Page 43 of Rinkmates

“That’s the thing. I don’t know what to do with my life. I feel there’s nothing I can really do. My Instagram account is all I have. My body. The way I look. The way I present myself, but it’s just…well, a mask. I know I need to build myself a second option. Still, I lost my boyfriend because I hesitated.”

I wince. Shit.

Aiden’s shoulders tremble as he fights to breathe. “I still miss him.”

This was about more than success—it was about proving his worth.

I rest my hand on his arm. “So you told your boyfriend about what happened to you and he just left?”

“Well, he knew I was considering it. I thought about breaking up with him just to get that shitty role. I didn’t say it out loud, of course, but just thinking about ending our six-year relationship over my career was enough for him. He packed his things and never looked back. I didn’t get the role in the series, and my agent thought this show would be a way to get back into things. I’ve felt like shit ever since. It was my biggest mistake, and yeah…the music—it just hit.”

“I’m sorry, we can change it. What music would you—”

“No, no,” he says, suddenly breathing easier. “It’s good if I can channel these feelings. We need this. We need to go far. Maybe I’ll get better roles if people in the industry recognize me from the show. And if not, maybe I can build something meaningful with the money.”

“If they cast me alongside you.”

It’s then that his eyes sparkle. “Oh, I’m sorry, I thought I told you. I asked them to pair us together, and they said yes. So we’re already kind of a fixed pair.”

“Really?” I laugh and nudge him with my elbow. “Well, thanks for asking if I wanted to skate with you!”

He laughs too. “Miss James, do you want to skate with me until we win this damn thing?”

“Well, you’re the worst when it comes to lifts, but do you know what? I’ve never seen anyone pick up a camel spin that fast.” I give him a reassuring squeeze. “No, seriously. I’d love to skate with you. We’re going to nail this routine, I know it.”

With a shaky nod, Aiden dries his eyes with his sleeve. “Thanks. I…I needed to hear that.”

“Anytime. I’m here if you need me. We’re in this together,” I say, patting his leg. “Now, how about we try it again? We stillhave time to polish it up before tomorrow, right? Also, you need to watch your hands while spinning.”

Aiden manages a small smile, a ghost of his usual grin. “You know it, James. Let’s show this rink who’s boss.”

“That’s the spirit, Aiden.”

He stands up, pulling me up with him. “Huntington can be really proud of you. You’re an amazing human being.”

I want to ask why on earth he should be proud, but then I remember and almost gasp. Oops. Of course. I smile awkwardly. “Oh, yeah, he’s obsessed with me,” I joke. It’s so surreal that a guy like Riley could ever be obsessed with me that I can’t help but laugh. As if.

Thirteen

RILEY

The roar of the crowd still echoes in my ears as I step into my apartment, the thrill of another win buzzing through my veins.

We scored 8–2 against the Bristol Leaves. Mercer has never been so happy with me, and I start to believe that I can actually do this. I can change for the better. Maybe it’s because my mind is so occupied with Liora living with me and what her moans did to me when she ate my food that I simply had no time to get angry at silly remarks from rival players.

I remember that my dad always told me to not waste my time on women. That keeping my head in the game was everything I needed. But stepping away from it seems to be just what I was missing. I was on the phone with my therapist for almost two hours, and one particular sentence keeps echoing in my mind:Being dedicated to your work can be a positive quality, but it’s important to recognize when it’s becoming detrimental to your well-being.

He’s right.

I need to stop focusing on my career so much and enjoy the process again. I toss my keys on the black kitchen counter andmy eyes settle on a stack of photos—Liora’s photos. Oh, what has she done now? Commercial shots, by the look of them. I know I probably shouldn’t check on them because the five-foot monster will rip my head off if she sees me, but against my better judgment, I check the apartment. I hear the shower running and just as I “accidentally” knock over the stack of photos and they conveniently fan out, one specific picture catches my attention.

Oh, just my luck.

“She’s going to be the death of me,” I mutter and snatch the damn photo up for a closer look. Yeah. I’m a dead man walking.

My heart races and I study every detail of her.

That fucking ass, perfectly round and barely covered by a lacy skirt. The way she stands with her back to the camera, her head turned just enough to look directly at me—or rather the fucker who snapped her like this—it makes my skin prickle from head to toe. She’s giving me that look likeYou know you want this.And just like that, my little soldier betrays me and stands at attention.

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