Chapter 7
Isla
When I arrive home after practice, I’m desperate for a scalding hot shower so I can burn every inappropriate, unsavory thought about my boss from my mind.
Wes Davidson clearly doesn’t remember being my first kiss.
I didn’t realize my parking lot terrorist, the unfairly rugged man who hit my car, is the brother of my new skating partner.
Not until I clocked the photo in his office—Spencer and Wes as teenagers standing in front of an amusement park ride.
Wes looks nothing like the shy, gawky kid I met when I was sixteen years old, who found me crying in a hallway at a skating competition and whisked me away from the rink to cheer me up.
All I wanted was someone in my life to witness the moment when I managed to climb to the top and take the gold medal. The podium felt lonely without anyone to celebrate my accomplishment with me.
Wes knew what I needed that night. He listened to me talk about my sadness, and then he made me forget it. I’d never wanted to kiss someone before him. But I fell hard for the boy with the soulful brown eyes who made me smile and forget everything that brought me down.
It’s hard to imagine that boy grew into the man I saw today. Holy hell, talk about a glow up. Unfortunately, he doesn’t have a personality to match his hot exterior, and he’s lost the kindness he possessed that night.
“Brooks,” I call, walking toward his closed bedroom door. “You doing okay?”
“Stopped puking my guts up thirty minutes ago.” His voice comes through faintly, like it’s muffled by a pillow.
“Need anything to eat?”
He groans. “Please don’t talk to me about food.”
“Sorry,” I answer with a chuckle. “Let me know if you change your mind.”
“I think I’m going to sleep. Or die,” he deadpans. “Everything go okay with Spencer?”
“Better than I imagined,” I reply honestly.
I expected Spencer to realize his mistake in offering to partner with me once he met me in person and saw my skating up close. Having him tell me that our practice today reaffirmed his decision calmed my anxiety about this next step in my skating career unlike anything else.
“That’s great.” Brooks’s voice sounds quieter and coated in sleep.
When I check my phone, I see a text from Spencer waiting for me.
I had put my phone on Do Not Disturb for the drive home and blasted my rage playlist. Practice with Spencer was invigorating, but the meeting afterward with Wes set me on edge.
I loved getting the last word, but it fucking stung when he told me not to bother him.
Spencer: Is it cool if I give Wes your number? He’s bugging me about paperwork, and I’m watching VPR.
Me: VPR?
Spencer: Oh, Isla, noooo. You don’t know Vanderpump Rules??
I read the words with the same tone he used earlier when Wes thought The Vampire Diaries was a movie.
Spencer’s reputation in figure skating is one to be envied.
His fifteen-year career has resulted in dozens of medals, including two golds and a silver at world championships, five Grand Prix gold medals, and two silvers and three bronze medals from the Olympics.
I’ve seen him expertly toss his partners in the air and catch them effortlessly across different states and countries.
Watched him spin them in gorgeous death spirals, the best I’ve ever seen, in competition after competition.
He’s kept me off the podium more times than I’d like to admit.
It’s jarring to have someone I’ve admired from afar, who I wished I could skate with, reduced to a mere human being.
One who likes to rib his brother over his grumpiness and is obsessed with pop culture.
He’s become a real person to me, and with that comes an incredible weight of responsibility not to let him down.
Spencer: Okay, you’re coming over and we’re binge-watching this show. It’s team building.
Me: That’s different from any team building I’ve done.
Spencer: Stick with me, kid.
Spencer: Anyway, your number? Wes has a one-track mind and thrives on checking things off his list, so you’d be doing me a favor.
Spencer’s description of his brother veers way too close to how I’d describe myself.
I give him the go-ahead to give my number to Wes, then step into the scalding hot shower.
Wes’s name on my mind as I soap up my body is a mistake.
It’s the worst possible activity to undertake while the image of him behind his desk flashes behind my eyes, his abdomen partially on display when he leaned back in his chair, placing his hands behind his head like he didn’t have a care in the world.
This man was the first person I ever kissed.
It took a tremendous amount of discipline to keep my face devoid of emotion, to not hint at the tsunami of tension brewing inside me.
Abruptly, I flip the shower temperature from hot to freezing to stop my brain in its tracks. I muffle my scream with my arm to avoid waking up Brooks.
My phone buzzes on the sink as I step out of the shower, and I scoop it up immediately, seeing the “~Athlala Girl Bosses~” group text on my screen.
Maggie: Earth to Isla, how did today go??
Blair: ~Three hours later~
Me: Ha ha I’m not that bad.
Blair: O.O
Me: Well I’d hate to exceed expectations…
I put my phone down to dry off and throw on my usual home attire of a sweatshirt and cotton shorts.
When I open the bathroom door, I find Lily lying on the floor, stretched to her full length.
She lets out a loud meow, demanding attention.
I drop to my knees to give her some pets before heading to my room and flopping onto my bed.
She follows, jumping up into my lap and purring softly as I stroke her head.
Maggie: Just tell us. Ro has asked me like five times today.
Me: Why doesn’t he ask Spencer?
Maggie: Why doesn’t a man take a normal course of action?
Maggie: Is that a real question?
Me: Fair point
Me: I like Spencer. He said today affirmed his decision to partner with me.
Blair: That sounds like a line.
Blair: Please tell me that wasn’t a line.
Me: He knows not to go there.
Maggie: That’s what you thought about your last partner.
Me: You sound like Brooks.
Maggie: Ugh he’s so dreamy
Blair: Ugh I know
Me: UGH please stop
Me: Spencer and I agreed. Skating only. And I think we’re going to be good. Just a feeling.
Maggie: Of course you are
Blair: Yeah if I had money to bet, I’d put it on you.
Me: Okay miss NFL kicker
Blair: All that money is going into the gym lol
Maggie: How’s the new location coming along?
Blair: Getting there…..
Me: Good luck tomorrow Maggie
Maggie: I don’t need it but thank you
She’s competing in the French Open finals. As always, she’s favored to win.
I set my phone down and burrow beneath the covers, enjoying the way the tension bleeds from my body for the first time since I’d gotten the call from Maggie about this potential partnership with Spencer.
Maybe we’re both overambitious, thinking we could compete together in three months, but if I could do it with anyone, I’m convinced it’s the guy who pushed me to work harder without saying a word.
And I’m too stubborn to do anything other than throw my entire self at this goal.
I jolt awake at four a.m. in a dark room lit only by the low light of the TV. I fell asleep so early that I’ve already gotten eight hours of sleep. When I check my phone notifications, I’m greeted by texts from the person I least want to deal with.
Parking lot terrorist: Hi, it’s Wes.
Parking lot terrorist: Wes Davidson
Parking lot terrorist: Spencer’s brother
The texts are each a minute apart, like he kept adding details the longer I didn’t answer, but he also sent them fifteen minutes ago, when most people are asleep.
Is he serious? He doesn’t think I’d know who he was?
How many men named Wes from unknown numbers does he think reach out to me?
And if by a strange coincidence, I had an abundance of guys named Wes wanting to know me, the last name would’ve sufficed for clearing up any confusion.
Besides, he gave me his number.
Me: Hi
Before I can place the phone down, the three dots start.
Parking lot terrorist: Spencer gave me your number.
Me: And you gave me yours
Parking lot terrorist: Right. Forgot.
Parking lot terrorist: I have a list of people who asked for figure skating lessons over the years. Do you want me to send that to you?
Me: Sure…..
Parking lot terrorist: I don’t have to send it if you don’t want it.
Me: Just trying to figure out your motives.
The dots start and stop multiple times. I thought he was debating how to reply, but then a big block of text arrives.
Parking lot terrorist: I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot.
I didn’t mean to hit your car. I have a lot going on, and I was distracted.
Spencer is one of the most important people in my life.
All I want is for him to be happy. We need to co-exist peacefully for his sake.
Limit the amount of time we’re around each other and set aside our differences while Spence is around.
You can keep your animosity, just hide it.
Dammit if that doesn’t tug at my heartstrings. I feel that exact way about Brooks.
Parking lot terrorist: That is the longest message I’ve ever typed
Me: A man of few texts, got it
Parking lot terrorist: And words.
Me: I wouldn’t call it animosity.
Parking lot terrorist: Well, shit. I’d be afraid of how you treat someone you hate then.
Without my permission, a laugh bubbles up from my chest.
Me: You should be.
Me: This partnership with Spencer is one of the most important things in my life. I don’t want to screw it up. So I agree to pretend for his sake.
Me: I’ll do my best to keep my mouth shut, as requested.
Parking lot terrorist: Not going to make this easy on me, huh?
Me: Where’s the fun in that?
Parking lot terrorist: Be careful what you wish for, Red.
Wait, is he flirting with me?
I slam the phone down onto the bed, cutting myself off from replying to Wes. Oh, my God. Get a grip, Isla.
A few minutes later, he sends a long list of names, phone numbers, and email addresses of people who have expressed interest in skating. I decide to go for a run, then tackle outreach to potential new clients.
I will not spend another second thinking about Wes Davidson.