Page 76 of Puck Princess

“Actually,” Spencer’s voice comes from behind us, and I flinch. “I already signed up.”

No.

“Then un-sign up,” Owen growls.

Spencer scrapes a hand through his sweat-damp hair, smirking at me. “Can’t. Jordan thinks it’ll be a good idea for people to see a rookie. And Coach wants you on the ice. Since you had anotherappointment.”

He says it like we were fucking in the bathroom.

Owen is about to deck him, I can feel it. I can also see Uncle Randy looking this way, eyes narrowed. So I step between them.

“You and I have been seen enough together by the public. It would probably be for the best if it wasn’t you,” I whisper to him. “Even if I wish it could be.”

His jaw flexes as he drags his eyes from Spencer down to my face. “I don’t give a fuck what anyone else thinks.”

But he should. If he doesn’t start, he might lose his job.

I press a hand to his chest. “Go back to practice. I can handle this.”

I must sound a lot more certain than I feel because Owen huffs out a sigh and kisses my lips. He holds the kiss for a few extra seconds, no doubt putting on a show for Spencer. Then he heads back to the locker room to gear up.

Suddenly a heavy arm lands across my shoulders, and Spencer’s voice is in my ear. “Ready for our close up, Cal Gal?”

I shrug his arm off of me. “Let’s get this over with.”

Why would I ever do a session on the ice? Even with the mats, it feels unstable. The cameramen are slipping around like we’re in a Jello pit, but Jordan has stars in her eyes.

“Be natural,” she directs as one of the lights is angled so it’s burning straight into my retinas. “But thorough. Also, move slowly so people can see what is happening. And smile!”

“Dance, monkey, dance,” I mumble. I slap on a thin smile and turn to Spencer. “Touch your toes.”

It’s a basic stretch, but it’s so basic that I don’t have to touch Spencer, which is a win.

Limberly, Spencer folds himself in half. It’s an impressive feat for someone as muscled as he is, but I don’t mention that. “Having fun, Cal?”

“I think you know the answer to that.” I’m sure my smile looks more like a grimace, but I never claimed to be an actor. And maybe if I look like I’m in as much pain as I am, they’ll never ask me to do it again.

“Why don’t we spice it up a little, then?” He keeps his voice low so only I can hear him. “Show me what to do, Cal. Show me how to get that deep, burning relief. I want a true release, you know?”

Goosebumps crawl up my neck. Spencer and I aren’t wearing mics, so no one can hear him over the sound of practice at that other end of the rink. Still, Owen keeps looking over between passes, checking on me.

Spencer can’t do anything while Owen is in the room.

I set my chin. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Show me where to put my hands. What should I be doing right now?” When Spencer holds his hands out to me, Jordan nods.

“Yes! Help him. Hands-on instruction will work great.”

I swallow back the bile in my throat—remembering at the last second to smile—and move closer to him. Close enough that my right side is pressed against his back. My skin prickles like I’m getting a rash. I put my hands on his. “If you hold here and lean this way—” I hold back tears by sheer force of will as I guide him into a side lunge. “—you’ll feel it in your quads.”

“Weird, I’m feeling it somewhere else.”

I look around, but of course no one can hear.No one can help.

I separate myself from the moment, from the room, my brain, my heart, and go through the motions.Don’t look at him. Don’t break down. Don’t throw up. Don’t cry.

“Where were you and Owen this morning?” he asks. Is he actually trying to make small talk right now?

---