CHAPTER 36
Ana
“ANA. ANA, WAKE UP.” I vaguely feel an arm nudge my shoulder. Lifting my face off the wooden desk, my eyes filter to the person who just called my name.
Oh. It was Eunice.
Right, we’re still in class…
“Thanks,” I tell her.
Pointless summer elective that isn’t part of my core curriculum. Pointless ice routine that isn’t even my skating discipline. A giant blur of nothingness seems to be occupying my schedule as of late.
My phone screen flickers on at the detection of my face. A sea of notifications stack on top of each other, waiting for me, mostly from Instagram and TikTok.
Social media does not rest when you do, apparently.
My break off it today has run a whopping record of four hours.
But, I can’t accredit that to my own willpower, rather the sleep deprivation that’s worsened from the extra hours I’ve added for my separate practices.
No ice dance routine or setback was going to stop me from skating on my own at the rink, at least three hours a day, six days a week.
There was no way that I’d wait until Troy and I reached the ice, together, a few days ago.
That would’ve meant almost a month of being away from the rink, a kind of treachery that won’t win you a second gold medal.
Except during a major injury, I’ve never been off the ice for more than a few days, and I’ll be damned if I changed that routine now.
_________
The second our afternoon lecture halts, the entire auditorium erupts in chattering, everyone eagerly traveling toward the exit to reconvene their summer plans. It’s The Fourth of July weekend next week, and it looks like a lot of students are already traveling and preparing for the festivities.
I lift from my seat, still disoriented and a bit groggy from the unexpected nap. My classmates, Eunice Park and Maya Narang turn over their shoulders from the aisle. “Hey, Ana,” Maya says, “do you wanna join us for dinner? We’re gonna go to the new pizza spot that just opened up across campus.”
“Sorry,” I reply with a frown. “I can’t. I have work.”
“No worries,” Eunice says. “Next time, then.”
They both give me a warm smile before walking off.
But I know there won’t be a next time. Because next time is no different than this time.
Juggling friendships with skating has always been a struggle of mine.
You hear about the sacrifices that need to be made when you decide to enter the world of competitive figure skating.
Though, you never hear about how hard the weight of foregoing friendships to practice your sport can be.
How painful it is to lose friends, day-by-day, year-after-year, watching them move on through social media posts and befriending new people around campus.
Sometimes I wonder if I hadn’t met Naomi through Rina, that I’d probably be completely alone today.
There’s only so many rejections to dinners, parties, ski trips, and concerts that a person can take before they never bother asking you to join them again.
You must make a decision: your friends or skating.
You can’t have both, Marion Dupont pulled me aside right after my loss in Beijing to remind me of the hard-learned fact.
I spot Troy and his friends, Mason and Andre, approaching the exit of the lecture hall, watching as laughter bursts across their faces.
Troy’s always had a solid group of friends.
They’ve been close for ages. How can he manage it?
Oh, right. His dad’s just a billionaire, and everything’s always been handed to him since birth.
The reminder makes me frustrated. And also filled with rage.
It’s not his fault, I know. But while he’s off most likely hanging out with his friends or banging some girl tonight, I’m on my way to a six-hour shift at Rudy’s Diner.
_________
I’m in a crabby mood today.
My worn-down car decided to be a bitch and not start earlier, so I had to call for an Uber to take me to the rink. Mishi woke me up in the wee hours of the night, startled by a noisy fucking session between Lucy and Nico next door. And my diary entry this morning was extra depressing…
I met the coolest girls in my economics summer elective this year, probably the only silver lining of this dumb class. But they asked me to go have pizza last night, and I said no.
I miss pizza. I miss having lots of friends. I miss middle school when I had lots of friends. The pizza there sucked, though.
Definitely don’t miss that.
When I reach the rink, and land on Troy’s well-rested face, the thought of splashing it with boiling water genuinely occurs to me. I’d never do that. Though, I kinda feel like a psycho for even having the thought.
He’s leaning against the rink’s plexiglass, relaxed, his arms folded across his chest at my arrival. At the unzipping of my jacket, his eyes pop out. My brows furrow.
“What?” I snap.
“Are we skating nude, and I just didn’t get the memo?” he says, his eyes gesturing to my chest.
What is he—
I glance down at my half-zipped jacket to the white lace of my bra peeking out through the pieces of exposed skin.
I forgot my fucking shirt.
Oh my God.
Mortified, I zip up my thermal so tight that the zipper reaches my neck. Here I was, about to give Troy Larsson a personal show from my tits on this early morning. Of course it would also be the day my bra is see-through…
“Nice bra,” he whispers as we sail onto the ice.
I almost trip, feeling my cheeks flush.
“You didn’t see a thing.”
“Mm, but I did.”
A jolt of heat rushes toward my belly at the smoothness of his voice.
“Okay,” I declare, stopping our glide. “We’re losing time, and we still have a ton to get to. I want us to start our actual routines earlier, and we can’t do that with you distracting us both.”
Amusement raises his brows. “And how exactly am I distracting us, Ana?” My heartbeat races when he skates closer to me, bringing us only a couple inches apart. “When you’re the one who showed up to practice wearing the naughtiest bra I think I’ve ever seen.”
I feel a shock of pleasure between my legs at his words.
My nipples strain against my tight thermal, and I only glance down to make sure they’re not visible.
But, they are. And it was a mistake to even do that when Troy’s eyes travel with mine, landing on my chest. When he flicks his heated gaze back to my face, I’m caught in a dead end where I want to know exactly what he’s thinking, but also absolutely do not want to know.
_________
One thing I’ll give Troy credit for is, he doesn’t fuck around when it comes to our sport.
A single comment from me addressing our focus an hour ago, and he hasn’t cracked a wise joke since. The guy can be all charm, but then flip to that intimidating-as-hell intensity on the ice that’s won him all his trophies and medals.
We approach our fifteen-minute break, and I use this time to replenish my energy with a protein bar and loads of water.
While I’m snacking in the lounging area of the rink’s lobby, my attention turns to Sasha, who stops a passing Troy to whisper something in his ear.
Still wondering what that was all about, my curiosity piques once she slips up her latex tank top, pointing along her bare hipbone.
I try and focus on what she’s showing him, like it’s even my business.
Troy gazes at the skin that she’s eagerly displaying for him, when I realize it’s a small tattoo.
I grimace to myself when they begin to chat, the two of them smiling as if someone were snapping a photo of them right here, right now.
Once he finally walks away, Sasha’s grin is still plastered on her face. The girl is clearly still smitten with whatever it is that Troy and her just discussed.
But for Troy, it’s more of the same. Because a few steps later, and there’s Isabella stopping him to have her turn with the superstar. Friendships mean nothing at this rink when it comes to Troy Larsson. If it did, Isabella wouldn’t be flirting with her best friend’s (Chloe’s) infamous crush.
Troy’s gorgeous. There’s no denying that. These fleeting moments of flattery is why I’ve previously been turned off by him, I’m now reminded. Everyone claws for a piece of Troy Larsson, and the whole spectacle is frankly, obnoxious.
_________
Ice skating is a technical sport. It’s filled with emotions that make for the most striking performances.
Emotions that are supposed to complement the routine, enhance it.
Not distract you or interfere with your own personal emotions.
That shit stays off the ice. Right now, those emotions are mixing with our movements.
And my body is currently having an impossible time differentiating between the two.
The evidence: we’re back from our snack break and…
When Troy’s hands graze over my lower hips, my stomach clenches with a fiery need.
When his arms brush against mine, I feel it in the way my nipples sting against my jacket’s tight latex.
When his groin accidentally touches my ass during the transitions between our lifts and I detect that familiar hard pressure building from his body, I can see the gusts of air I pant out.
These emotions are getting the best of me as our practices keep progressing.
Beneath the distractions, I can’t pinpoint what moment it happens, but our bodies now join side-by-side, hand-in-hand, before we’re gliding across the ice as if his movements connect into mine, and the dance doesn’t end until one of us stops.
Seamless. It’s the word I felt the last time we did this, except when in the studio. It’s what this, figure skating, has never felt like with another partner.
I purse my lips together to stop from smiling my cheeks out when Troy gives me a soft grin as the music fades for the day.
Today was a good day, actually.
As I begin my post-skate stretches, I notice Colette pull Troy over by the boards. The sound of her giggling a couple seconds later startles me, and then it makes me want to puke.
There Troy goes, again…buckets of charm. Back to the charm vomit.
“Unbelievable,” I mutter as Troy skates back toward me and Colette finally leaves. “You even got our ice dance instructor to flirt with you.”
“I didn’t do anything,” he says with a shrug, folding an arm across his chest, stretching it out. “That was all her.”
“Don’t remind me.” I raise him a brow. “Troy never has to do anything. Breathes, and the women flock over to him.”
“Wow,” he scoffs out, amused. “I wish she’d done that sooner.”
“Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll have plenty of time to catch up.”
“No, I meant, if I knew it would make you this rattled…” He gestures a hand toward my face.
I howl out a laugh. “I am not rattled.”
The built-up frustration takes me a second to realize he’s leaned toward me. His mouth travels to the side of my neck.
“She’s not the one whose tight body is pressed up against mine every day,” he breathes into my skin.
A cloud of fog dims my vision when his lips dip the shell of my ear.
“There’s no need to be jealous, Ana. Not when you get to feel how my body reacts to yours, while I have no way of proving you’re as wet as I know you are. ”
Apparently, I’ve forgotten how to speak. I push my lips open to respond, but everything feels dry. Well, not everything.
“You think I don’t notice the way those blue eyes get heavy,” he resumes, gloating that he’s cracked me. “The way your back only relaxes when I’m the one you’re skating with.”
Okay, now I actually snort.
“I’ve never met someone so full of themselves,” I jab.
He gives a hollow snicker. “Is that what you think of me? Because that’s not what I see when I’m looking at you right now.”
He pushes his weight back so that our gazes can lock.
“And what exactly do you see?” I say, curious, my heart buzzing.
“A girl who needs a release. Who’s so desperate to prove she doesn’t want that release from me.”
Troy skates off without so much as a backward glance at me, while my lips, I realize, remain unparted.