9. victoria
NINE
victoria
I t’s only been a couple of weeks since Leo and I started practicing together, and he’s already improved so much. The only problem is that the more time I spend with him, the harder it is to ignore this growing feeling inside me.
At least Christmas break gave me a little distance to regroup, or so I thought. Now, on our first practice back, I’m off my game, and all I can think about is the way our last few training sessions have left me reeling.
“Relax, Victoria,” Leo says as we practice our first hand-to-hand press lift in the off-ice training area. The Ice House has been unusually quiet this afternoon since it’s New Year’s Eve, but I insisted on practicing, mostly because I wanted an excuse to leave my freezing cold apartment. We don’t usually get cold snaps like this in South Carolina, and I’ve been trying to keep my heat off to avoid a massive electric bill I can’t afford. Practicing keeps me warmer, even if it means I need to spend most of the day with Leo.
“You have to touch me to do this one,” Leo says, putting his hands out for mine. I reluctantly place my palms in his. The press lift is simple: I jump, while he lifts me over his head and I spread my legs into a V form.
“It’s just my hands on yours,” Leo says. “Not a proposition to go past first base.”
“I know that,” I tell him even though I feel like we’re reenacting an anatomy poster from health class. I give him a pointed look. “No comments from the peanut gallery about having to spread-eagle over your head, okay?”
“You mean I can’t say anything about how this is the most intimate moment I’ve had all year?” he teases.
I shake my head. “Leo, this is a sport, not a free-for-all about your love life.”
“Well, if you’re going to take that position over my head, the least I can do is keep things interesting.”
I narrow my eyes. “The only thing interesting will be how hard I kick you if you don’t keep your mouth shut and your eyes down.”
His grin widens. “You’re adorable when you’re threatening me, you know that?”
“Leo, I swear, if you drop me because you’re making jokes about the personal nature of this lift, I’m firing you today!”
“I won’t drop you,” he promises, “but if you blush any harder, you’re going to erupt into flames.”
“I’m not blushing,” I insist, even though I can feel the heat radiating off my face like asphalt in August.
“I promise I don’t bite,” he adds, his eyes full of mischief. “Unless, of course, I’m provoked.”
“Oh, don’t worry, I’ve seen those signs that say ‘Beware of Dog.’ Should I hang one around your neck, or do you only bite when someone gets too close?”
“Get closer and find out,” he says with an inviting smirk.
I mentally remind myself to add it to the secret smile tally I’ve resurrected from my college days. So far, I’ve only added a few new marks, but I’m determined to get more before we’re done.
“Just so you know, I was kidding when I said that about my love life,” he says. “I don’t share personal stuff.”
Which makes me wonder what personal stuff he’s hiding. Jaz dropped the hint that he’s single—probably by choice—because he certainly has herds of fans who’d love to do more than a press lift with him.
My phone buzzes from the side of the mat. “Give me a second,” I say, relieved for any excuse to get out of this lift. I can’t let Leo’s flirting throw me like this, or we’ll never make any progress.
Delilah
When are you coming home? I think your faucet is on.
I frown, trying to remember if I used the kitchen faucet before I left. It’s the only one Delilah could possibly hear from the other side of her wall.
“Something wrong?” Leo asks, reading my face.
“Just my neighbor,” I say.
“The one with the swearing bird?” he asks. “Everything all right?” Leo’s brow creases, and for a second, it almost seems like he cares.
“I’ll be fine,” I say. “But I need to cut out of practice early today.”
“You have plans for New Year’s Eve?” he asks, shoving his hands in his pockets.
I glance over at him, wondering if he’s just curious, or he thinks I have a date. “Just watching the ball drop on TV. And no, I don’t have a date, if that’s what you’re trying to ask.” It comes out sounding a little more harsh than I intended, and his eyes immediately shutter, like I’ve just hit a switch.
“I wasn’t asking if you had a date. It’s none of my business what you do in your free time,” he adds, sounding like a grizzly again. “I know your parents like to throw big parties. I figured you’d be spending it with them.”
I shake my head. “Not this year.” I don’t tell him how I spent Christmas Day parked in front of my parents’ fireplace, pretending everything in my life was perfectly fine while avoiding their questions about my career. I didn’t mention that I’ve been keeping my heat off or how worried I am that I won’t be able to pay next month’s bills. Instead, I nodded along through my mother’s annual crown roast dinner, hired chef and all, and tried to act grateful for the cashmere sweater I didn’t need while quietly yearning for a space heater.
Living on my own has been the best decision I’ve ever made, but it’s also the hardest. Doing things my mom’s way made me miserable—the constant pressure, the negative comments, how I never measured up to my older sister. I have to do this on my terms now, because it’s not just about winning anymore.
“Well, then, happy New Year,” he says, looking like he’s debating whether to say something else. For a moment, I wonder if he’s about to suggest doing something together, but that thought disappears when I see his scowl. We’re not those people anymore. I broke up with him, and that wall between us has been firmly in place ever since. He can barely tolerate practicing with me now, let alone consider anything involving friendship.
“You too,” I say, grabbing my bag and leaving before I break down and ask him about his plans. He probably has a date I don’t want to know about. Guys like him always do—whereas I’m planning on heading to Delilah’s and letting Big Bertha shout insults at me. At least the bird won’t judge me for eating ice cream straight out of the carton.
I head to my car, feeling my phone buzz in my pocket again.
Rourke
Wondered if you had plans for tonight? Jaz and Sloan are having a party and asked me to invite you.
I smile at the text, and realize that if Rourke is going to the party, Leo probably is too. I could find out firsthand if he has a date for the evening and see how he behaves when he’s on his best behavior.
Victoria
I’d love to!
But first, I need to take care of my faucet.
When I reach my apartment, I rush up the stairs and stop at Delilah’s apartment to tell her I won’t be around tonight, only to hear the unmistakable sound of rushing water coming from my apartment. When I step inside, my heart sinks. Water is gushing from the cabinet under the sink, flooding the kitchen and living room. I drop my bag and rush to open the cabinet. A burst pipe is shooting water like a sprinkler.
Panic sets in as I throw towels on the floor, but it’s like tossing a bath towel in the ocean—totally useless. I grab my phone to call the landlord, but his voicemail explains he’s gone for the holidays.
Frantically, I search for a plumber, dialing number after number. Most don’t answer—it’s New Year’s Eve, after all—but one finally picks up. Relief washes over me until he tells me he can’t get here for another three hours and, quite possibly, not until after the holiday. Meanwhile, water is soaking into the living room carpet, creeping toward every inch of my tiny apartment.
“Sounds like you had a frozen pipe that burst,” the plumber says. “You can shut off the water supply until I get there. How bad is the damage?”
I slosh through the water, shivering from my wet, cold feet. Even my bedroom is wet. “Well, there’s water everywhere.”
“Then you’d better find somewhere else to sleep tonight,” he advises. “This isn’t a quick fix.”
I hang up, staring at the mess. All I can think of is how fitting it is to end the year this way—stuck with my ex, while I’m just trying to survive.