Coach Linden shouts instructions from where she stands in judgment at center ice, as he hoists me into the air while I simultaneously leap, pushing myself higher into the air.
My legs go wide before fusing together after Spencer lets go of me, so I can propel myself into three tight revolutions while he remains motionless beneath me. He catches me as I drift down toward him. He guides me to the ice, releasing my waist once one of my skates touches down. Our hands remain clasped tight as my other leg sticks straight out behind me.
We’re one fluid, gorgeous movement, and I don’t need to see our tape to know that. It feelsright.
“And you thought we couldn’t be ready for this competition in time,” he says with a bemused smile.
I’m still not sure we’re ready, but we’re clicking in practice. Three months to move from strangers to partners is a risk, one most people wouldn’t take. But like Spencer, I was anxious to compete, andfloored that someone of his caliber was interested in partnering with me.
“You think we’re ready?” I ask, hands landing on my hips as I catch my breath.
His brow furrows. “You don’t? We’re competing in a week.”
“No, I do.” The stress in his voice has me backtracking. I can’t have a single second of doubt in us. “I wasn’t sure what you thought.”
“That was good,” Linden shouts to us, defusing the moment of tension. It’s a ringing endorsement in her books. Maybe we are ready to debut this partnership. “See you both in the morning.”
Spencer and I sag in relief, tired from the six hours of work we’ve already put in today. It’s been a long, hard week of relentless practice, a blur of off-ice perfection of our form, weight-lifting sessions to continue to strengthen our muscles, and repetition of every element in our program to the point that it has become all I dream about at night. I’m convinced that someone could wake me out of a dead sleep and I’d nail this routine.
“You up for Indian tonight, roomie?” Spence asks me as we glide off the ice.
“Is that a real question?”
“Great, we can pick it up on the way home,” he says as we skate off the ice.
All my dreaming over the last two weeks has taken place in Spencer’s guest room. Coach Linden ordered us to maximize our time together ahead of our competition, so Spencer asked me tomove into his townhouse. Aside from sleeping, we haven’t been away from each other for more than an hour.
Spencer and I have a great relationship, but I wasn’t sure whether this strategy of maximum together time would work or backfire. But he loves the same takeout food as me, and when we’re not watching tapes of our skating or that of our competition, we’re bingingThe Vampire Diaries. We’ve blown through three seasons, and tonight, the hotel episode that awakens my cold, dead heart is on deck.
Less time with Wes is the downside to the arrangement. And I’m not going to lie—it’s a massive downside. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him since last week, the night that turned out to be a date as I secretly hoped. I get myself off in the shower thinking of the way he touched me, his thick cock between my legs, and what we said to each other afterward, lying in each other’s arms.
The request to invite Wes over sits behind my lips, but I don’t want Spencer to think I’m not dedicated to our skating. Especially not after how he reacted to my question about our preparedness. We have one opportunity to create a first impression on the figure skating world.
“I’ll meet you out by the car in ten,” I say before walking into the women’s locker room. I wait a minute before I dash out and sprint to Wes’s office.
My heart sinks when I find it empty. I saw him this morning, and he didn’t mention anything about leaving early. I’ve started coming in earlier to work out at the same time as him. We have sex before Spencer arrives most days—in the gym, or the locker room shower,or the yoga room—but Spencer wanted to practice early, so I haven’t gotten my daily dose of Wes yet.
Me:911. Where are you?
His text comes through before I put the phone down.
Wes:Is this an actual 911?
I smirk as I type my response.
Me:Of the sexual variety.
Wes:Dammit, Isla, we need a different code.
I miss him teasing me. I miss that half-smile beneath his sexy beard. I miss his hands on me.
In the locker room, I make an impulsive decision, removing my shirt and shimmying out of my leggings. It’s awkward, lying against the bench half-naked to snap a photo of myself. I’ve never sexted before, but I’ve also never had this wild chemistry with someone else. And I trust him, even though we haven’t known each otherthatlong. I know he would never hurt me, that he has my back, which makes it easier to begin lowering my defenses. I snap a few photos until I’m decently happy with the image of my body, nipples visible through my sports bra and abdomen on display, while my free hand tucks itself into my waistband.
Me:How about this for code?
I click send, then toss my phone into my bag, unable to stand the waiting game. My heart plummets when I still don’t have a responsefrom him after my shower. It’s not until Spencer and I are driving to his place that my phone dings, but it’s too weird opening a message like that from Wes in front of his brother.
“Isla?” Spencer’s tone implies that he’s called my name more than once.
