Chapter 3 #2
Her face fell. “You didn’t tell her? Are you a creep? You’re hot—like, a hot dad,” she interjected, “so I figured you weren’t, but that’s so not a good indicator. Like, why am I always the worst at recognizing it?” she chastised herself. “I really need to get better at noticing—”
“No, no, no.” I backpedaled. “Well, I hope I’m not a creep.” My face faltered. “If she doesn’t want me here, I'm getting off at the next stop and flying home, I swear.” I used my index finger to cross my heart.
She grimaced. “But you didn’t tell her you were coming here?”
“I tried to text her, but I kept chickening out. Then I freaked out about it right after I got on the ship and tried to text again, but by that time I didn’t have any phone service.”
“Camila!” someone yelled across the dining hall again.
“Okay, okay,” she groaned in annoyance. She stood and started clearing dishes from the table.
“Well, there’s an ice skating show tonight,” she said hurriedly.
“You have to go and then report back tomorrow night. I need to know how this story ends, yeah? Or else I’ll be wondering for forever.
You can’t leave me on a cliffhanger like this. ”
“Okay, yeah,” I said with a grin. “I’ll try my best. Have a good night, Camila. And good luck with your surfer boy.”
She gave me an eye roll. “Good luck with your figure skater,” she said with a small grin as she sped away.
_________
It felt a little foreign to sit in the stands at a rink—if that’s what this would even be considered.
The ice was practically the size of a square postage stamp.
I’d make it from one side to the other with just one stride, so I had no clue how the skaters were going to pull off jumps and lifts out there.
As soon as the lights went down, a gaggle of little girls sitting in the front row went crazy, clapping their hands together and cheering for the skaters. I grinned at their reaction, but a little homesickness took up residence in my chest. Lucy would’ve loved to be watching this show.
The back curtain lit up with the words, “Music through the Years,” which was probably their theme for the night.
When the lights finally dimmed and the music started, my leg was bouncing with nervous energy.
Each time a new skater darted onto the ice for the opening number, my heart rate spiked. But it was never Ali, and it left a swell of disappointment in my chest each time.
Three full show numbers went by without a trace of her.
The next time the lights cut out, it occurred to me that I could’ve completely fucked up and booked the wrong cruise.
But a second later, a single spotlight landed on a blond skater wearing an over-the-top fur shawl with her back to the audience, and I just knew.
The first few chords of “Diamonds Are A Girl’s Best Friend” floated through the air, and I was even more sure. I only knew one girl with the same birthmark as Marilyn Monroe, and they’d be stupid not to cast her in this role.
As soon as she turned, she knocked the breath clean out of me.
Ali strutted forward on her skates and shed her shawl on the ice, revealing a sparkly gold dress and fishnet tights. Her hair, which was once long and dirty blonde, was highlighted, cut short, and curled for the show.
And damn, that wasn’t the only way she’d changed. She looked vastly different from the last time I saw her, which was a very good thing. Instead of a bruised, tear-streaked face, she now glowed with shimmery makeup and sassiness.
As she skated, it was easy to pick out that she still had the same graceful stride and muscular legs that allowed her to land each jump with triumph.
And she still looked like liquid on the ice, flowing into each element with ease.
But there was now an added element of sexiness to the way she skated.
It was subtle, but it was there. The way she moved her hips, the way she looked over her shoulder at the crowd.
She had an added confidence to her movements that made her even more attractive.
Damn.
She was like a Hollywood star out there on the ice.
She had the audience so silently captivated that I could even hear her blades against the ice.
At the end of her program, she struck a pose toward my side of the bleachers.
The audience erupted with the loudest applause of the night, some even giving her a standing ovation.
But as the lights dimmed, her eyes locked right on mine.
And the smile fell clean off her face.
Shit.
A dazed, almost shocked expression crossed her face right before she was cloaked in darkness.
Swallowing hard, I slumped lower in my seat and scrubbed a hand over my face.
That was not a promising reaction.
In all the times I imagined coming face-to-face with her again, I truly never thought she’d be upset to see me.
I debated leaving the show, but that would just cause more of a scene, and I didn’t want to insult the skaters.
Ali appeared a few more times on the ice, once in bright eighties clothing for a group number to “Don’t Stop Believin’,” and again to skate with a partner to “All These Things That I’ve Done.
” Knowing she always hated pairs lifts, I held my breath each time the guy skater hoisted her up in the air, but she didn’t look scared at all.
No, it was actually the opposite. She looked like she was having a blast. She landed every jump flawlessly, and the crowd loved her, especially the little girls in the front row.
But as she skated, I couldn’t help but notice that she avoided looking at my side of the bleachers entirely, and I had a feeling that was by choice, not by design.
When the show finally ended, I waited in anticipation for Ali to come back out for her final bow, but disappointment weighed heavy in my chest when she never showed.
My mind reeled as the lights came back on and the bleachers started to clear out.
The thought of talking to her again had my body trembling, but I couldn't back out now. Not after coming all this way. Not after seeing her.
Looking around, I quickly realized there were no doors going backstage. The only access was through the velvet curtains draping the ice.
Blowing out a breath, I knew it was now or never.
I’d be breaking rules.
I might even be kicked off the ship.
But I had to try.
Pushing out of my seat, I jogged down the concrete steps and easily hopped the boards.
I hurriedly shuffled across the ice in my tennis shoes. But as soon as I pushed through the heavy curtain, one of the guy skaters did a double take.
I ignored him and continued searching for Ali, but she was nowhere to be found. A few skaters started trickling down a hallway, so I shuffled to follow, but the guy skater blocked my path.
“Who are you?” he asked in a thick Russian accent. “And where the hell do you think you’re going?”
I instantly recognized him as the guy Ali skated with a couple times in the show.
He had jet black hair, a dark five-o-clock shadow, and confidence in the way he carried himself.
While most of the skaters were in their twenties and early thirties, he had to be pushing forty.
Sizing him up, I knew I could shove past him, but I didn’t want to piss off any of Ali’s friends.
“I'm JP.” I tried my best for a smile, even though I was nervously sweating.
“Well, JP, you’re not allowed back here, so go on.” He nodded in the direction I came from.
My eyes darted to the hallway behind him. “I was wondering if I could see Ali?”
His jaw locked.
“Ali Antonova,” I tried. “The blonde wearing—”
“I know Ali,” he snapped, glaring at me. “How do you know her?”
“She’s an old friend,” I explained. “I just wanted to see if I could talk to her? Maybe you could get a message to her for me?”
“What’s going on?” a younger guy skater asked, coming to stand next to him. He had curly brown hair cut down short on the sides and an easy-going smile. He threw his arm around his Russian buddy, who was still glaring at me.
“Says he’s looking for Ali,” the Russian answered, not taking his eyes off me.
New guy’s eyes darted to mine. “Where are you from?”
“Michigan,” I answered.
Ali’s partner’s face turned red as he started speaking in rapid Russian to the other guy.
It dawned on me then what this sounded like. An old friend. From Michigan. Looking for her.
“Oh, fuck. No, I'm not him, I’m not her ex.” I shook my head.
“I’m not, I swear. I’m her friend.” I pulled out my wallet and quickly found the crumpled old photo I always kept on me of the six of us pond skating when we were young.
“Here. See. Friends. Nothing more.” I held my hands up in innocence.
His jaw hardened as he assessed the photo.
I had to fight myself from snatching it back because it was one of my most prized possessions.
When he finally shoved the picture back at my chest, he looked at me with a stern face.
“We don’t allow tourists backstage.” He spat the title tourist like it was a bad word.
“You have a whole ship to explore.” He shooed me away like I was an annoying gnat. “Go.”
I could feel my chances of seeing her slipping through my fingers. Desperation wrapped around my heart in a vice-like grip.
“Just tell her…” I swallowed hard. “Tell her I’ll be up on the deck tonight,” I tried.
“Go,” he ordered again in a firm-voice.
Blowing out a disappointed breath, I turned on my heel and shuffled back across the empty ice.
It was good that she had people looking out for her, she needed protection.
But not from me.
From their reactions, I highly doubted they’d even tell her I’d be up on the deck, but I’d go there anyway.
I always thought best in the fresh air under a sky full of stars, and I needed to do some solid brainstorming to figure out how to face her.
Wandering up to the deck, I laid out on a pool chair, thinking through how I should go about this. I’d usually ask Colt or Kappy for advice, but again, I didn’t want them to know I was here.
After contemplating and keeping an eye out for the next half hour or so, I decided I’d get one drink. If I finished it and she still wasn’t here…well, then I’d have to take that as my answer and leave.
I scanned the deck the entire time I stood in line at the bar, but there were still no signs of her short athletic frame or blonde hair.
Beer finally in hand, I turned to head back to my seat and stopped short.
My heart practically jumped in my throat as I backed up quickly, bumping into the guy behind me who was already busy ordering. “Can I get one more of these?” I spoke over him.
“Are you serious?” the guy in line asked.
“Please.” I wasn’t over begging at this point.
Recognition dawned on his face as he looked me up and down. “Oh shit, you’re JP McQuaid!”
I grimaced, hoping no one else heard him, but for once, I wasn’t above using hockey to get what I needed. “Yeah, that’s me.” I nodded hurriedly and swung my neck around to keep an eye on Ali. “Can I get one more beer?” I asked. “I know this is rude, but it’s kinda important.”
The guy laughed and clapped me on the back with his beefy hand. “I’ll get you ten more, bud. That Cup game was one to remember. Damn, how was it playing in the finals?”
Afraid I’d lose track of her, my eyes kept darting back to Ali. “Yeah, thanks,” I mumbled distractedly. “It was good. Really good.”
He followed my gaze. “Ah, is that your girl?”
I let out an incredulous breath as I gave my head a little shake. “No, but I’ve always hoped so.”
With a laugh, he clapped me on the back again.
“Wow. JP McQuaid. I can’t wait to tell the guys about this, they’re gonna be so jealous.
So, hey, we’re actually hitting the bars downstairs later if you want to join us?
We figured we’d get the lay of the land tonight if you know what I mean?
Figure out where all the ladies are going and all that. ” He wagged his eyebrows.
He continued talking, but I didn’t listen—I couldn’t listen—because I was too mesmerized by her.
She sat facing the water, her short damp hair blowing around her in the breezy night wind.
She wore a little pink slip dress and an athletic jacket.
God, she was so beautiful. That outfit was probably more for comfort than looks.
After wearing tights all her life for skating, I knew she hated any pants that restricted her stomach, and I also knew she had a hard time warming up after spending time in the rink.
I laughed to myself.
This felt right.
This felt meant to be.
As soon as the bartender presented the drinks, I swiped one. “Thanks for the drink, man. I owe you one.”