Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
SIERRA
HAVE I MENTIONED I do stupid things when I’m drunk?
Stupid enough that even with the alcohol in my bloodstream last night, sleep refused to come when Scarlett and I stumbled back to the dorm.
Instead, I got in bed, and the night replayed in vivid flashes: long fingers gripping my waist, his rough voice, his Adam’s apple bobbing when he swallowed the alcohol from my mouth.
I have no clue where that version of me even came from, but Dylan’s energy is contagious.
It all felt reminiscent of the braver me, the one who didn’t have so much to lose.
It’s why I felt restless under my covers last night, my fingers drifting beneath the waistband of my pajamas.
I haven’t been able to pleasure myself since the accident, never cared to, never wanted to.
But with just a light brush of my fingers, pressure started to build, rumbling to life like an old car.
All I could hear and feel were his voice and hands, his thighs and arms caging me in.
Just as quickly as the electric feeling began to spark across my body and I thought I finally did it, the impending orgasm died.
The euphoria was instantly lost to my loud, restricting thoughts. Snuffed out like a flame.
Call it shame or guilt, I don’t know, but it held me back from an orgasm that I’m sure would have had me moaning a name I shouldn’t.
So this morning, I woke up a little frustrated and felt like my tension headaches were coming back.
Now, sitting in the bleachers, it’s exactly three minutes before six and I’m still scrolling through forums looking for potential partners.
Maybe Lidia missed someone. Maybe I overlooked a hidden gem.
I stop on a profile, swiping through pictures of the skater on the forum and reading his biography.
“Last-ditch effort?” Dylan’s deep voice cuts through my thoughts, yanking me back to the present. “I heard he has gonorrhea.”
“I’ll be sure to remember that when I’m having sex with him during our long program.”
He snorts. “I doubt he’d last that long.”
I give him a sidelong glance, scrutinizing him sitting here at six a.m. sharp and not heeding my threat. “Should’ve known you don’t do what you’re told.”
“What can I say? I like to be punished.”
“How submissive of you,” I say dryly.
“Yeah? Are you into that? Because I could be, depending on the reward.”
God, he’s distracting. I try not to pay attention to the reactions from my body and focus on my phone.
Dylan peeks over my shoulder. “Olympics and Harvard? What a try-hard.”
I turn to him before jerking back when my nose almost grazes his cheek. “I went to the Olympics and I’m at Dalton. Are you calling me a try-hard too?”
“Nah, you’re impressive. He’s a try-hard.”
“You’re just jealous that I have better options than you for partners.”
“You can only pick one, Sierra. And I’m always in the lead.”
We stare at each other for so long, I can almost see him thinking about last night.
By some miracle, he doesn’t bring it up.
He doesn’t mention how my hands sank into his hair, weaving through his locks like I had some right.
Or the moment I let the drink spill from my mouth into his, as though that was something we’ve always done.
“Think about the children, Sierra.”
I give him a blank look. “You mean the ones you probably flushed down the toilet this morning?”
“Dylan!” Coach Lidia shouts. “I said on the ice at six. I don’t see you ready to go.”
He glances at me. “Is she always like this?”
I shrug innocently. With a shake of his head, Dylan skates toward the center of the rink.
He’s wearing a fitted long-sleeve T-shirt with a checkmark logo, snug around his arms. He exchanges quiet words with Lidia and she laughs.
I can’t hear anything, so I move down the bleachers, edging closer to the ice, my eyes never leaving him.
“I found videos of your past performances with your sister. I had no idea you two made it to the ISU Championship twice. Very impressive,” Lidia says.
Finally, Dylan gets into position, and Lidia starts barking orders. “Start with a clean edge into a lunge,” she calls out, her eyes keen as she watches him. “Now into a combination spin.”
I sit there, my leg shaking, waiting for him to mess something up.
His triple axel makes my grip tighten on my phone. It’s too clean for someone who doesn’t do this professionally. It’s not fair.
Lidia turns to me, catching my eye from where she stands. I snap my gaze back to my phone, pretending to diligently scroll.
I want him to mess up, just a little. Something, anything to remind me why I don’t want him as a partner. But for sixteen minutes, he does everything she says almost too well. But then it’s the last Salchow that he fails to land on a proper edge and screws it up completely.
Ha! I’m gloating, until Lidia gestures for him to stop, but she’s smiling. “Well, I can definitely say I’m surprised, son. There’s plenty of work to do if we’re talking competitions, but that’s a stunning start.”
“But that Lutz was brutal. No wonder he stuck to playing hockey,” I say when I rush over.
Lidia blinks. “Any luck with your search?”
I deflate. “No.”
“I’d say it’s a pretty simple choice. That is if you two agree on this partnership and Dylan completes his physical and drug test. Completely clean.
” She looks at Dylan and emphasizes the last part.
He’s still smug as hell. I kind of want to deck him in the face.
“Both of you get back to me by tonight. We don’t have time to waste. ”
“Did she call you son?” I hiss when she’s out of earshot.
“Son. Best skater she’s ever seen. Ridiculously handsome. I couldn’t really keep track.”
My retort is caught in my throat when I see who’s on the ice. Along with other skaters, there’s one that always manages to make my throat close. Justin is talking to his coach on the opposite edge of the rink.
“You’re better than him,” Dylan comments.
I almost laugh. The one thing Justin has always made it a point to tell me is how much stronger and more capable he is than me.
Every time we practiced, every wrong move or slipup was my fault.
It made me a better skater as the years went on, but never good enough.
You wouldn’t be able to do what I do, Sierra.
“I know,” I lie.
Dylan either picks up on my half-hearted response or just can’t resist hearing himself talk, because he adds, “Sure, he can toss her around, but you have more skill. Your movements aren’t just memorized, you embody them. And that’s what makes a good skater great.”
“And what would you know about that?”
“Considering you can’t take your eyes off me every time I skate, I’d say I know a whole lot.”
“I was just picturing you covered in dirt.” I cross my arms. “And that was a silly practice skate; you’re not nearly as good as professionals.”
“Maybe, but your choices are what, slim to … none?”
I grow defensive. “Not none. If I asked, I’m sure he would say yes in a heartbeat.” I hitch a thumb to Justin before I realize it. Did I actually say that out loud?
Dylan’s brows shoot up, and my stomach twists. “Yeah? I’ll take that dare,” he says, eyes sparking with challenge.
I bristle. “Huh?”
“Go ask him,” he says. “If you’re so confident. You know, really rub it in my face how much you don’t need me. Then I’ll happily get off your back and tell Kilner and Lidia that you’re right.”
My pulse spikes. Shit, shit, shit. “Fine,” I say.
“Fine?” He raises a brow, clearly surprised.
“Fine,” I grind out. Then I take every ounce of my self-respect and shove it deep, deep down. Each step feels like trudging through quicksand, the weight of what I’m about to do clinging to my ankles, trying to drag me back.
I drag my feet over to the edge of the rink where he’s standing. “Justin.”
He turns, and that familiar surprised yet easy smile spreads across his face.
“Ice queen,” he says. The nickname grates against my ears. For so long I let it define me. I was the angry, bitchy, cold figure skater. That’s how I won gold at sixteen, and how we made it to the Olympics. But I’m so sick of it. I want to be someone’s warmth for once.
“As you probably know, I’m skating again.”
Justin nods, too eagerly. For a second, I glance behind me, seeking some kind of push, but the bench is empty.
Dylan’s already gone. When I turn back to Justin, it all hits me like a flashback.
The I love you pressed against my lips, no matter what before we started our routine, we’re fucking disqualified because of her? after I’d fallen.
Instead of pushing through the dare, I blurt out a hasty, “Never mind,” and bolt.
In the changerooms, I scroll through forums, but it’s futile. None of the available skaters have schedules that align with mine, neither would they be willing to train half as hard as I am. I have something to prove; they don’t.
I lift my gaze from my phone to my locker—the one with the picture of Scarlett and me at age four, attending our first learn-to-skate program—my smile is wide and excited.
I want to be that girl again. I know that I have to suck up my pride for the next three months.
Because there’s only one other person who has something to prove.
And he just so happens to be a suspended hockey player.
WHEN I WALK into the hockey house, I have half a mind to walk right back out.
It’s dark out because it took going on a walk to the convenience store and buying a pack of Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups to build up the courage.
I never let myself indulge because my body needs to earn it.
But just having the candy feels like a reward.
One of Dylan’s teammates, Kian Ishida, let me in.
Dark hair, dark eyes, and tattoos peeking out of his cropped T-shirt, spanning his muscled abdomen, thighs, and neck.
If not for the thick unicorn headband he’s wearing, he’d be kind of intimidating.