Chapter Four
Nico
I’m doing a solo practice. Getting an audience isn’t unheard of—at home or here.
It’s happened each time I’ve been on the ice, and I see it plenty of times for others too.
I’m not sure if it’s officially allowed, but as long as it isn’t the “enemy,” AKA our rivals, scoping us out, no one seems to care.
We’re all happy and excited to be here, all intrigued to be around so much talent. I’d love to watch the speed skaters practice if I get a chance. That was what I originally wanted to do before I learned how much fun jumping and spinning on the ice is.
But despite being used to an audience, there is one pair of eyes that I’m finding quite distracting—and nothing distracts me when I’m on the ice.
I don’t know who he is, but by his size I’d guess he’s a hockey player.
Definitely not a figure skater or a speed skater.
Don’t think someone that big would be on skis or a snowboard.
Not luge… maybe curling? Regardless of what he does here, all he’s doing now is staring at me, and it makes me want to show off just a little.
So, I do another run through of my routine, and of course I smash it. That’s why I’m here.
The music cuts off and doesn’t come back on. I look up at Coach, who gives me the thumbs up.
“Good job, Nico,” he calls out. “See you tomorrow.”
Tomorrow starts the team games, and I’ll be competing for my first ever Olympic medal.
Though I’m confident in myself—I will go home with at least one medal this year—I can’t speak on my team.
We’re good, don’t get me wrong, but there are some pairs who are better than us, and since we add points together, it doesn’t matter if one of us does perfectly.
We all have to do well if we want to take home a team medal—that’s why it’s teams.
I skate to the door and get off the ice, putting on my blade covers. I feel eyes on me still, so I look up and smile at the guy who’s still openly staring. He doesn’t smile back, but he doesn’t look away either. So, I walk over to him.
“I’m guessing subtle is not your middle name,” I say as I reach him, looking up into his bright green eyes.
Even in skates, he towers over me. He’s solid too. Definitely a hockey player.
“It’s Blake,” he says seriously.
I laugh. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not.”
“And I bet you don’t do that much, do you?”
He just shrugs.
“Not much of a talker. You just like watching then? Or maybe… I’m special?”
“I was observing,” he says coolly.
“Of course. Observing. For… what? Pointers? Trying to steal my routine to throw off your hockey buddies?”
His eyes widen. “You know who I am?” He sounds shocked. Worried? Impressed? Proud? I can’t quite tell with him.
“Well, not exactly,” I admit. “But judging by your size and badge, I just assumed you’re not my competition.”
“You’re hard to ignore,” he says, brushing over my comment and going back to watching me. Like he has a one-track mind.
I lean against the boards, resting my elbows on it.
“I’ve heard that once or twice.” I lick my bottom lip, looking him up and down. étienne is going to be so mad he missed this. “So, let me guess… you can’t understand why a man would want to figure skate? Don’t get it?”
“Oh, I get it,” he says with an eager head nod.
“Do you?”
“Timing. Commitment. Trust. You hesitate; you fall. It’s intense. I see that.”
I purse my lips, nodding. “So, you were paying attention to more than just…” I gesture up and down my body.
His cheeks go red and he swallows hard.
“So, what’s the verdict then, Mister…”
“Roman Callahan.”
“Roman Blake Callahan. What a name…”
“You’re Nico Laurent.”
I laugh, noting the way his gaze goes to my mouth. “Yeah, that’s me. So, verdict? Think you’ll be out there with me tomorrow, or what?”
“I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”
“I’m sure you’re comfortable on the ice.”
“With a stick and a puck and my teammates.”
“So, no one-on-one thingies for you?” I ask.
“One-on-one thingies?” he questions, frowning.
“Yeah, you know… the duel. At the end of the game. One player against the goalie.”
It takes a second, but then he laughs, just a quick low sound.
“A shoot out.”
“That’s what I said.”
His smile stays, and I decide right here and now that I like it.
I shift my weight on my feet. “I never understood hockey. It’s very violent.”
“The opposite of figure skating.”
I nod. “Exactly.”
“I’m not a violent person,” he says adamantly.
“No,” I say carefully. “You’re not. I can see that in your big green eyes. So how do you deal with shoving all the small guys around—and don’t you dare tell me they aren’t small, because compared to you, I bet they are.”
I watch him for a moment as he gathers his thoughts, his eyes so full of emotion.
“Just because they’re small doesn’t mean they can’t hold their own. We’re taught to take hits and how to give them. It’s technique.”
“So, you think I could body check you, Roman Blake Callahan?” I ask with a smirk.
“You could try,” he says, his words low and sounding like there is some other kind of meaning to them that I’m missing.
“Hey, Roman!” someone shouts, coming down the steps toward us. It’s the guy that was standing with him earlier. Teammate, I guess. Maybe just a friend.
Roman doesn’t look away from me.
“What the hell? I thought you were meeting me outside?” the guy asks when he reaches us. He does a double take when he sees me. “Hey, you’re Nico Laurent.”
“In the flesh.” I give a little bow. “And you are…”
“Connor McVoy. I play on the Diamonds with Roman.”
“And that is in which state?” I question, looking between the two.
“Colorado,” they answer in unison.
“Which is how far from California? That’s the only state I can comfortably point out on a map.”
“Uh…” Connor says, scratching his head. “By plane or car?”
I just laugh, shaking my head. “Well, it was nice meeting you both. Good luck at your game tomorrow.” I salute them and walk off, feeling Roman’s gaze on me the entire way.
“How do you eat that?” étienne asks, staring at my piece of chicken.
“With a fork and knife, why do you ask?”
“You know what I mean,” he growls.
“It’s just food, étienne. I have other things in life that fulfill me, I don’t need to put empty calories and processed sugars into my body to be happy.”
“I don’t do that.”
“Yes, you do. Stop lying. Oh—there he is.” I tap his arm, gesturing with my eyes to the entrance.
étienne lost his shit when I told him who was watching me perform this morning. He was too worried about my schedule—because even though he’s my fake PA, he still has duties because of it. So, of course, him missing two very hot, very rugged hockey players was my fault.
“Mon Dieu, he’s hotter in person.” étienne runs his hand down his face, then fans himself. “How am I going to survive around all these hot athletes?”
“Maybe you’ll take one to bed,” I comment, taking the last bite of my chicken. “I hear they have Olympic branded condoms around here…”
“Shut up. They do?” He looks around, interested.
I laugh, pushing my plate away and taking my water. From the corner of my eye, I watch Roman and his hockey player friends go to the food line. I don’t think he’s noticed me. I’m sure I would know if he did. His eyes are like laser beams. I feel them when they are on me like a magnet.
“How long are we staying here?” I ask, just as Jules and Andrew, our team’s pair, take their seats beside us.
“How’s it going?” Andrew asks. “You ready for tomorrow?”
“Definitely. You?”
“I’m trying not to throw up,” Jules says, looking a little pale.
“You’ll both do great.”
“How do you do it, Nico?” she asks. “Seriously, you always look so calm.”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I just… get in my element. When I’m on the ice, I feel like me. Like the best version of me, and I feel like nothing can possibly go wrong.”
“I wish,” Jules scoffs.
“You two have been practicing for months,” étienne says. “You’re going to do great.”
“Stop thinking about it,” I add. “That’s only going to make it worse. Just enjoy the day. Eat some chicken. When you’re on the ice, pretend it’s just another practice.”
“She’s barely eaten anything all day,” Andrew says.
“That’s part of your problem,” I say. “You need to eat.”
“I’ll go get you something,” Andrew says as he gets up.
That’s when I feel it. Like a warm itch on the back of my neck.
I turn without thinking, and my eyes lock with his…
for the second time today. He’s sitting at a table full of athletes in USA gear.
Like earlier, he doesn’t look away. The intense look on his face stays.
No greeting smile, no wave. Just a stare like he doesn’t know what to make of me.
Well, I don’t know what to make of you either, Roman Blake Callahan.
He says something to his friends, then he gets up. I watch him with a smirk as he walks over. I feel étienne’s excitement as he notices what’s going on.
“Hi, again,” he says, eyes laser-focused on me.
I won’t lie… I love the attention.
“Hello, Roman Blake Callahan, defenseman for the Colorado Diamonds.”
He smirks. “I didn’t tell you I was a defenseman.”
“No,” I say with a smile and point at étienne. “He did.”
“Hi,” étienne says in a dramatically lustful tone and a small wave. “Me and my whole family, well, except this loser over here, are huge hockey fans.”
“That’s awesome,” Roman says genuinely. “It’s always cool meeting fans. Are you skating too?”
“No, no, no,” he says, waving his hands. “I don’t get on the ice. I like it from afar.”
“étienne tried ice skating once and broke his ankle—literally.”
“Damn,” Roman says, scratching the back of his neck. “That sucks.”
“It was so bad,” étienne says with a frown. He shivers as if he’s reliving the memory.
“It was actually really funny.”
He gives me the middle finger.
“You should have listened to me,” I say, taking a sip of my water. “I told you to point your toes in and not out. You wanted to point them out. You thought you knew better than me.”
“Okay, All Star, we get it,” he growls.
I grin, tilting my head. I look up at Roman who is watching me in awe.
“Do you want to sit with us?” I ask.
“I don’t think I’m supposed to,” he says carefully.
“Right, right. Fraternizing with the enemy. Canada and USA… I get it.” I nod, then add, “Well, I will see you tomorrow, right?”
He nods, the look on his face so intense. There’s something about it that I really like.
“Bye, Nico.”
“Later, Big Guy.”