Chapter 24 Isla
Isla
One week until competition
Spencer’s hands grip my hips as I squat, preparing for our triple twist.
Coach Linden shouts instructions from where she stands in judgment at center ice, as he hoists me into the air while I simultaneously leap, pushing myself higher into the air.
My legs go wide before fusing together after Spencer lets go of me, so I can propel myself into three tight revolutions while he remains motionless beneath me.
He catches me as I drift down toward him.
He guides me to the ice, releasing my waist once one of my skates touches down.
Our hands remain clasped tight as my other leg sticks straight out behind me.
We’re one fluid, gorgeous movement, and I don’t need to see our tape to know that. It feels right.
“And you thought we couldn’t be ready for this competition in time,” he says with a bemused smile.
I’m still not sure we’re ready, but we’re clicking in practice. Three months to move from strangers to partners is a risk, one most people wouldn’t take. But like Spencer, I was anxious to compete, and floored that someone of his caliber was interested in partnering with me.
“You think we’re ready?” I ask, hands landing on my hips as I catch my breath.
His brow furrows. “You don’t? We’re competing in a week.”
“No, I do.” The stress in his voice has me backtracking. I can’t have a single second of doubt in us. “I wasn’t sure what you thought.”
“That was good,” Linden shouts to us, defusing the moment of tension. It’s a ringing endorsement in her books. Maybe we are ready to debut this partnership. “See you both in the morning.”
Spencer and I sag in relief, tired from the six hours of work we’ve already put in today.
It’s been a long, hard week of relentless practice, a blur of off-ice perfection of our form, weight-lifting sessions to continue to strengthen our muscles, and repetition of every element in our program to the point that it has become all I dream about at night.
I’m convinced that someone could wake me out of a dead sleep and I’d nail this routine.
“You up for Indian tonight, roomie?” Spence asks me as we glide off the ice.
“Is that a real question?”
“Great, we can pick it up on the way home,” he says as we skate off the ice.
All my dreaming over the last two weeks has taken place in Spencer’s guest room. Coach Linden ordered us to maximize our time together ahead of our competition, so Spencer asked me to move into his townhouse. Aside from sleeping, we haven’t been away from each other for more than an hour.
Spencer and I have a great relationship, but I wasn’t sure whether this strategy of maximum together time would work or backfire.
But he loves the same takeout food as me, and when we’re not watching tapes of our skating or that of our competition, we’re binging The Vampire Diaries.
We’ve blown through three seasons, and tonight, the hotel episode that awakens my cold, dead heart is on deck.
Less time with Wes is the downside to the arrangement.
And I’m not going to lie—it’s a massive downside.
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him since last week, the night that turned out to be a date as I secretly hoped.
I get myself off in the shower thinking of the way he touched me, his thick cock between my legs, and what we said to each other afterward, lying in each other’s arms.
The request to invite Wes over sits behind my lips, but I don’t want Spencer to think I’m not dedicated to our skating. Especially not after how he reacted to my question about our preparedness. We have one opportunity to create a first impression on the figure skating world.
“I’ll meet you out by the car in ten,” I say before walking into the women’s locker room. I wait a minute before I dash out and sprint to Wes’s office.
My heart sinks when I find it empty. I saw him this morning, and he didn’t mention anything about leaving early.
I’ve started coming in earlier to work out at the same time as him.
We have sex before Spencer arrives most days—in the gym, or the locker room shower, or the yoga room—but Spencer wanted to practice early, so I haven’t gotten my daily dose of Wes yet.
Me: 911. Where are you?
His text comes through before I put the phone down.
Wes: Is this an actual 911?
I smirk as I type my response.
Me: Of the sexual variety.
Wes: Dammit, Isla, we need a different code.
I miss him teasing me. I miss that half-smile beneath his sexy beard. I miss his hands on me.
In the locker room, I make an impulsive decision, removing my shirt and shimmying out of my leggings.
It’s awkward, lying against the bench half-naked to snap a photo of myself.
I’ve never sexted before, but I’ve also never had this wild chemistry with someone else.
And I trust him, even though we haven’t known each other that long.
I know he would never hurt me, that he has my back, which makes it easier to begin lowering my defenses.
I snap a few photos until I’m decently happy with the image of my body, nipples visible through my sports bra and abdomen on display, while my free hand tucks itself into my waistband.
Me: How about this for code?
I click send, then toss my phone into my bag, unable to stand the waiting game.
My heart plummets when I still don’t have a response from him after my shower.
It’s not until Spencer and I are driving to his place that my phone dings, but it’s too weird opening a message like that from Wes in front of his brother.
“Isla?” Spencer’s tone implies that he’s called my name more than once.
“Sorry, what?”
He nods toward my shaking leg. “Something bothering you?”
Desperate to read your brother’s response to my sext. No big deal.
“Just hungry,” I lie as we drive into the Indian restaurant parking lot.
Spencer turns toward me after parking the car. “Nothing to do with my brother?”
“Why do you think that?”
“I might have come into the gym early the other morning and saw you two…” He raises his eyebrows, making it clear he isn’t talking about us exercising.
“Oh, my God.” I drop my face into my hands. “I think I might die.”
He huffs out a laugh. “If it helps, I looked away quickly.”
“Nope, still wanna die. I might walk into traffic while you’re picking up our food.”
His hands land on mine, pulling them down from my face. He stares at me with such sincerity and warmth. I would skate and skate and skate until my feet bled for him, for this partnership. “It’s not that serious. And we can spend a night apart, Isla. It’s fine.”
“No, this is too important,” I reply immediately.
Spencer isn’t like my last partner; he wouldn’t say this to test me, but that insecure voice won’t shut up.
I don’t want our competition to go sideways and have the blame placed on my shoulders.
I don’t want to lose him because I took my eyes off the goal.
I narrow my eyes. “Did Wes say something to you?”
“He’s been on edge any time I mentioned something we did together.” A smile slowly crawls across Spencer’s face. “Pretty obvious why that is.”
“But you knew…from the whistling.”
“That could’ve been a one-time thing. It’s not, is it?”
I shake my head and whisper, “No.”
“And remember what I said. Be careful with him, Isla.”
Spencer climbs out of the car and heads into the restaurant, leaving me alone to mull over his words. He warned me that Wes doesn’t do casual. He begged me not to break Wes’s heart.
But Spencer said those words before he knew me, when he thought I had zero interest in a relationship following my divorce. Now, I don’t know what I want. Wes Davidson has complicated everything for me.
I should walk away before he’s the one who destroys my heart, barely held together by dried-out glue. Instead, I open my phone to read his message. My elite level of discipline fails in the face of this man.
Wes: Fuck Isla. I’m with my lawyer.
I can hear his groan in his typed answer.
Me: Your lawyer?
Wes: Power of attorney stuff for my dad. I’ll tell you later.
Wes: But now I can’t think straight. Or stand up.
Me: Shit, sorry. I missed our morning *routine*.
Wes: That’s all I’m good for, huh? Getting you off?
Me: You said I could use you…..
Me: ; )
I click my phone shut when Spencer rips open the driver’s side door and climbs into the car.
All night, I hold my phone in the palm of my hand, waiting for that vibration to signal Wes’s response, but none comes.
Six days until competition
Wes isn’t in the gym the next morning. I check my phone: still no messages. I know he got my last one because his phone marked it as read. My stomach’s been twisted in knots ever since.
I assumed he got busy last night with the attorney, not that he was ignoring me. But now…I snatch my phone and type the words before I can think better of the juvenile course of action.
Me: Are we still practicing today? No one’s here. Didn’t know if something came up.
Spencer: Of course. Be there in an hour, as always.
I sigh, about to set my phone down, when it pings again.
Spencer: You two are quite the pair.
Me: What are you talking about?
Spencer: You want to know where Wes is, but you texted me.
Isla: That’s not why I was wondering.
Spencer: Right. And I have a bridge in Brooklyn to sell you.
Well, clearly, Wes is fine, or my text to Spencer would’ve alarmed him.
So Spencer knows where Wes is, and I don’t, which makes total sense.
They’re brothers, and who am I? Just some woman who teaches figure skating lessons at Wes’s rink, partners with his brother for figure skating, and hooks up with him when the mood strikes.
Wes and I aren’t anything formal, just several loose connections that confuse the clear boundaries in my mind.
But that day at the lake, tangled up in each other in his truck, we felt like something. Something more than a casual hookup. Something scary and real.