CHAPTER 2 #2
“Sorry,” I say, my heartbeat still erratic as fuck, “the wig did a pretty good job at covering, well…” I gesture up and down her dress, “everything else.”
Her haughty smile fades while my dignity starts to recover.
But it’s Ana, so the insults resume in 3,2,1…
“Hercules, really? Of course you dressed up as a demi-god. Maybe you should have come as Narcissus, that would have been more accurate.”
“Don’t remember asking for your opinion, Medusa.”
“It’s Megara, you ass.”
“No, I meant, Medusa.”
My skin burns with the most satisfying fire seeing her forehead wrinkle in agitation.
And I can’t help myself.
“Miss Ana goody two shoes, at a party? Have we reached the apocalypse already?”
“Oh, I see. You’re just as stupid with a costume on. Impressive.” The curve of my lips lessens while hers widen, our tug of war beginning again. “And I do go to parties, just not the ones you’re at.”
I take one harsh step toward her. “Seems like a lot of effort just to avoid me.” Our eyes lock as she closes the gap between us, dragging my attention right to her distracting mouth.
Somewhere in the moment I realize this is the closest her body has ever been to mine.
Pouty crimson stained lips part and my cock twitches.
“And it’s worth every second.”
My jaw ticks, but before I can respond, the sound of her friends calling her over interrupts whatever the fuck that was.
_________
I made a move on Ana.
Accidentally.
There isn’t enough alcohol in my system to have mistakenly made a move on Ana, yet I did.
And unfortunately even a vodka shot wasn’t enough to wash away the tingle in my mouth still lingering after feeling how my body reacted to hers—involuntarily.
Yeah, totally out of my control. Probably just some weird fear response my body was warning me with, the warning to run far, far away from her. Yup, must be it.
All would be swell if I would’ve stopped thinking about her. Except I’m still thinking about her, which means getting another shot.
When that (also) does absolutely nothing to rid the memory of the girl whose majorly fucked with my head suddenly, I—finally—spot my friends in the center of Xavier’s crowded living room.
And the distraction—at least for the past twenty minutes—has worked magic, forgetting all about the horrid run-in from earlier while watching my friends flirt (terribly) with the seniors on the Faerieladle women’s rowing team.
Our friend group’s known each other since high school and we’re a bit of a hodgepodge of sports.
Mason and Andre (tennis doubles), Xavier (hockey), Conrad (figure skating singles), Brennan (volleyball), and Louis (soccer).
People tend to grow shocked by the fact, expecting each of us to mainly socialize with our respective sports.
In our case, though, it was a pretty epic coincidence.
Mason and Andre already knew each other from tennis, whom Conrad, Xavier, and I happened to sit next to at the opening volleyball game freshman year of high school where Brennan was playing.
We met Louis the next semester, after he attended the wrong English class for an entire month by accident that Conrad and I were in.
It’s honestly worked out for the best since each of us will attest to the idea that we’re the most competitive one out of the group. Being in different sports, for the most part, helped prevent unnecessary rivalries.
With the exception of Louis, the rest of us are in grad school and attend Faerieladle, while Brennan goes to Cornell.
His family still lives in town, but he’s here just for the summer.
So much feels like it’s changed, that it keeps changing, but luckily, the group dynamic has remained the same.
And that probably has something to do with the girls we’re into.
We’ve never fought over one since our types are pretty different.
Take for example, the group of girls crowded around us now. We all know the petite blonde dressed in a short Tinker Bell costume is about to steal Louis’s attention.
And she does.
“I’m Louis,” he introduces himself.
Her hazel eyes jump in excitement. “Like Vuitton?!”
My drink almost slips out of my hand at the lost expression replacing Louis’s face. I glance over at the rest of my friends, and yes, they’re just as amused as I am, trying to contain our laughter.
Watching your friends flirt is free entertainment.
At some point in their conversation, Louis is charmed again by the fairy, while Conrad’s now chatting up a leggy redhead wearing a pirate costume.
Both of the women looked at me first, but I didn’t reciprocate.
They’re cute, sure, but quite frankly, I’m still bored.
Troy from a few years ago also would’ve jumped at the opportunity for an easy hookup. Or multiple in one night, for that matter. But it all feels very bland now.
And a relationship—God knows I suck at those. Tried it once, ended terribly. Sometimes, I wonder, what’s in the in-between?
I wouldn’t say I’m an anxious person, at least haven’t been for a while. But the emotion has snuck its way back into my system since this morning. Things feel emptier than usual because at the moment, I’m experiencing panic, and I don’t panic.
I’ve always had my brothers, my friends, but skating’s been my lifeline since I learned to walk. And Violet and I were a team. Maybe a dysfunctional one, but we got the job done. Before she decided to blindside me earlier, knowing Ana and I would react the way we have.
She tried to kiss me a few weeks ago. Violet did. I backed away, as much as Ana wouldn’t believe, the last person I’m going to hook up with is my skating partner. Sleeping with another skater at The Academy isn’t worth the mess from an unraveled pairing that could destroy all our hard work.
Not having feelings for her, though, is something I left out.
Violet can be intense, and even though there’s this tension between her and Ana I’ve picked up on, I didn’t want to hurt her.
She clearly took it well.
One second you’re the reigning World and Olympic Champion, the next, scrambling, at odds with the competition you’ve tried to crush before but now might need to work with.
The hollowness reaches my stomach.
Trying to fill the void, needing the fresh air all of a sudden, I move outside to the patio. I brush past the pool that’s packed with people still in their costumes, managing to only have a splash of water land on my shoulder.
Spotting the empty balcony, I stride toward it.
Someone’s already here, of course. And that someone happens to be Ana. Wonderful.
I sigh, but decide to approach her. “A series of unfortunate events…”
She looks over her shoulder, her pale skin glowing from the moonlight. I spot the gust of wind that leaves her mouth. “You could say that.”
“Turns out Chloe already has a partner.” I’m hoping not to spell it out, in enough pain trying to compromise with the last person I ever want to reason with. Part of me still doesn’t even want to go through with it but it’s the right thing to do.
Ugh.
I walk up to the balcony until we’re standing a few feet apart, Ana still facing ahead.
“Look,” I reason, “I don’t want to skate with you even more than you don’t want to skate with me, but Sokolov told me, her and Yamamoto agreed to coach us together to keep a ‘civil rink environment,’ as they put it. ”
Ana turns toward me, finally. “I get a say in who I skate with, and it’s not going to be you. No offense.” She tilts her head at me.
My shoulders drop. “Offense taken. To think I was even considering this.”
“We all know your generosity is huge.”
“Among other things.” I raise my brows, shot glass in hand.
She rolls her eyes.
The nice method isn’t really working. So I resort to our usual. “Never pegged you as a quitter.”
“A situation quite this disappointing never really presented itself before,” she quips.
_________
Ana
“So do it. Quit.” Troy’s lips snarl. “I dare you to quit.”
Was that a threat?
“Excuse me?”
“You heard what I said.” He nudges the shot glass resting between his hands toward me.
“I dare you to quit.” I push the glass back across the balcony’s ledge, earning myself a laugh dripped in his classic arrogance.
“You need me more than I need you.”
“You want to bet?”
He takes half the shot, licking the vodka from the corners of his lips, meeting my eyes. “Depends on the prize.”
Okay. This should be interesting.
“The satisfaction of winning over the other seems prize enough,” I say.
“I’m listening.”
“We compete until one of us gives up. We push each other until one of us quits. Nothing is off-limits. And we see which one of us lasts until the Olympics. In the meantime, we look for other partners.”
“And if we don’t find someone else?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Already accepting defeat, Larsson?”
“Not a chance, Petrov. You have yourself a deal.”
I take the remainder of the shot, adrenaline zinging down my throat.
A dark grin plays across Troy’s lips as he backs away. “Make sure to get plenty of rest. I won’t be going easy on you.”
His smile disappears followed by his shadow, the liquid courage evaporating, leaving a dry aftertaste in my mouth. There’s no more liquor at the bottom of the tiny glass still in my palms as I make my way back into the rings of smoke.