“Anyone I know?”
Not that dating within your sport is easy, especially a sport as political as figure skating, but at least you don’t have to explain diets, rehearsals, and why your feet are so damn blistered to a fellow skater.
She purses her lips, doing a poor job of hiding a smile. “You’ve heard of him…” She reaches for her coat pocket but stops. “But we’re on the down low right now. So, you have to promise me not to tell anyone.”
I sit up, making a little X across my heart.
Alex, satisfied with my silent promise, gets her phone, tapping away before showing me her screen. It’s a photo of Alex and a Human man. They’re cheek to cheek, smiling so hard it makes my own face hurt. I squint, but that schnoz could be recognized from space.
“Is that—”
“Yup.” She locks her phone, stowing it back in her pocket like she’s already revealed too much. Which I get. I’d be careful if I was dating Zina Ivanovich too. He’s a top-tier Russian skater, not that he’s competed in the last decade. But he’s one of the rare talents with a big enough fan base to headline skating tours across Europe and occasionally the US.
Alex and I grew up watching him skate, which prompts me to ask, “Isn’t he ancient?”
“He’s not even fourty.”
“So, nearing ancient.”
She leans back, crossing her arms. “Wow, ageist much?”
With her so far back in her chair, I have no choice but to lean across the table. “I’m… kinda messaging this guy in his thirties.”
“Slut.” She grins, reminding me of a shark who has just spotted a seal swimming awkwardly. She too leans in, both of us getting a good look at each other’s pores. “Closer to forty thirties or closer to twenty thirties?”
“Thirty-five. Right down the middle.”
“DoIknow him?”
“Not unless you’ve been a fan of minor league hockey without telling me.”
I pull back first, considering reaching for my phone but all I have to show her would be Christos’ old Weretigers page. That or his dick pics. Neither of which really paint our relationship in the best light. Not that we’re in a relationship.
“A hockey player? It’s so cute I could vomit.”
“Don’t waste your energy. We’re not… anything.”
She tilts her head. “Is that your decision or his?”
“Ours. He’s the new hockey coach.”
Alex’s jaw drops. “Shut up.”
“We haven’t done anything outside of messages,” I clarify. “It’s not like you and Zi—”
“Shhhhh” she practically leaps across the table, reaching for my face to shut me up.
I dodge her palms. “I can’t even say his name? Wait—” I grab her wrists since she’s still trying to silence me. “Is he here?”
“We’re doing long distance. Kinda—he travels a lot, doing some North American tour in December so we’ll see each other. Wait if your guy is the hockey coach—”
“Not sure I’d call himmyguy.”
“—You must see each other a bunch. Is your roommate still a hockey player?”
“Terrence? Yeah.”
“Does he know?”
