair ties covered in blue, silver and mauve glitter and tiny little stars dangling from sparkling strings. I have a thing for glitter and pretty things like this. I'm going to add these to my purchase.

"He'll be rooming with Jax, and of course, Jax is turning meeting him into an event. Poor guy is not going to know what hit him."

"Boys can be impossible," Bren grins, nodding. She's seen her share of weird things through the years.

"Tell me about it!" I huff, slipping the rubber band from the end of my braid and retying it with one of the glittery, sparkly ties. I smile at the little blue stars mingling with strands of my reddish brown hair. So pretty!

The old band has a plastic yellow bunny on it, but it's lost its lustre long ago. I still love it, so I slip it onto my wrist instead.

"I had to spend ages helping him get ready for his production because he was going about it so half-assed!"

"And then there's you," Bren chuckles.

"I added some special touches to make it more authentic and I helped him work on his scowl and speech and such because he wasn't being convincing at all. Seriously, the dude would be so lost without me."

"I can only imagine," Brenna laughs, weaving through the shelves to where some unopened boxes are stacked near the door to her store room.

"Your pants tore just in time. I got new stock yesterday and was planning on tempting you today with these skirted leggings. They're so cute!" she tells me, bringing one of the boxes back with her to the cashier's counter.

"Nope, won't work," I tell her decisively without even seeing the cute leggings. "I don't want cute and comfy this time. I want hot."

"Hot?"

"Yes, sweltering," I explain, and when I see her looking towards the thermal wear, I hurry to make my meaning clear. "As in sexy hot, not as in needing an ice pack hot... though, that might be required too if it's sexy enough. I want to induce sweat! Suffering! I mean dehydration levels of drool."

Brenna is gaping at me as though I'm a fish in a rock garden. I get it. I don't think I've ever made a request like this before in my entire life. Normally, I'm very happy with cute, comfortable and functional.

"I thought you were done with romance and fully focused on training for the competitions you want to enter this year."

"Oh, that hasn't changed," I assure her, hopping onto the counter. I almost immediately regret it because the steel and glass are really cold against my exposed butt cheek. "I don't want romance. I just want sexy training gear."

"You want to torture the academy boys?" she asks, looking appalled. "Dangle yourself in front of them while wearing a 'wet paint, don't touch' sign?! Why? They're our boys, Hunter."

"Walk around naked, covered in wet paint..." I mutter, thinking it over. "No, that will be too cold to handle, and Robbie's hands will slip when he has to lift me."

"That was not a suggestion..."

"No, I don't want to torture our boys!" I frown, not so sure about my plan anymore. "Not all of them... just...him. You know? I want him to regret his terrible life choices and hate himself for each bimbo he cheated on me with."

"Wait, are we talking about Xavier?" Bren asks, looking confused and more than a little bit worried now.

"Yes."

"I thought you were over him. You broke up with him!" she exclaims. "Please don't try to get back with him; you are worthy of a much better guy."

"I am over him, and I definitely don't want him back. I don't even think I was ever all that into him; I was just lonely," I grunt, trying to slide off the counter, but my butt is sticking to the glass, so I have to wrestle myself free, making weird squeaking noises as my skin moves over the glass.

It is not dignified and classy at all!

"I'm going through the 283 stages of grief after a break-up. I started with anger three months ago when I realised that he was knee-deep in puck bunnies each time I had to practice," I explain. "Then the loneliness set in again, and I felt remorse for dumping his cheating ass. That only lasted about half a day, and then I felt empowered for dumping that exact same ass. Now, I'm suddenly back to anger again.

"I think it's because he still has random girls all over him every chance he gets. Me dumping him did not make a dent in his abrasive ego at all. He even flirted with me yesterday!"

That's probably what really did it.

"What?!" Brenna yells, and now it looks like she is at one of the many anger stages in those 283 stages.

"Yeah! Can you believe it? I did, of course, tell him to go bareback riding on a chainsaw, but still... it hurt. I think he forgot we dated for three weeks. I guess I just feel humiliated and want him to pay."

"Oh, honey, the boys have made him pay plenty," Bren assures me.

"There's no way to prove that he didn't hit himself in the face... several times... he was drunk that night, after all."

I hated that, actually. Jax, Denny and Kame could've gotten themselves expelled and why? Because a dope broke my... well, not my heart... my ego... a little?

"I just want him to regret losing me."

"I think he does," Bren says, pulling me into a hug. "Deep, deep down where his metal heart beats."

She's always trying to be motherly towards me, but she's barely seven years older, and I'm the one cuddling her to my chest now, so who is mothering who?

Since she blew into town on a pretty bad blizzard - literally - she's been the big sister I've always wanted. Four years ago, she was on her way to Glisspass, the biggest city in our district, to find a job selling sports gear, which she has a huge passion for. She'd just been through a bad break-up and wanted a clean start in a new environment.

She got caught in a snowstorm, and the heavy snowfall made the road impassible. Deciding that she was not going to wait the storm out in her car, she left it half-buried in the snow and tried to find her way to the town she'd seen the sign for. It wasn't supposed to be far away.

It wasn't, but visibility was becoming worse and worse, and she got lost, unable to stick to walking along the road, which was buried at the time. Dad always leaves the outside lights of the arena on for exactly that purpose. The thicket of pine trees embracing the village is pretty, but it tends to make finding the houses so much harder when snow is blowing around. The arena is on the other side of the copse; it is huge, and the neon sign helps.

She found shelter in the front part of the lobby and settled in, warm and comfy, following the instructions mounted on the wall for emergencies like hers. Dad and some of the guys found her in the morning when the snow let up long enough for them to give the arena a quick once over for damage and to see if there was anybody in the foyer needing help.

He brought her to our house, and that was it. She hit it off with my parents, and my dad, being every stray cat's dad, offered her a job selling skating goods in the shop. She has been doing an excellent job ever since and found her home right here in Cristalcrest.

"So, please show me those leggings," I request, giving up on the sexy-wear idea... for now. I honestly don't know what is wrong with me. I'm constantly surrounded by people - many of whom I really love - but my heart just feels empty all the time. Bren says it's because I'm a romantic and that my heart yearns for Mister Right, but she's a smutty romance addict and really not someone who should be dishing out romantic advice.

She thinks that nobody knows that she is secretly dating Harvey Manson Junior, the son of Harvey Manson Senior, one of the oldest and most respected coaches at the Farm. She insists that Harvey Jnr - HJ for short - is all brawn and no brain, but she loves the bastard and we all know it.

"Tada!" she giggles, pulling a pair of leggings from the box. It is a dusky blue, somewhere between dark grey and pastel blue, and I love it on sight. It has a cheeky little skirt and a lighter blue inlay in a diagonal band at the soft, high waist. Best of all, it has a matching top! One of those double tops consisting of a long-sleeved stretchy boatneck shirt, the same light blue as the inlays of the leggings, over a sleeveless top the same colour as the pants.

"I love it! Love it! Loooooooove it!" I sing happily.

"I knew you would," Bren grins. She knows me and my taste so well by now. "And you'll get some sexiness out of it. It leaves a section uncovered, from your navel upwards. Just enough to cause at least some drooling."

"Awesome," I laugh, and then she cinches the deal by pulling out a matching jacket in the same material.

Doing mundane tasks like taking the skating aids back to the racks they belong on, where Kame hangs them, and using the manual resurfacer to smooth the splash pool is so much better when you're doing them in a nifty new outfit that gets you many compliments and loads of help.

To be fair, I don't think Kame complimenting me and offering to take over the resurfacing has anything to do with my outfit. Tatsuya Kamenashi has been with us for about eight months now, and since I helped him get a date - well, get him a hello - with Lea, who works at the coffee shop on Saturdays, he has become my willing slave. It wasn't even hard to do. Kame is cute and Lea was already blushing whenever he smiled at her.

I often have to refuse his help, or he will not get any of his own work done. Kame is a good guy. He is extremely polite and hard-working and has an endearing smile and beautiful dark eyes, but as I told Bren a few minutes ago, the only thing I have an undying, breathless yearning and burning loins for - seriously, the things that woman says to me sometimes - is to be out on the ice. I need to practice the new moves my coach and I came up with for the upcoming ladies' singles competition.

Besides, things between Kame and Lea are progressing nicely... I think... Well, they say hello and goodbye and smile at each other without my help now, and he knows her favourite pastry because he asked her.

That is huge!

So, I thank him for his kindness, grab my skates I'd swapped for sneakers from one of the tables in the central area and head to the figure skating rink. I only have a couple of hours before I'll have to head home or get trapped here for the duration of the storm coming our way. That could be all night and parts of tomorrow.

"All yours," Jax gives me a toothy grin, passing me on his way out when I enter the rink. "Got it nice and smooth for you."

"Awesome! You're the best!" I smile, giving him a high five, and sitting down on the nearest bleacher seat, I hurry to change into my skates. Excitement builds in the pit of my stomach as it always does when I see the expanse of freshly smoothed ice waiting for me to glide all over it, feeling the rush of cold air against my skin and the thrill of speed and freedom in my heart.

There is nothing like it!

~~~