Page 15 of Ice Dance

Dancing with Hasegawa had been . . . intense. There was no other word for it. I’d been right. On the ice, he was a whole different person. Someone who nobody saw, or knew, besides watching from afar. He deliberately kept people away from him, I suspected. But on the ice, he moved like something mythical, and I hadn’t been ready for it. He had form that verged on perfection. Strength and poise in a body that didn’t quit. Tall but elegant. He’d probably grown up in ballrooms and at fancy parties, where everyone drank champagne and talked politics.

I’d have asked him out for beers so we could get to know each other, but he didn’t seem the sort, especially after our last bar encounter. We’d probably end up arguing again. I’d never met someone who so effortlessly made my blood simmer.

I could still feel his hands on me. His grip had been confident, sometimes pushy, although honestly, I’d needed the direction to begin with. A nudge here, a push there. I didn’t know if he was helping or if that was just his way with his partners. I hadn’t yet seen enough to know why he couldn’t keep dance partners. He’d been professional, distant, cold. We hadn’t spoken much at all during the entire three hours. Just skated. Perhaps the distance was what put people off.

I opened my eyes, leaned forward, and pressed my hands together. The rink was empty. Its space vacuous, almost holy in its silence.

Why did Hasegawa push people away off the ice, but pull them closer on it?

I gathered up my bags, returned to my hotel, showered, and fell into bed exhausted.

Awake at five, I ate early, giving my body time to digest before putting it through what was going to be another arduous day.

Day three.

We met up on the ice at nine a.m., but the local rink was open to public lessons, so all we could do was practice the tighter moves in close rotation. When we weren’t on the ice, I studied Dylan’s training footage and Alisha’s footwork. Precision in footwork was my weakness. I’d known it before going into this, but Hasegawa’s frowns had confirmed it. At times, I trained with Dylan. She seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to knowing when Hasegawa and I had been stretched too thin, and she stepped in, giving us space. I didn’t need the space, or the breaks. But she was strict with time on and off the ice.

The rink closed to the public at five, and we were back at it. By now, I had the overall shape of the routine, but my precision and form were nowhere near where it had to be for Friday. I could dance the routine on my own, but when it came to dancing up close, Hasegawa and I clashed more than we clicked.

“No!” he snapped, when I came out of a twizzle too soon and almost collided with him.

“Fuck.” I dug the skate’s edges in and veered away from him. I knew I’d fucked up. I didn’t need him snapping at me.

“A break,” Dylan said.

“No. Again.” I came back around and stopped in the pose. Arms up, back straight. Breathing fast. “Start at the mid-point.”

“No,” Hasegawa said.

I dropped my arms. “You need a break, go take a fucking break. But we’ve got less than three days to get this shit right.”

“Believe me, I have not forgotten.” He glared, cheek twitching, and panted hard. “You’re coming out of the twizzles too soon. Your entry is too fast.” Sweat gleamed on his rigid face. His hair dripped with it. But he wasn’t tired, he didn’t need a break. He was pissed at me. Again. He’d spent the last two hours being pissed at me. We all knew it.

“I know that,” I told him. “So let’s go again.”

“You keep making the same mistake.”

“So fucking help me get it right,” I snapped.

“You two—” Dylan tried to interrupt.

Hasegawa skated at me, coming fast, then pulled to a sudden hockey stop, sending fans of dusty ice up against my legs. “Check your attitude, calm down, and breathe.”

“Fuck you. I am calm.” He stood close, close enough that I had to look up to meet his superior glare.

His dark eyebrows pinched in. “Your emotions are all over the place.”

“At least I have emotion.”

His lips twitched. “Until you have control of your emotions, you won’t get control of your skating. Without control, you will never win.”

“Control is nothing without passion and heat behind it. Why do you think you’ve been coming second lately? It can’t always be someone else’s fault.”

“That’s enough!” Dylan snapped.

Hasegawa breathed hard and fast, matching my ragged breaths as though we were dancing up close. He peered down his nose at me, so close to sneering that he didn’t have to bother.

“Pose, then,” he barked.