Fire on the Ice by Tamsen Parker

Author:Tamsen Parker
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Swerve

Chapter Nine

Maisy

Practice was less than great. Yes, I’m nailing all my jumps, but I feel like a wind-up toy while I’m doing it. Or maybe one of those ballerinas who pop up when you open a jewelry box. Pretty but soulless, and it annoys me that Blaze is right. So very, very right. But what’s more important? Landing a triple lutz into a double toe loop or doing it half as well while looking as if I won a trip to Disneyworld?

At the end of the day, it doesn’t really matter. My job isn’t to win gold; that’s not something my coach expects of me. Bronze, perhaps, but gold is an overreach for a journeyman like me. I show up, work hard, ace my routines, but there’s nothing particularly special about me. Not at this level anyhow. I fill out the roster, give our team a solid base, a way to take a chance on other more mercurial skaters.

Which would explain why I’m climbing up the stairs to Blaze’s suite. I want a distraction from the program I’ll be skating tomorrow. I don’t want it running through my head on an endless loop because routine is not something I lack. No, that, sadly, is what we would call passion.

Although as I make the turn onto the last landing before her floor, I have to wonder if being with Blaze is going to make me feel better or if I’ll only feel more ordinary next to all her pomp and circumstance. I adore the girl, but sometimes I feel as though she’s even competing with me, as if there’s a chance in hell I could win. At anything when she’s involved.

At last I make it to her floor, and down the hall to her suite, where there’s a . . . seriously? There’s a motherfucking sock on the door.

I stand there, stunned, the breath knocked out of me. I asked her for one thing. Okay, two. But even so, how hard should this be? If she wanted to get it on with someone else, all she had to do was tell me and we’d be over. Not hard. But Blaze isn’t known for her impulse control. Maybe she got made an offer she couldn’t refuse and decided I’d probably never find out, so it was okay. Who the fuck knows, maybe she’s been meeting up with other people every time I’ve had practice or a team meeting. I wouldn’t know.

I’ve long since recovered my breath from practice, but my chest feels tight again, and not from the effort of climbing the stairs. Fuck. This was not a thing I was supposed to have feelings about. Get in, orgasm—repeatedly—get out, easy-peasy. That was the idea. Indulge myself with someone who wasn’t going to make me feel as though I was too much and then move on before I couldn’t live with myself anymore.

The thing is, it’s not so much the sex that’s making me feel all hot and squirmy and like I have rage snakes slithering throughout my body.

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