Dom breathed raggedly a couple of feet ahead of me, where he had stopped. “You always say that.”
I snorted, not caring that it was unladylike and the exact opposite of how I was supposed to portray myself on the ice. “Don’t blame me. I’m not the one who always has a hard time keeping the right pace off the ice.”
Dom pushed a sweaty lock of hair back off his forehead. “Well, that’s no good. I can’t have a lady complaining about my speed now, can I?”
I rolled my eyes, making sure he saw before I went to the edge of the room. One wall was lined with floor to ceiling mirrors so we could watch ourselves if we wanted to, but the others had nothing but white paint. “Your ego wouldn’t be able to handle that,” I quipped. Once he was back in position beside me, I said, “Now, one, two, three, four.” I stopped counting as we really got moving, allowing my focus to stay on keeping my breathing steady.
We came out of the footwork, or at least our best imitation of it while off-ice, and moved closer together. Olga had choreographed a few dance moves that required us to dance against each other. I’d had to repress a giggle attempting it the first few times, but had quickly overcome that instinct. If I was going to insist to Brandon that this was a strictly professional relationship, I needed to act like it was. And, as weird as it was to be practically grinding against your co-worker knowing that it would be broadcast around the world, it was a part of the job.
Not that it had kept the flashbacks to the earliest years of our partnership from coming. I could still vividly remember being at a sleepover with some of my middle school friends while we huddled in our sleeping bags. I had told stories of practice while they all giggled and gossiped about how a high school boy was grabbing at me. At first, the spots he had been grabbing were my hands and armpits, but that didn’t seem to matter. One of my friends said between giggles, “When you’re close to him, he’s practically touching your boob.”
I hadn’t had boobs at that point. The only reason I even wore a training bra was because I didn’t want to be the only girl in gym class who was changing without one. My distinct lack of breasts didn’t stop my friends from talking about the risque nature of what I was doing, though.
“He is so cute,” Mia, the most boy crazy of the group, had giggled while holding her pillow. “And he’s in high school. You’re so lucky.”
“I’m glad I got paired with a cute guy,” I’d announced, as though that was the most important factor one should consider when deciding on a long-term partnership. Maybe it was because he was the first one to graze the barely formed curves of my body. When we had gotten better at lifts, he did even lift me in the way Brandon now feared: hand on my butt, lifted straight over his head. At first, I hadn’t been able to get through it without my face burning. I had a hard time even looking him in the eye when we’d moved onto the other parts of the routine, much to the annoyance of our coach.
Having Dom’s hands over my waist, hips, and back at various points in the program had long since become normal. The pressure of his hands was reassuring and steady. Even when we’d started the dance that Olga had guided us through, it didn’t feel weird. That had only come after Mark had insisted we make it sexier. Slowly but surely, it had progressed to the point whereI felt like I was that young girl who couldn’t keep herself from blushing.
Now that we were alone, I found myself breathing harder than I should have been, even when you accounted for the repeated run-throughs of the step sequence. It was one thing to do the moves with instructions and suggestions for improvement being called out by two people. I’d long since gotten over the awkwardness of people watching on as Dom and I moved close to each other – at least, I thought I had. On our own, it felt different. Without Mark telling us to make it sexier, it was up to us to make sure we thought it was sultry enough.
A feeling of unease settled in my stomach after the runthrough. It wasn’t because I was dancing with somebody other than Brandon. That would have been easier to deal with. The problem was that until I had guzzled my water, I hadn’t thought of Brandon once. The only thing I’d been focused on the entire time I was swirling my hips around inches from Dom’s crotch and when I had been staring into Dom’s eyes was what we were doing. It was so easy to forget everything outside of this room. The only things on my mind were him and our bodies and how we moved so well together.
The feeling of a hand on my shoulder made me jump and nearly drop my water bottle. I glanced up to see Dom, looking serious, staring down at me. “Do you want to do it again?”
I swallowed hard. With his dark eyes on me, I felt exposed. The childish fear that he knew what I had been thinking was overwhelming. I had to open my mouth twice before I could force myself to speak. Even then, all I managed to squeak out was, “I need a quick break. Bathroom.”
Before he could reply, I had taken off to the other end of the room where the door to the bathrooms was. Once inside. I locked myself in a stall and put my head in my hands. I needed to stop being ridiculous. The only reason I felt bad was because Ihadn’t been thinking about Brandon. But that wasn’t too weird, right? I needed to focus on what I was doing. I couldn’t afford to let my mind wander to other things, even my boyfriend. The only reason it felt weird now was probably that I knew it was supposed to look sexy. If I just thought of it as choreography like any other, I wouldn’t have this problem. We weren’t touching in any way we hadn’t before. We had done spins where we had our heads next to each other’s crotches literally hundreds of times over the years, for fuck's sake. Maybe even thousands of times. A bit of dancing was part of our average day.
So why did the idea of going out there again and practicing the moves with Dom again make my chest tighten?
When I stared into the mirror, my reflection looked as messy as my feelings. My hair had slipped out of both of my elastics, so my bun was no longer the cute sort of messy, but had veered into sloppy territory. My face was red, while my hairline had beads of sweat glistening on it. Using the excuse that my hair needed to be re-tied before I could work effectively, I slowly removed one elastic and then the other. My hair fell around my shoulders in wavy tangles, but I didn’t see the point of even trying to tame it. Not bothering to comb through with my fingers, I twisted it up as tightly as I could stand.
“You need to get a grip,” I said to myself out loud. Speaking to myself probably wasn’t the first step to that, but I needed to hear it. I was a professional. Dom was a professional. We were doing this for work, not because we wanted to be grinding up against each other. My heart was pounding against my ribs from exertion, not because Dom's eyes had been staring into mine. I hadn’t felt this flustered in ages, but I’d gotten over it then and I would get over it now.
The bathroom door creaked as I opened it, making Dom jump. He looked sheepish as he put his phone down. “I don’t care that you were on your phone. Who do you think I am?”
“Olga’s twin?” he joked. More seriously, he asked, “Are you good?”
“I’m good,” I said, much more confidently than I felt. “Let’s get back to work.”
Chapter 6
Chapter 6
Atoneo’clocksharp,I stepped onto the ice. I loved the sound my blades made as they slid over the ice, cutting into the surface. It would have been marked before lunch, but was now smooth after the Zamboni had resurfaced it. There was something peaceful about the sound, even though it was caused by destruction. The ice was like a blank canvas now, but instead of paint, we would mark it up by cutting into it.
In a couple of quick strokes, I was away from the boards, gaining speed as I went. Even though I was in a zip-up athletic sweater and leggings, I could still feel enough of the breeze against my face. I smiled. The cool air was always welcome when I got going.
I picked up speed as I made it to the other end of the rink, turning counter-clockwise with deep crossovers. I continued to go faster as I went, turning a few times, before flinging myself into the air. Taking off on the edge of one foot and landing on the other after two rotations, I felt myself grow relaxed. The feelings that had inundated me that morning were ones I hadn’t felt for six years. This, on the other hand, was calming. It had been yearssince I’d first attempted a double Salchow. I had struggled at the time not to cheat the landing, but it had long since become easy. After spending so many years doing triples, doubles felt like a nice warm-up.
Although my coach had thought I might do better as a pair than as a singles skater, I’d always been a strong jumper. I was the first girl in my class to land a double jump. As soon as I’d gotten confirmation that I’d done it right, my grin had been plastered to my face. I landed each type of jump in turn, working my way up to a double axel. That extra half rotation had proven more difficult than I’d been expecting, but in time I’d mastered that too.
Coming out of a jump and picking up speed again, I saw a dark figure out of the corner of my eye. It was barely a glimpse, but I recognized it as Dom instantly. We didn’t always get the rink to ourselves, but I’d been able to pick out his stride amongst others for years. The way Dom skated was identifiable even amidst the warm-ups before a competition, with five other pairs moving around.
I skated towards him, long strides helping me reach him quickly. We were near centre ice when we met, hands outstretched. We skated side by side, matching our strides to each other effortlessly. He may walk faster than I do, but I didn’t have to worry about him outpacing me on skates. We had long since adjusted to each other, so much that I found myself going at this speed even when he wasn’t around.
We had made it most of the way around the rink before he said, “Let’s get you up.”
