“It’s none of your business.” Her voice has gone very cool. “Who I spend my time with outside this rink has nothing to do with you or this team.”
“It has everything to do with this team.”
“Does it.” It’s not a question. “Or does it have everything to do with you.”
I open my mouth.
“Because I find it interesting,” she continues, and there’s an edge to it now, “that you’re standing here talking about professional boundaries and conflict of interests-” She stops.
“What?”
“Is it really more wrong than having a thing for someone you’re supposed to be coaching?”
She goes absolutely still.
Like she’s heard what she said at exactly the same moment I did.
I watch her realize she can’t take it back.
I shouldn’t smile.
I smile.
“A thing?”
“I didn’t-” She stops. Lifts her chin. “That’s not what I said.”
“It’s exactly what you said.”
“It was a hypothetical.”
“Was it.”
The color in her cheeks, already pink from the skating, goes slightly pinker, and she looks at me with an expression that is trying very hard to be withering and is not quite getting there. I find that I am enjoying this more than I’ve enjoyed anything in recent memory.
“Russo.”
“Eriksson.”
“Don’t.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
She points at my face. “Stop smiling.”
“I’m not smiling.”
“You’re insufferable.”
ELIDA
I need to not be standing this close to him.
I push back - a small movement to create some distance - and he steps forward on his stupid shoes on my ice so the distance doesn’t happen.
“It was a figure of speech.”
“Elida.”
