Page 16 of Ice Dance

I blinked.

He grabbed my hand, put his hand on my waist and yanked me close. Instincts flared, fight or flight coming up in me like a tidal wave. I gasped and tried to pull free.

“Dance, or quit,” he snarled. “If you quit, you’ll be doing both of us a favor.” His grip tightened, pinching my fingers together.

I bared my teeth in a cold grin. “You’d like that, huh? Blame someone else again. Can’t be your fucking fault.”

The music began. I didn’t know what Dylan was thinking or if she’d started the music by mistake. But it came on loud, partway through, and my body already knew what to do. I’d been living the track for hours now. Spent almost every minute in it for an entire day. I leaned into Hasegawa, and he moved, taking my weight, leading me into the dance.

Close, glide, hold. Snap to chest. Breathe. Tilt my head back. Spine arched. His gaze on mine. Push off, separate, glide back in, side by side, perfect timing, to the beat, deep in the rhythm. Spin, tighter, control, breathe. Out, sweep behind him, keeping him close. Hand out, his grip on mine, snap close. Chest to chest. Spin, dip. Twizzle entry. Spin. Exit. Perfect. My heart raced, the music was in me. His touch burned, his gaze drilled deep, finding something deep inside me and pulling it to the surface. We danced, synchronized, together in harmony, like a dream . . .

We finished, his hand on my chest, counting my racing heartbeats. His head dipped, mine tilted back. Mouths close, sharing sawing breaths. The heat had built between us, and burned now, scorching my soul. He didn’t look away. Long dark lashes, elegant eyes filled with emotion that he only now let me see. His hair had flopped over his forehead. He looked breathless, wild, he looked free.

“Yes!” Dylan hooted. “Finally! That’s it!”

Hasegawa eased back. He let go of my hand, let it drop, took his hand off my chest, and skated back, away.

“Now, just summon that passion again, every time, and we’re in.”

Yes. We’d done it. I skated backward a little way too, needing space, then bent over and braced my hands on my knees, breathing. Whatever had just happened in that dance had taken the last of my energy right out of me.

I looked up, still bent over, still trying to catch my breath.

Hasegawa was already skating to the gate.

“Okay, a break,” I admitted.

“Good,” Dylan said, skating over to me.

I straightened and filled my lungs, then breathed out hard.

“Wherever you just went, Navarro, that place will make it so you’re on point every time.”

I nodded, still trying to find my breath to talk. She skated toward the gate. I followed, finding my legs to be a little unsteady. The problem was, wherever I’d just gone to find the poise and control I needed to dance alongside Hasegawa, wasn’t somewhere I knew how to tap into again. He’d held me firm, pinned me under his glare, crushed me in his grip, and I’d . . . liked it.

That probably wasn’t a place I was supposed to go if my heart was going to survive this.

Hasegawa didn’t meet my gaze. He wiped down and drank from his bottle, then stretched out. I watched him from the corner of my eye. What did he think of that last go-around? Had he enjoyed it, like I had? Dylan clearly thought something had clicked between us. It had felt good too. But I wasn’t getting anything back from him. Was he even in the room with us?

I checked my phone and opened a few texts from Casey. “Where you been? Didn’t see you at the rink today. Bar at ten?”

I quickly typed out, “I’ve been round. Can’t tonight. Training.”

The dots bounced, and he came back with, “Training where?”

“Nowhere important.”

If he knew I was dancing with Hasegawa, the entire Canadian team would know in the next three minutes, and then the rest of the competitors would know within twenty minutes. Rumors would fly. Gossip. Hasegawa would hate it. If the organizers got wind of it, there’d be more pressure to perform, and we wouldn’t be able to keep doing this on the sly. We were a long way off any of this going public yet, if it ever got that far.

I watched Hasegawa prop his leg on the bench and bend forward, fingers stretched to his blades. How did he manage to make a stretch look like choreographed perfection? It had to be those long legs. The man was effortless poise, just by existing.

It was beginning to look as though we might be able to dance for the selection panel on Friday. But then what? Was Hasegawa really going to dance with a man in the gender open category? That seemed like a stretch too far for a straight-as-an-arrow guy like him. Gender open didn’t mean the partners were into each other in any way other than the professional. It wasn’t a statement about gender or sexuality, not officially. But unofficially? People would talk. And they’d talk about me, because I was out as bi. Hasegawa was not going to want to get involved with that drama. Tainted by association.

Was I even the right fit for this?

“Cmon, man, Jen won’t shut up about you,” Casey sent. “Only two days left.”

I left him on read and drank water from my bottle.