Cate
Iwill not throw up.
I will not throw up.
I will not throw up.
Okay. I might throw up. That iced oat milk caramel latte that was supposed to calm my nerves is dangerously close to making a reappearance.
Breathe.
I pull in a deep breath through my nostrils and exhale slowly through my mouth. The air is sweet with spring, the sun dazzling in the sky as it climbs, promising a warm day. As I look up at the white and blue sign on the front of the IceWorks arena, a fresh wave of excitement washes over me. I’ve wanted to train here for like, ever. The best facilities, the best coaches, the best skaters, all in one place.
I still can’t quite believe I’m here. The past twenty-four hours feel like some kind of fever dream. How was it only yesterday that my coach called me to tell me that Alex McIntyre—the Alex McIntyre—had requested a trial skate with me? Me. Me? Me!
Alex McIntyre is a legend in the skating world. He’s won world championships. He and his former partner won silver at the last Olympic games. He’s one of the best. No, scratch that. He’s the best. I’ve never met him, but I follow him on social media. His work ethic is unequaled. He’s driven and passionate.
He also looks like a freaking sex god, with his wavy brown hair that’s always falling across his forehead, movie star smile, and muscled body that looks like some very talented—and very horny—artist carved him out of marble. Or granite? Whatever. My point is, he’s hot and muscled and most women who lay eyes on him want to climb him like a tree.
Present company included.
No. No! Bad Cate. I can’t be thinking these things going into a trial skate with him. I need to be professional. The last thing I want is for him to take one look at me, see a star struck kid on the verge of swooning, and say no thanks.
So, I allow myself one little squeal, full of giddy excitement, and then I step inside. My wheeled bag rolls along quietly behind me as I take it in. The interior is bright, with light blue walls and brightly colored banners featuring some of the rink’s more famous skaters. My mouth goes dry when my eyes land on Alex’s picture. It’s an action shot, taken during his Olympic performance with Charlotte Pierce, his now retired partner, their arms around each other as they spin.
Staring at Alex’s picture is when the first brain weasel pops up.
He’s a world champion and Olympic medalist. Why on earth does he want you? You’re only known for almost cracking your head open on the ice.
I shiver slightly at the memory of the crash. Well, what I remember of it. The moments before and immediately after are a bit hazy, which I see as a blessing. If I remembered it in detail, I don’t think I’d be entertaining the idea of pairs skating again.
Staring at Alex’s picture, I shove the doubt aside. Obviously he saw something he likes if he asked for a trial skate, and that’s all there is to it. Stupid brain weasels. Get outta here.
I make my way to the women’s locker room, and I’m not entirely surprised that I’m the only one here. The competitive season ends with the world championships, which are usually at the end of March. April and May are the months when people perform in ice shows, take vacations, travel to work with choreographers, run skating clinics for younger skaters. By June, everyone’s back on the ice, working on their programs for the upcoming season.
Which means if this trial goes well and I start skating with Alex, we don’t have a lot of time.
I’m already dressed in my usual practice gear—white ballet sweater, plain black skating skirt, sheer black tights, and white leg warmers, so I quickly pull on my skates, smooth my long hair back in a high ponytail, and head for the ice, stomach quaking.
I will not throw up.
I see three people already on the ice, and I know it’s Alex and his two famous coaches, Deb and Scott. Don’t get me wrong, I love my coach Patrick. But if I had the chance to work with these two, I’d jump on it, and I don’t think Pat would blame me. It would be a massive step up.
Alex has his back to me, and he turns as I step out onto the ice, trying to school my face into something that doesn’t give away what a nervous wreck I am.
My heart skitters to a stop in my chest when his eyes meet mine and I almost catch an edge. I flail my arms slightly and manage to stay upright, thankfully not making a complete dork of myself.
Holy Mother of God. This man is gorgeous. Which I already knew. But seeing him in person…whew. Those warm brown eyes have me pinned in place as I take in his square jaw, his broad shoulders, his massive hands. He’s wearing a long-sleeved black Under Armour shirt and close-fitting black athletic pants, showing off all of that hard-earned muscle. He’s so much bigger than I was expecting. He’s got to be at least 6’2, maybe even taller.
He skates over to me, blades scraping quietly against the ice. We’re the only people in the arena this morning, making every sound carry and echo. Extending his hand, he smiles at me, and I swear my knees go weak. How am I supposed to skate if my knees are weak? I need to get my head together. Now.
“Hi,” he says, extending his hand. “I’m Alex. Thanks for coming today.”
I take his hand and shake it. It’s so much bigger than mine, and a tiny jolt of electricity races up my arm at the contact. “Cate. Thank you for inviting me.” I don’t know what else to say. I swallow. When did my mouth get this dry?
Alex is still staring at me, an unreadable expression on his gorgeous face. Then he takes my hand in his, effortlessly pulling me closer to him across the ice.
“Let’s skate a few laps,” he says, his legs already in motion. I nod and pump my legs to keep up with him, feeling the blood start to flow. The smooth glide of the ice beneath my blades calms me, as it always does. Skating has always been my happy place.
My hand feels hot and heavy where it’s nestled in his. “You’re nervous,” he says as we make our way around the perimeter of the ice. He seems to have effortlessly matched his strokes to mine. “Is it because of the accident? Is it me?” He tilts his head to the side, his voice low, his words only for me. “I only ask because if I know, then I can hopefully put you at ease.” He gives my hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze and my nipples immediately pebble in response.
It’s one of the sweetest, most attentive things a man has ever said to me. Not that I have a lot of experience with men because my entire life is skating, but still. It’s one for the mental scrapbook.
“Mostly you, a bit of the accident,” I answer truthfully. I figure we might as well start off with honesty. “Let’s call it…” I squint as I think. “Seventy-thirty.”
His eyebrows go up and he lets out a small, deep laugh. The sound rumbles in my belly in a way that makes me want to curl around him.
“Wow, seventy for me? I’m flattered.” He tilts his head toward me again, and I realize we’ve picked up speed, circling the ice with deeper strokes in perfect unison. A little thrill charges through me that we’ve already found a rhythm. It’s a good sign. “I’m not scary, I promise,” he says, speaking more quiet, secret words just for me. “I asked you to come skate with me today because I watched videos of you, and I was impressed. Beyond impressed.” He clears his throat softly, as if there are words lodged there. “You’re a beautiful skater.”
My toe pick catches on the ice and I stumble, but only slightly thanks to Alex’s warm grip on my hand.
“And you’re an Olympic medalist and world champion,” I say quietly. “We’re not exactly playing in the same league, here.”
“No. But maybe we could be, if that’s something you want.”
We’ve made it around the ice twice now, and I can feel my legs loosening up. Again, I don’t know what to say. And that’s where we might have a problem, because so much of pairs skating is about trust and communication between partners. And if I’m so in my head over my crush on him that I can’t have a simple conversation, I don’t know how this is going to work.
I have to find a way to ignore this crush. Because I do want the opportunity to skate with Alex. Who in their right mind wouldn’t? He’s the best.
I glance up at him and I feel all hot and melty, like butter on a baked potato. He’s so much bigger than me, so broad and strong. He’s got these little lines that fan out around his eyes that deepen when he smiles.
Oh, and did I mention that he smells good? Because of course he does. Like very subtle, masculine cologne and a hint of soap.
Yep. Definitely ignoring that crush. Starting…now.
“I liked the short program you did last year,” he says easily. “The one to the Billie Eilish song.”
A flush creeps across my cheeks. “Thank you. I really liked that program, too.”
“I especially liked how well you interpreted the music. I could see the emotion on your face. That ability to really inhabit a program and convey the story and the emotions to the audience is something that’s important to me, and not something that comes easily to a lot of skaters.”
“I…” I swallow. I’d skated to “What Was I Made For?” and the words had really resonated with me. “Skating is my life,” I say, glancing up at him. He’s staring at me intently, as though he’s hungry for my words. “After the accident, I didn’t know if I’d be able to do it anymore. This thing that I felt like I was made for…could I still do it? There was so much doubt. Fear. Uncertainty. I went back to singles because I needed to stay on the ice, even if I wasn’t ready for another pairs partnership. So, when I was skating to that music for my short program, that’s what I was thinking about. Falling down and being uncertain, not really being happy skating singles…” I trail off, heat flushing my cheeks. “Anyway. That’s way more information than you asked for.”
“Do you think you’re ready now? For a new partnership?” he asks, little lines digging in between his brows.
“Maybe. I’m here because I want to see.”
He gives my hand another squeeze, sending heat racing through my body. “Brave girl.”
His praise ignites something inside me, and I grin at him. “Trying to be. Pairs is where my heart is. Singles can’t compete with the thrill of it, honestly.”
He stops and brings me around in front of him, moving my body with so much ease that it surprises even me. Then he takes both of my hands in his, peering down at me intently.
“In all of my time as a pairs skater, I’ve never dropped anyone. Ever. I watched the video of the accident, and it was Danny’s mistake.” He leans in closer. “I don’t make mistakes like that. Our sport has its risks, but I promise you, if you decide this is what you want, I will do anything and everything in my power to keep you safe.” A soft smile ticks up the corner of his mouth, and a lock of hair falls forward on his forehead.
I’m about to melt into a puddle right here in the middle of the ice. They’ll have to scoop me up with the Zamboni and stick me in a freezer just to put me back together.
“Now that you’re warmed up, why don’t we try a few moves?” calls Deb from the other side of the rink, yanking me reluctantly back to the present moment. “Let’s try a forward inside death spiral.”
Alex looks at me with one eyebrow arched, a silent question, and I nod. I can do this. I want to do this. He takes my hand and we start skating backwards together. I turn as he starts to pivot and gracefully lower myself closer to the ice, paying attention to the catch of my edge, the arch of my back, where Alex and I are connected as he grips my hand in his. After three rotations, I rise with Alex’s help, and Deb and Scott are both grinning from ear to ear.
It was flawless. I know it was. I felt it. And when I glance over at Alex, I can tell he felt it, too.
I lift my chin, pride and renewed confidence flowing into me.
And that confidence only grows over the next two hours as we skate together.
So does my crush.
The feeling of Alex so close, his body heat radiating against me, his big, strong hands on my body, on my hips, my thighs is enough to have me warm and breathless. The power and grace in his muscles as he moves makes me ache in an unfamiliar way. The smell of his skin as he holds me close and then effortlessly lifts me overhead makes my heart flutter in my chest. His grip is strong and sure on every lift, and I’m relieved to find I’m not scared.
I’m too horny to be scared, in all honesty. I can’t remember ever being wet during a training session. But I’m soaked. I can feel it. My pussy is aching from being so close to him, from having his hands on me, feeling the slide of his body against mine.
There are reasons I should say no, the biggest one being my out of control crush on my much older partner, the one I know I’m not going to be able to ignore, despite my earlier declaration. It’s probably a recipe for disaster. Or at least humiliation on my part. Just because I have a crush on him and Alex might be interested in skating with me doesn’t mean there’s anything more to it than that.
At the end of the training session, we’re both damp with sweat, cheeks flushed, muscles shaky and tired. But there’s a satisfaction in all that exertion, one I’ve never quite been able to recapture in singles skating.
Deb and Scott are deep in conversation, heads together, voices hushed. I skate to the edge of the rink where I left my water bottle and take a long drink. Alex does the same. Heat crawls through me as I watch his throat work as he drinks.
He makes drinking water sexy. I am in so much trouble.
“So,” he says in that deep, sexy voice of his, leaning against the boards. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”
I bite my lip and squint at him. “I’m thinking that felt pretty freaking great.”
A smile spreads across his face and he pushes his sweat-damp hair off his forehead. “I was thinking the same thing.” He purses his lips, his brown eyes intent on me. They’re lovely, with little flecks of gold and a ring of green around the irises. I know, because we’ve been up in each other’s personal space for the better part of the morning. “Are you sure you’re ready to come back to pairs?” he asks quietly.
I roll my lips inwards, but the vulnerable words spill out anyway. “If it means skating with you, yeah.”
Something flickers across his face, something that looks almost…hungry. But then it’s gone, and he takes another long pull off his water bottle. “Good.” He moves closer, lowering his head so his lips almost brush the shell of my ear. His breath makes me shiver in the most delicious way. “Now I don’t have to beg. And I’m not normally a man who begs for anything, but for you, I would.”
He pulls away with a devastating smile, leaving me an achy mess.