Chapter 21
“You’re doing great,” Scotty says as he skates behind me.
I hate it.
He’s kind of limping, but covering it with that dimpled smile of his, and that fact frustrates me.
“Keep those knees slightly bent.”
I reset my position at the blue circle, my legs screaming in protest, but I do it. We’ve been skating for over an hour, and I still can’t get the backward crossover right.
I’m tired. I’m frustrated. My entire body feels like it’s made of lead.
Scotty’s tired too, and clearly injured from tonight’s game, but he’s still here.
We both are, as if somehow, if I nail this one stupid move, my skating and my singing together will magically cancel out the fact that I lied on my audition form and can barely stay upright.
“Keep your weight centered,” he instructs, now skating slow circles around me, watching my every move. “Cross over. Not just stepping back.”
I spread my arms, attempt the crossover, and my blade catches. I pitch forward, fully prepared to fall on my ass again.
Only I don’t.
Scotty’s hands clamp onto my hips, pulling me back so I’m right against him.
His chest meets my back, his thighs brush my ass, and I can feel his warm breath against my neck.
“You’ll get it,” he says.
I shiver, the warmth of his body making my entire nervous system freak out.
Did he purposely husk that out, or am I imagining things?
His fingers tighten around my hips, and I swallow hard.
Because I can feel him.
All of him… and I want it.
No, Laura.
As much as my brain wants to keep things professional with Scotty, my body clearly didn’t get the memo.
Every time he touches me—even the smallest brush of his fingers, the lightest steadying grip on my waist—something sparks low and hot inside me.
And suddenly I’m wanting more. Needing more.
Craving things I absolutely should not crave from him.
He’s still holding onto me, steady and patient, waiting for me to reset my stance before he lets go.
I drag in a breath, square my shoulders, shove my ponytail over one shoulder like it’ll anchor me.
I refuse to let this stupid, inconvenient attraction to my teacher derail me.
But the moment his hands leave my body, a warm tingle races through me. I grit my teeth in annoyance.
“You’re dropping your shoulder.” He taps my side, and I shift out of his touch.
“I know,” I snap, glaring at him, only it’s impossible to be angry at him because he’s just so nice… too nice.
A grin pulls across his tired face. “Then stop doing it.”
Stop doing it?
My jaw clenches. “If I could stop doing it, I would.”
He sighs, and the sound grates against my already frayed nerves.
I can see the exhaustion written all over him—the dark circles under his eyes, the way he keeps rolling his shoulders like they ache, and there’s a slight grimace every time he pushes off on his right side.
He’s here because of me and I don’t deserve it.
I’m terrible. I haven’t improved, and most importantly… I’m a fraud.
“Shall we try it one more time?” he asks. “I think you’re nearly there.”
“No, I’m not,” I say, coming out of my position and moving away from him.
“That’s not the attitude to have.” His voice is close enough behind me that I can tell he’s followed me.
I swivel on my foot to face him, only to realize he’s so close, I have to tilt my head to see his face. “I’m being realistic, Scotty. My audition is in approximately twelve hours. If I don’t have a move down by now, I’m not going to.”
“But you’re so close—”
I raise my hand. “There’s no point. We’ve tried it twenty times and I’m not getting it. I’m sorry I forced you out here. Any practice tonight isn’t going to stick enough for me to be confident enough to do it there. I’m wasting your time.”
“You’re not wasting my time—”
“Yes, I am!” I push him back, hating the proximity.
“You should be back at the dorm. You should be icing whatever injury you’re clearly nursing and sleeping so you’re ready for practice tomorrow.
Instead, you’re here watching me fail at something I should’ve learned weeks ago.
You don’t have to be sunshine all the time and pretend you're happy to be here.”
He takes me in for a second, skating an inch closer.
“Who says I’m pretending? You’ve been the only good thing about this shitty day.”
I gulp, feeling his words all the way through my bones, hating that I feel the same way.
“You can do this move, Laura. You just need to focus instead of panicking every two seconds over it.”
I laugh bitterly. “That’s not what’s happening.”
“You sure? Because I’ve spent the last month watching you sabotage yourself. I understand perfectly what’s happening.”
“Then why’d you offer to help me if I’m such a lost cause?!” My voice echoes off the empty seats.
“Why do you think, Princess?” he fires back, a grin wide on his face.
Why do I think? I can’t answer that.
“But to clarify, you aren’t a lost cause. You’re doing incredible things for someone who only has a few weeks of experience. I think you’re—”
“Whatever we do tonight doesn’t change how I’m going to perform tomorrow.” I scrub my hand across my face, groaning in aggravation before pointing between the two of us. “This isn’t working, and I’m tired.”
“What if I don’t want to stop?”
“We need to.”
I skate toward the exit, but he cuts me off.
“Move, Scotty.”
“No.”
“I'm not doing this right now.” I try to go around him, but he mirrors my movement.
“Doing what? Actually talking about what's going on here?”
“There's nothing going on here!” I skate left. He blocks me. “You're teaching me to skate. That's it.”
“Bullshit.” He stays in front of me as I try to dodge right. “We both know that's bullshit.”
“What do you want me to say?” I shove at his chest, but he doesn't budge. “That I'm freaking out? That I'm terrified I'm going to humiliate myself tomorrow? That I've been having panic attacks every night this week thinking about it?”
“I want you to stop running!” His voice cracks with frustration. “You were perfectly fine to practice until I touched you. Just like every lesson. Every time things get real between us, you bolt. I'm so fucking tired of pretending we're just—”
“Just what?” I challenge. “What are we, Scotty? Because from where I'm standing, we're nothing.”
I know it’s not true as I say the words, but I need to get away from him. I need to stop this conversation before it goes any further. With my hands against his chest, I push as hard as I can, and he moves back.
I skate around him and head toward the rink exit.
Scotty tries to grab my hand, but I slip away and skate as fast as I can.
Unfortunately, he’s faster and rounds in front of me, stopping me again.
I skate back to get some distance, but he doesn’t take the hint.
He follows me, picking up the pace.
“Leave me alone, Scotty.”
He answers with a deep chuckle. “Don’t you see what’s happening?”
Outrageous. He’s really not going to let this go until I’ve admitted I still like him.
“Scotty,” I grumble, quickly glancing over my shoulder, knowing there’s not much farther for me to go.
“Princess.” He drawls out my nickname and I’m about ready to throttle him. Only, when our eyes connect, he says, “You’re doing it. You’re doing the backward crossovers.”
Am I?
I glance down, and shit, I am.
Thud!
I’ve hit the boards, and now there’s nowhere for me to go.
“See, I told you. You can do anything, Laure. You’ve just got to believe in yourself.”
He plants his hands on either side of my head, caging me against the boards.
“Scotty—”
His name slips out, almost involuntarily as his body grazes mine. My knees go a little weak, my breath hitches because suddenly, he’s everywhere, crowding me until I can’t think about anything but him.
He’s staring down at me, those blue eyes so sharp it feels like they cut straight through me.
Does he know what I’m thinking?
His head leans forward, just enough that our foreheads nearly touch.
“Do you know how exhausting this is?” he says on a sigh, his face inches from mine now. “Watching you? Wanting you? Knowing you feel the same way, but you won't—you won't—”
He stops the thought.
I don’t want him to.
“Won't what?” I'm breathing heavily, my heart beating so wildly against my ribs, I can hear it.
His eyes burn into me, searching, deciding, and I see the exact moment it all snaps.
“Fuck it.”
He closes the space and his mouth is on mine.
It’s not gentle. It’s weeks of frustration and late-night practices and every unsaid thing crashing together in one hungry drag of his mouth.
His hands slide to the back of my neck, holding me still as his lips part mine.
Heat rushes through me so fast, my knees buckle and my skates slip out from under me.
Scotty catches me, though. He always does.
Still kissing me, he cups my face as the other hand wraps around my hip and he presses me harder against the boards.
He pulls back just enough to whisper against my mouth, “Tell me to stop.”
I can’t. I’m already fisting the front of his hoodie, dragging him closer, needing more. His thumb strokes along my jaw, his other hand inches under my sweater.
“I can’t,” I gasp, and the sound barely leaves my mouth before he takes it with another kiss.
It’s slow. It’s rushed. It’s everything I’ve been pretending I didn’t want.
“You drive me insane, Princess,” he whispers, his mouth trailing down my throat, kissing and biting his way lower.
“But I can’t stop wanting every part of you,” he says, his voice rough with need.
Finally, finally I feel all the tension inside me loosen.
I wrap my arms around his shoulders and drag him closer, my hips bucking to meet his.
He answers by grinding his hips into mine, his erection pressing right against my center. Shamelessly, I move with him, dry humping him as I chase the rush of being this close with him and touching him the way I always fantasized.
Fuck. This feels better than it should.
We’re in a freaking ice rink, but I swear I’m going to melt into nothing if Scotty keeps touching me.