Page 123 of Rinkmates

That competitive fire in her eyes—it’s the same look that drew me to her in the first place. That relentless drive to be the best. I shake my head but can’t shake my smile. That’s so hot. “All right, ice queen. Let’s go warm up then.”

We kick off the session with some dynamic stretching, and Liora insists on pushing through, even though she winces when putting weight on her taped hand. I promised her I’d stay professional, but it’s a tough promise to keep with her perfect ass constantly tempting me. The way it flexes? It’s a death sentence.My thoughts are getting as intrusive as those annoying pop-up ads online—which, let’s be honest, is saying a lot.

When we lace up our skates and hit the rink, I find it hard to keep up with her fluid movements, feeling like a hockey oaf next to her graceful glides.

“Bend your knees more on the mohawks,” she instructs as she demonstrates a flawless three turn. “And keep your free leg straight.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I say and mimic her motions clumsily, almost eating it on the slick ice. Her musical laughter echoes through the empty rink. God, what I wouldn’t do to bottle up that beautiful sound. Maybe, just maybe I played a little extra clumsy to see her smile more. Just maybe. I’m an addict. Sue me.

We run basic drills for thirty minutes until a sheen of sweat glazes both our brows. When she wants to start on the choreo she came up with Aiden, I hold up a hand to stop her. “Actually, I had another idea.”

Her delicate brows shoot up in surprise as I pull out my phone and sync it to the rink’s sound system. When the lyrics of “The Bad Touch” by the Bloodhound Gang blast through the speakers, Liora’s jaw drops. I give her an eyebrow waggle and start gyrating my hips to the provocative beat.

“What. The. Heck. Are. You. Doing?” Her eyes go wide as I shake my booty. To top it off, I even put on my shades. Yes, baby.

“Improving your choreography!” I shout over the music, launching into an absolutely ridiculous dance involving pelvic thrusts and jazz hands. I look like the world’s worst male stripper, but I just don’t care.

It works—Liora bursts into another fit of giggles, her eyes crinkling at the corners as she doubles over with laughter. No sound in the world could ever top that. I’d make a complete fool of myself every day if it means keeping that smile on her face.

Especially after that weekend. She was so down that I just needed to make her laugh and have fun with me.

When I told my coach I was dedicating four hours a day to training with Liora, he thought I’d lost my mind. But watching her twirl on the ice, blonde ponytail whipping behind her and blue eyes sparkling with joy, I knew I’d made the right call. I’d put in double shifts, triple shifts, whatever it took to make this work.

Because that girl? She is worth it.

I’d do anything to make her dreams come true. I’d hand over a million dollars in a heartbeat, but I know she wants to achieve it on her own. If I can’t help with money, at least I can support her with my exceptional ice dancing skills—even if that means air-humping in the middle of the rink to a song about “getting it on” like animals on the Discovery Channel.

Liora snorts and skates over to swat my arm. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

“Ridiculously charming and talented? I agree.”

“More like a ridiculously bad dancer.”

I clutch my chest in mock pain. “You wound me! I thought that choreo was pure gold.”

“In your dreams, hotshot.” She rolls her eyes, but her smile stays firmly in place. “Now let’s run it again from the top, and this time, leave your disco moves in the nineties where they belong.”

She rolls her eyes again, clapping her hands like I’m a cattle to move, and we launch into practicing her real choreography, my muscles still aching from our session back at the pool house the other day. But no way in hell am I going to mention that to Liora. Ever. She has enough on her mind with the competition looming just days away, so it’s the least I can do not to make her worry about my extremely manly muscles, right?

Our pairing seems to have the whole country buzzing.

Especially after those kissing pics of us from the gala “leaked” online. I’m pretty sure Grace is cackling with glee at all the free publicity. Even the network execs are banking on our star power, hyping up our dance as a must-see moment. Ethan texts me that they expect it to be one of the most watched episodes ever. No pressure or anything.

I glance over at Liora, at the determined set of her delicate jaw as she marks out her steps. Most people look at her and see a pretty blonde ice princess.

But I see the fighter beneath, the girl who claws her way to the top and keeps getting back up no matter how many times life knocks her down. They call me crazy for doing this. A hockey player trying to figure skate on live TV? But they don’t know Liora James like I do. And if she thinks I can do this, well then…I sure as hell am going to prove my babygirl right.

“Okay,let’s run it again from the top,” Liora calls out after reviewing the video she made of our performance. “And this time, really lift through your core on that overhead press. I should look weightless.”

I flash her a cocky grin. “Babe, you’re always like a feather in these arms. I am bench-pressing two of you on a regular gym day.”

“Less talking, more lifting, Huntington.”

“Yes, Coach.” I mock salute before skating over to our starting position.

The music starts and we’re off, gliding and spinning across the ice in perfect sync.

I hoist her effortlessly overhead, reveling in the feel of her lithe frame in my hands.

---