Page 20 of Ice Dance

The rink had cleared enough that my next stunt wasn’t going to do any damage. Hasegawa was taking a break. I nodded at Dylan, and saw her check her phone. I’d mentioned to her earlier this might happen. The music started. “Mi Casa Su Casa” by Omar Rudburg. The dance I was about to perform was a winning routine, well known for its spiciness. Today, I planned to have some fun with it and remind Hasegawa why the Meridian organizers had invited me.

I’d picked this track because it had hips in it, and my hips did a lot of talking—or so past coaches had told me.

Hasegawa hadn’t noticed the music, or me. He stood, towel in hand, in his own oblivious little headspace. I had the sudden thought that he might not even notice I was dancing a routine, and I almost laughed. It would be very Hasegawa of him to completely ignore me.

I pushed off on the first beat, easy through the knees, letting the edge of my skates run deep, and rolled my shoulders into the rhythm. Nothing technical yet. Nothing he could complain about. Then the music kicked in, warm and filthy, and I let it climb through me. A slow hip sway on the turn. Hand sliding down my leg as I dropped into crouch, one leg stretched out, blade carving a lazy crescent in the ice. I rose on the next beat as though I had all the time in the world, like the rink was mine, like every cold, hard inch had invited me in.

Hasegawa had noticed. He was watching now, arms crossed, brow pinched. Scowling.

That was fine. I could work with stillness, just so long as he looked.

I swerved across the rink toward him—not too close, I didn’t want to make it personal.

A bracket, hands on my hips. A rocker, a clean twizzle, because I wasn’t just something pretty to look at, I could actually skate. Then I threw a wink over my shoulder. I only wish I’d seen his reaction before dropping into the beat again.

The next sequence got playful. A sharp stop, hop, drag of the toe pick across the ice. A roll through the spine that had made my old coach sigh with exasperation into his hands.

Excessive, indulgent, undisciplined. Look at the tattooed bad-boy skater.

I knew what Hasegawa would be thinking, figure skater that he was.

I also knew he hadn’t looked away.

Now for the finale. I glided backward, knees bent, hips loose, one hand swept over my chest, like the music lived there. Then a sudden snap upright, bright smile, edges clean, timing perfect. Just enough to ruin his argument, and just enough heat to make him hate me even more.

I finished, one knee down on the ice, chest rising, mouth curved like none of this was an effort, and Hasegawa had watched it all from the boards.

Applause went up from the other skaters.

Hasegawa scowled at them. Then at me.

Dylan clapped and greeted me as I came of the ice. “Stunning,” she said. “Nobody does emotion on ice like you.”

“Thank you,” I panted, then turned to Hasegawa, who still had his arms folded. “Your turn.”

“My what?” He blinked, arms loosening.

“Beat that. I know you can. I saw your ‘Roxanne’ program. Go on, take the stage.”

“You saw my ‘Roxanne’ routine?”

“On YouTube. Only like . . . a million times.” I wasn’t exaggerating. I’d used his damn routine to practice my own.

He glanced at Dylan, eyes still cold.

“I can key up the music,” she said. “If you want?”

“I’m not doing that. We’re here to dance the routine for the Meridian, not have fun.”

Dylan stared back. “It is possible—and hear me out . . . to do both.”

He hated me. I saw the fury back in his eyes. Hated that I’d put pressure on him to perform, to do something he didn’t want to do, and he hated that he’d just watched me perform and that I was damn good. He also hated that he knew he was going to do it. Because the alternative was to let me win. And Hasegawa did not know how to lose, especially to me.

“Fine.” He flung off his jacket and skated out onto the ice.

We had a small audience now too. They’d sensed they were about to experience round two of something special.

His “Roxanne” performance had been viewed over a four million times on YouTube, and those views weren’t all me. There was a reason this routine drew people in. Because Ren Hasegawa was the ice prince, but during “Roxanne,” the ice prince had heart. And that’s what people connected with.