Page 34 of Fire on the Ice

Which is when I see her. Sitting a dozen rows up, with an American flag in her hand, and the hat I left in her room pulled low on her head. It’s Maisy. She came. She’s here. Our gazes catch on each other like steel on ice, and it’s the sweetest kind of pain that she’s here to see this.

She accepted my apology—must have, because Maisy’s not the kind of girl to rub your nose in a mistake. She’d just . . . leave. Has. But she’s here and rooting for us. For me. Thank god her team got knocked out in the last round because I don’t think her poor Maple-leaf-shaped heart could take the conflict if she had to choose. As it is, she could get in some shit for being here and cheering me on, and she knows it. She did it anyway.

I want to put the guards on my skates and climb up into the audience, throw myself into her lap, take her face in my hand and kiss her, tell her I’m sorry, tell her I love her, and that I’m not sure what being with her would look like, but I’m willing to try. I want to know.

Maisy smiles at me, puts her fingertips to her mouth and blows me the smallest, sweetest kiss. I wish I could catch it, send one back, but mine would be big and showy and sloppy, like me. I settle for slapping myself in the face, which no one will think much of—What the fuck was that? Just Bellamy being a freak again—but when her shoulders jerk with a laugh I know she understood that was my way of catching it, keeping it, without drawing attention to her.

Because I want it to stay that way, I shake out my legs, focus on my coach and my teammates, hold their hands and pray to the rink gods that I didn’t mess up.I didn’t mess up.Yeah, I’ve been angling for the spotlight since before I was in the Games at Sapporo, but I didn’t mean for it to be like this. I’ll make the most of it no matter how it comes out, but come on.

It’s minutes of not being able to take full breaths, of feeling as if my legs are going to shake right off my torso, of my teammates squeezing my hands so hard I think the fragile bones might break. Finally, the official is leaving the screen, talking to yet another person.

I squeeze my eyes shut tight and promise whoever gives a damn that if they let me win this race, I’ll use my powers only for good and not evil—getting laid doesn’t count as evil, right? If so, I might have to reconsider, because I really, really love sex. Lots.

When I manage to crack my eyes open, it’s first to the blinding lights of the arena, but then I can focus on the Jumbotron hanging from the ceiling. The Koreans are first, the Chinese are second, but next to third place, the American flag lights up and all bets are off.

I drop my teammates’ hands so I can punch the air, and then I’m off. Arms wide open, skating around the rink,myrink, because we got it. A bronze medal, yeah, but a medal nonetheless, and one we weren’t favored to win. I’m gonna act like it’s gold, and you better believe no one’s going to say boo about that.

Someone shoves a flag into my hands on my way by and I unfurl it, lifting it over my head and letting it fly like a cape behind me as I whiz around the arena, trying not to take out any of the other skaters. Thrilled Koreans, delighted Chinese, heartbroken Italians. And us. Allison, Bonnie, and Phoebe hadn’t bothered keeping up with me for the first few laps, but as I slow down, they join me, and we keep skating round and round, soaking in the noise of the hometown crowd.

And unbeknownst to them or hopefully anyone at all, whenever I pass Maisy, I smile right at her. I want to bask in her approval, too, have it drip over me like a goddamn gin shower. Maybe she’d lick it off? We’ve got some talking to do, but she doesn’t make decisions hastily. Her being here means my past seventy-two hours of celibacy hasn’t been in vain.

Chapter Fifteen

Maisy

I didn’t fuck anyone else.

I suppose I should be insulted or at least surprised by the text on my phone from Blaze, but I’m neither. It makes me smile. Not that I could’ve been angry at her for being with someone else after I’d turned my back on her at the snowboard cross finals and didn’t answer her text. Her lovely, lovely text that made me feel so fucking special.

Now what to say to her? I feel ready, I suppose, ready to see her again. Would very much like to touch her and celebrate much the same way we drowned our sorrows in Sapporo. With days of the filthiest and most delicious kind of sex. And gin. Maybe some champagne this time. For variety. Bottom line is that if I feel as though she’s really understood and is truly sorry for what she pulled, I want to give her another chance, much as she did for me. I want to trust and believe in her because that’s one of the things I like about Blaze, how faith and forgiveness seem to come easily to her. Not that I’ll ever be quite that freewheeling, but loosening up a bit has proved to have its perks.

So I text her back.

Neither have I ;) Want to meet in my room when you’re free?

It’s less than a minute before I have her answer.

You bet your ass I do.

It’ll likely be an hour or more before Blaze is knocking on my door—or more likely, trying to push it open and pounding on it when she finds it locked. Since I’m still supposed to skate in the exhibition in a couple of days—which I’ll now be doing to what was supposed to be my free skate, along with a couple more tricks thrown in perhaps—I put on my music and run the program through in my mind while I check my last dress for loose sequins or crystals, and start to organize my things for the trip home. Yes, we have a few days, but I don’t want to bother with packing all my stuff when I might be able to do more . . . fun things.

I practically jump out of my skin when there’s a banging on my door, and my heart and perhaps other areas of my body, flutter. It’s her. It’s got to be her. When I open the door, it is.

She looks glorious, her hair spikey and wet. I want to scold her that she shouldn’t be running around in freezing weather because she’ll get herself sick, but before I can, she’s striding through and kissing me. Which, on the one hand, is amazing. Her mouth on mine is hot and demanding, and I want so badly to give her what she wants because I want it, too. But on the other hand, part of me still needs an apology. Not in a text, either.

I don’t want to worry that she’s going to do something like that again because she didn’t fully understand what it did to me. Yes, she’s been on her best behavior since then, and came to my performances without saying a damn word, but . . . I want her to understand. And as much as we’ve been enjoying each other as fuck buddies, I’d like to think maybe this won’t be our last hurrah. And if we’re in this for longer than the next few days, I need to know she respects and understands me. Not that she’ll never fuck up again ever, because that’s not possible for any human alive, never mind one as impulsive as Blaze, but . . . dammit, I want to know that she’ll think of me. If she even wants that. What if she doesn’t? Only one way to find out really, and I should do it before we have sex I’ll remember as a bittersweet swan song.

Pushing at her chest, I separate us, and we’re both already breathing hard and fast. “Blaze—”

“Maisy.”

“We need to talk.”

She curls a hand around the back of my neck and gives me a come-hither smile to die for that’s dripping with sexual intent. “Do we? I can think of other things I’d rather do.”

“As can I, but I need this, okay? Can you give me a few minutes? Because we need to clear some things up.”

Blaze nods and drops her hand. “Yeah, we can do that. What’s up?”

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