He rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish. “I didn’t give a shit when I got here. I was pissed off. Wanted to do the minimum. Smile for the cameras, stay out of trouble, get back to hockey.” He paused. “And then you happened.”
Holly’s chest went tight again. This was too much. Too close.
“Don’t,” she said, before he could get dangerous.
He didn’t argue. Just nodded once.
They stood there in the silence, both of them facing the mirror now, their reflections looking a lot more like partners than she’d ever meant for them to.
Finally, she exhaled. “We’ve done everything we can.”
“Yeah,” Nate said. “We’ve done the work.”
And it was true. The routine was locked. The technique was solid. The emotion was… whatever the hell it was. Unspoken. Undefinable. All they could do now was show up and hope it was enough.
Holly grabbed her bag. “Come on. Let’s get out of here before we start getting sentimental.”
Nate followed. “Too late.”
She didn’t respond, but his fingers brushed his as they reached for their bags. And this time? She didn’t pull away.
27
ALMOST KISSED, FULLY FUCKED
Nate
“I thought I was protecting her. Turns out, I just embarrassed her on national television. Love that for me.”
It was quiet as he waited at the side of the stage with Holly before their Viennese Waltz performance. Not literally. There were still footsteps echoing behind them, production running final checks, and the warm buzz of the crowd on the other side of the curtain. But itfeltquiet. Like the moment before a storm, or the moment after a car crash. Like everything important had already happened, and now all that was left was gravity.
Nate stood just off-center, bathed in the pre-performance glow of low amber lights and invisible expectation. He was used to being dressed to kill, but this was a completely different game. No pads, no helmet. He’d swapped out all his gear for a black-on-black tuxedo, bowtie sitting perfectly poised. His black curls had been pushed back, but were already falling loose onto his forehead. He glimpsed himself in a pre-show-check mirror and did a double-take.
Looked like Nate. Felt… so very un-Nate-like.
Because Holly was standing next to him in a dress that made her look like Ginger Rogers.
Her pastel pink gown floated with an airiness that defied gravity. The color set off the deeper sun-warmed tone of her skin, like the kind of miracle that doesn’t happen twice. A neckline so delicate it felt accidental. The fabric clung like memory, brushed her ankles like a secret. If it wasn’t for the fact that he could literally reach out and touch her, he wouldn’t have believed she was real.
And fuck, he wanted to touch her.
But she was wearing that look again. The one that said she’d rather eat glass than admit she was nervous. He wished he could take the edge off it by saying something cocky and ridiculous and Nate-shaped. But his mouth didn’t work right when she was like this. The version of her he wasn’t supposed to know.
“And now, dancing the Viennese Waltz… please welcome Holly and Nate!”
He held up his hand, and she placed hers into it. This time,he led heronto the floor as though he couldn’t wait to show her to the world. The audience applauded with breathless anticipation so thick Nate was sure he could taste it on the air. They found their mark, took up their position. He took one last deep, lingering breath, and then he met her gaze.
Don’t fuck this up, Nathanael.
The music started low and ominous, a heartbeat in the dark, thick with grit and gospel.Unholy Warby Jacob Banks wasn’t a love song, it was a warning. The staccato piano chords hit likea racing heartbeat until the drums kicked in and gave the song a vintage flavor that spoke of old scores to settle. It was the sound of two people circling each other with everything to lose: sexy, cinematic, and just raw enough to hurt. Not a song you danced to. A song yousurvived.
His hand pressed into her waist, hers pushed against his bicep to give them the leverage they needed to maintain their momentum. Their connection was strong and immediate, and Nate reveled in the warmth of her skin and her elegant movement as they swirled along the dance floor as if they were each dancing with their own private demons represented in each other.
The Viennese Waltz didn’t give you time to think. You had to trust. You had tolet go. And from the outside, that’s what it looked like they were doing. Floating, breathing together. Every rotation a confession. Every step a promise to be there. But Nate wasn’t floating. He wasdrowning.
Because it wasn’t a performance anymore.Not for him.
Not with the way she softened when he spun her under his arm and then waited for her to come back to hold again. Not with the way her hand rested so lightly on his arm, yet felt like fate. And absolutely fucking not with the way her gaze kept flicking to his mouth, like she was thinking about something she wasn’t supposed to be thinking about.
