I could already feel how close we’d have to be. My fingers grasping his shoulders, our chests brushing with each turn, the sound of his breath against myear.
Feeling this attraction to Luca made no sense. He’d been nothing but sharp edges and cold stares for the past four weeks. He was grumpy and constantly irritated by my presence. And yet, my pulse still kicked up at the thought of more contact.
Lord, send me strength.
The coach, happy with ourprogress, left us to practice. Despite our ability to execute the moves, the lifts weren’t seamless. We mainly struggled with the transitions, as precise hand positioning was crucial.
Figure skating was more intimate than I’d anticipated. I was too aware of Matilda and how close we were. I tried and failed to stop thinking about how she responded to my hands wrapped around her, how she reacted to my touch.
My carefulness about where to hold Matilda made the lifts feel stiff and unnatural, but I needed to err on the side of caution for my sanity.
“Shall we practice the whole dance from start to finish?” Matilda suggested from beside the speaker, her fingers swiping through her phone. It was late, and we were likely the last ones in the building, but there was no rush since we had the studio booked for the evening.
“In here?” It felt odd to practice a routine off theice.
“Sure, practicing off the ice is useful to familiarize ourselves with the sequence. We can add the lifts in, too. Then, once we’ve got it down to a T, we can move to the ice.”
“Sure,” I answered. Matilda continued fiddling with her phone, then plugged it into the speaker.
“Ready?” She looked over her shoulder, blond hair flowing with the movement.
“Go forit.”
She clicked play and jogged back to our starting place. We began running through the sequences. Something about the late hour, combined with a long evening of skin-on-skin practice, made everything feel more charged. The movements felt more electric than they had before, time stretching between each lingering glance and long touch.
Our bodies closed in a foxtrot hold as we came together, gazes locked. We paused, as choreographed, the air thick withsomething,before I lifted her arm in a sweeping arc and guided her palm down my chest, maybe a little slower than strictly necessary. Her lips parted and I couldn’t look away. Our bodies met in so many places—thighs, hips, abdomen—each point of contact sharpening my focus. My skin felt almost alive.
Then the door swung open.
Mark,the asshole producer,entered.
Matilda faltered backward, surprised by the late-night intrusion. My arms encircled her waist, drawing her firmly against me before she could fall to the floor.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you jump.” Mark crossed his arms, surveying the room in a sweep. He wouldn’t find much besides our gym bags, water bottles, and a torn packet of candy I’d brought, which looked like a pack of raccoons had ravagedit.
And by raccoons, I mean Matilda. I didn’t even like the sour candies, but they were her favorite.
Once she felt steady on her feet, I released her waist but remained close. It was best we came across as a united front.
“Hi, Mark,” she breathed, a slight wobble to her voice. She didn’t move away, still flustered by his appearance.
“I just came to check in on how your little late-night training session is going,” he proclaimed, walking toward us. He kicked Matilda’s bag out of the way with his shoe, before planting himself at the front of the room. “Don’t stop on my behalf.”
“Mark…” Matilda sighed, apprehensively. “We’ve been practicing all evening. Can’t you watch on the ice tomorrow?”
“I want to watch it now.” There was a glint in his gaze, a subtle challenge. He hadn’t looked at meyet.
“But we’re in the studio. Watching it on the ice makes more sense.”
“I’m already here. Do it now.”What is his deal?Surely he wasn’t behaving like this because of what had happened at the bar the otherday?
“OK.” She was resigned, placing her hand on my arm to move me into position. “Let’s go from the top.”
“No. We can show you tomorrow,” I stated, drawing his attention for the first time. I wasn’t sure why Matilda didn’t want to dance now, but if she didn’t want to do it, we weren’t doingit.
“Come on, Luca. Let’s just go through it now,” she murmured, her hand still wrapped around my forearm. She sounded so…defeated. Her tone reminded me of something I couldn’t place.
“If you want to do it tomorrow, we can do it tomorrow.” I held her gaze, hoping to convey that I was more than happy to tell Mark to fuckoff.
