Page 93 of Ice Dance

What if emotionally closeted Ren Hasegawa was the one?

But I was getting too far ahead.

For now, this was us, just exploring with hands and mouths, and relishing each other like we couldn’t at any other time, or anywhere else.

We came again, with our hands, grinding face to face. I wanted more, wanted him inside me, but knew not to ask for too much.

I had a grand idea to stay up for hours, but after the second time, tiredness was tugging out what was left of my wrecked stamina from the day’s training.

We lay there, tucked close, tangled, exhausted. His breathing changed, deepened, and his body fell limp, half sprawled over mine. I stayed there, listening to his breathing, feeling his chest rise and fall against the side of mine.

He’d bought me flowers.

And then he’d gotten all cute and embarrassed about it.

Fuck, Saga was right, I had it bad for Ren Hasegawa. It didn’t make any sense that a guy like him could like me, but here we were. And neither of us was drunk.

I had it more than bad. This man was in my heart. Somehow, his plank-like personality and weirdly blunt assessments of everyone and everything had gotten under my defenses and hooked in. Maybe it was when I’d realized all those barriers he put up were there for a reason. He was so guarded, because that’s all he knew. Nobody had loved him. His father sounded like a real piece of work, his mother had died when he was young, no siblings, no friends that I’d seen, and I’d been with him day after day for months. There wasn’t anyone or anything else in his life. Just ice dance.

And he had chosen me?

I was kinda maybe . . . starting to . . . really like him. A lot.

Which was so fucking dangerous.

I knew that. But I couldn’t turn my heart off. It didn’t work like that. Maybe he could, though?

What happened after? After the Meridian, what then?

What happened when the dance was over and we no longer had that keeping us together?

The thought hit me so hard in the chest that my lip wobbled, and I had to turn away under his arm, just in case he woke.

When we won the Meridian, which we couldn’t fail to if I kept my shit together, and we went back to our separate lives, there was no version of a future I could see us both being together in.

Damn, that hurt somewhere deep inside where no painkiller could reach.

It was fine. I didn’t need to think about that.

We would train and dance, and we’d be together like this, and it would be enough.

It would have to be enough.

What other choice did we have?

I woke with him still behind me, fingers draped over my hip, breath on my neck. He was hard, maybe half awake. My phone alarm trilled. He grabbed it, handed it over so I could turn it off, and now we both knew we didn’t have time for anything. Then his mouth was on my neck, and I rolled back against him. It was messy and fast again, against the clock, but I’d gotten to wake up beside him, which made anything else a bonus.

I showered first, and expected him to be gone when I came out, but he still lay on the bed, looking . . . what was that word he’d said? Resplendent. His body was so fucking fine, and having him spread there, unashamed and free, was a real treat. I let my gaze linger and trail over the curve of his muscles, the smooth dip at his waist, where I’d kissed last night. His skin had a honeyed glow, warmer in tone than mine. I could have stared at him all morning.

“The tattoos, do they have meanings?” he asked.

“Yeah.” I towel dried myself, snatched some clean clothes, and sat on the edge of the bed. “The stars are for my mom.” I began there, because his gaze was following them up my back.

“The wire?”

The wire was thin, barely noticeable, around my ankle. “For when I’d gotten tangled up in some stupid stuff in school.”

“And this . . . ?”