CHAPTER 32
Troy
HAVE I GONE insane?
I think so.
Does my body want Ana?
I think so.
Does Ana want my body?
I think so.
Are we both losing our minds?
I think so.
Was it smart of me to tell her the exact thought that came into my head, watching her rub her pussy shamelessly against the barre at the studio we were practicing in earlier today, while my dick was straining against my pants, wondering how those perfect parted lips of hers would feel around it?
I don’t fucking think so.
_________
After practice, I ran to the rink to skate on my own. More like speed-walked, but I got here pretty fucking fast.
Now that I said what I said to Ana, I can’t unsay it, and the look on her face when I realized she was feeling good—fuck.
And I thought having her pressed against me was a fever dream. Wait until my dreams get a load of this memory. But that’s good. Dreams aren’t real and any fantasy that plays out between us can remain where they should be. Fake. And not in the same bed.
Two hours of stress skating to take the edge off, and my thermal’s leaking in sweat when I notice my younger brother approach the gate.
Both Dimitri and Karl—to my surprise—ended up leaving Santorini earlier with me despite a few of our cousins and father still tagging around the resort. I guess even my brothers were annoyed by Dad’s behavior this time around.
“Think fast, bro!” Karl yells as a puck lands between my skates and a hockey stick is hurled at my arms.
“Whoever hits the puck last is getting dinner, tonight,” Dimitri hollers, appearing closely behind him.
I chuckle, skating toward my brothers. “Oh, you’re on.”
From the corner of my eye I spot the obnoxious little dance Karl loves to do to mess with my focus, the three of us tearing across the steely cold one faster than the other, skipping past the giant grey, black, and burgundy hummingbird—the Team’s logo stamped right on the center—past the second navy stripe sandwiched between the boards, about to reach the pale blue tip of the trapezoid.
To think it was just yesterday when the three of us were soaring along this exact same ice, Karl only six-years-old, Dimitri and I both in high school, distracting each other just because when we should have been practicing basic hockey drills with our little brother.
And now Karl’s a high school senior, already receiving a ton of offers at the top hockey university programs in the country.
Shit, time flies.
The cold air pours into my lungs rapidly, my muscles rid of the need to stay precise and calculated with this sport—and fuck it feels good—crossing over to Dimitri when the rubber disc stays under his grip.
Not for long though, when I sway a bit over like the opening of a death spiral, scooping the puck to my side.
And I almost trip—skating on a toe pick sucks ass for the rigidity of hockey.
Even with the wrong boot—courtesy of figure skating and its ability to teach you a kind of balance that grounds the whole arena—I manage to hold my weight steady, scraping my blades over the ice, past both my brothers, nudging the puck in their direction.
First.
“You’re a natural, bro,” Karl says, once we’ve stopped to catch our breaths.
“I think with a few practices,” Dimitri adds, “he could still join the team.”
Karl nods. “That foot work’s crazy.”
I shake my head. “You guys are being generous,” I say, appreciating the flattery, my stomach dipping with a sudden graze of anxiousness. “It’s just some muscle memory from dad’s torturous hockey boot camps.”
“You just stole the puck from him,” Karl says, his brows raised. “I think that’s more than us being generous.”
Dimitri nods in agreement, patting my back with warmth. “We’ll meet you at Bailey’s tonight. At 7?”
“Yeah, that works,” I say. “Just gotta take a shower first.”
“See ya there,” Karl says before they turn to leave the ice.
_________
When we reach the rowdy bar, at the just-as-buzzing connected restaurant, Karl makes a run to the restroom, leaving just Dimitri and me in the Bailey’s classic espresso booth.
The expression on Dimitri’s face is tense, unusual from him. “What?” I ask.
“Your phone was ringing earlier,” he says carefully. “I answered it.”
My brows furrow, but before I can interrogate my brother for invading my privacy, he defends, “It rang like five times, and it seemed like it was important, so I answered it.” He sighs, folding his elbows onto the table.
“It was Shane. From the Wisteria Rink. He said you’re going to be a coach there? ”
I stare down at my menu, fidgeting with the corners of it. “Something like that.”
“You know Dad’s gonna kill you, right?”
“Yeah, I know.” I lift my eyes up at him. “That’s why I’d like to actually make it to the Games, so please don’t let it slip out. Even to Karl.”
A few seconds of silence pass, my older brother debating whether or not he should continue but he ultimately nods. “I won’t say anything.”
Once Karl returns, Dimitri changes the subject immediately. “So, you and Ana?”
“No,” I say quickly.
He scoffs. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
“I have a pretty good idea.”
“Well, it looks like there’s something.”
“There’s nothing.”
“You know,” Karl interjects, “usually when someone denies something that quickly, it means they’re lying.”
I slide him a menu. “Thank you Dr. Karl for your diagnosis.”
“Well, she looks like your type…” he says while scanning his menu studiously.
“She does look a lot like your type,” Dimitri agrees. When I shrug, he points out, “You didn’t hook up with a single girl in Santorini.”
How does he even know that?
But it’s true. The girl I danced with, even the one I helped put her sunscreen on—and a few others who tried to talk to me by the mini bar—they all ended the say way: me, not feeling any of it. Yeah, there’s definitely something wrong with me lately. Though I refuse to believe it’s because of her.
Because of Ana.
“So,” I reply, shrugging my nosy brothers away from my love life, taking a sip of my water. “I was there for a week.”
“The last vacation we went on,” Dimitri reminds, “you made out with a girl the night we got there.”
“Ana.” I spot her approaching the bar.
“Exactly,” Karl levels. “So tell us how it started.”
I glare at him. “No, she’s here.”
Now seems like the perfect moment to escape my brothers, anyway, and also get myself a beer, so I spring out from the booth eagerly.
Already ordered my drink at the bar, Ana notices me standing a few feet away and walks over.
“Thanks, again, for the taffy,” she says, a soft smile lifting her lips.
Yeah, that’s the last thing I expected her to say to me.
Especially after what happened during practice today. It’s also the second time she’s thanking me for the candy, and knowing Ana, I never expected a thank you for the gift to begin with.
“You didn’t need to thank me,” I say, “if all you wanted was just to talk to me right now.” She gawks. “You’re welcome, Annabel.” I tilt my head at her.
As soon as the words leave my lips, it registers how I also called her that during our heated moment in the studio. My skin burns at the memory when her cheeks flush pink.
She brushes it off, though, like she just remembered how she was a second away from throwing the beer that she’s holding, but in a split second, changed her mind and decided to spare me.
“How did you remember that I like that stuff, anyway?” she asks, curiosity cornering her irises.
“I remember a lot about you,” I say.
Her eyes flicker at my response, before I notice Chloe heading toward us from my periphery.
By reflex, I move closer to Ana, and her brows quickly scrunch together.
“Just go with it,” I say.
She peers over her shoulder, noticing Chloe. When Ana turns toward me again, amusement teases her face at the desperation on my expression.
“Please,” I beg. “I’ll do anything.”
“Anything, huh?” Her eyes narrow at me with mischief.
“Yes.”
“Okay.”
At her approval, I loop my fingers into her jeans, pulling her waist even closer to me when I catch a strong whiff of that intoxicating berry. She smells spicier than usual. Like a hint of cinnamon and vanilla added to her strawberry scent. And it distracts me for a good second—more than a second.
Blonde waves approaching us quickly snap me out of it.
“What movie were you saying you wanted to see tonight?” I quip abruptly.
Ana rakes through my hair, intentionally messing it up. Her eyes widen dramatically. “Shrek 2, sugar bear.”
When I lean into the crook of her neck, Chloe immediately turns around at the gesture, my stomach relaxing as she walks away and disappears from our line of sight.
I shoot right back toward Ana. “Sugar bear?”
“That’s really what you’re going to pick on?” She scoffs.
“I was gonna get to the other half next.”
“I believe you owe me a thank you first, and then ‘anything I want’.”
Heat coats my skin at the whirlwind of emotions this girl manages to bring out of me in just seconds.
“Okay,” I surrender. “Let’s hear it. What do you want?”
“To practice an extra hour every time we skate,” she says with a scheming smile.
“Out of all the things you could get, that’s what you’re gonna ask for? You’re a strange character, Petrov.”
“Don’t tell me you’re backing out of a deal you agreed to?” She defiantly reaches her hand out for me to take.
This fucking girl.
I shake her hand.
_________
“So, yeah, that sure looked like nothing,” Dimitri tuts, as I return to our booth. “Don’tcha think, Karl?”
“Yup,” Karl nods, “That’s exactly how I talk to people I don’t like. Up close and right into their neck.”
“If you two are done…” I say.
As I roll my eyes they continue to snicker amongst themselves.
My gaze drifts toward the exit, watching Ana leave the bar. It fully registers now that—thanks to me—I just added us an additional hour to practice with each other.
An extra hour to be around each other.
I let out a deep sigh.