Page 36 of Fire on the Ice

Maisy eyes me and I try to stand still. She can look at me as long as she likes. “How long are we talking? Until the SIGs are over?”

Is that what she wants? Is that all she wants? I could do that, but . . . “I was kinda hoping, maybe you might be willing to put up with my loud ass after that? You’re the most incredible woman I’ve ever met, and I can’t say I’m in a big hurry to give you up. I know it’ll be crazy and weird with our schedules, but maybe it’s worth a shot? I don’t know exactly what it’ll look like, but . . .”

I trail off, because Maisy’s stopped meeting my eyes. Is in fact, looking at her fuzzy-sock-encased feet. Wow, maybe she really does not want to go there. This was meant to be a SIG spouse thing, and we’re supposed to split amicably. Okay. I can do that, even though the idea leaves a hole in my heart.

But when she looks at me again, it’s not with that super-awkward, it’s-not-you-it’s-me bullshit kind of look. Her eyes are wide and she’s blinking too much, as if she’s afraid. Afraid of what, though?

“What if I’m not enough for you?”

My head rocks back on my neck, because what the hell is that even supposed to mean? She said it a few days ago, but I thought I’d made it abundantly clear at the time that she is in fact enough. But maybe her fears are cropping up again because we’re talking longer-term here. On some level, I get it, but I’m not sure that even my answers meant to reassure her will do it. But what’s the worst thing that can happen? Oh, just losing the best thing that’s ever happened to me forever and ever. No bigs.

“Hey.” I reach out, cup her face in my hand, slide a thumb across her cheek, taking a tear that’s leaked out from between her lashes with me. “This might sound crazy, but . . . no one is? That’s not even something I’m looking for.”

Her chin trembles and I want to stop it. The only way I know how is to grip her jaw on both sides with my hands and make her look at me. “I’m not trying to say it’s hopeless, I’m trying to say . . . I know I’m a lot to handle, and I don’t think any one person could. Even if they could, I don’t think I only want one person. I need truly excessive amounts of attention, and god do I need ludicrous amounts of sex. I’m like three average people’s worth of partner.”

“But do you even want one? Or is your idea of happiness always being with different people and never settling in any way, in any part of your life?”

I’ve thought about it, sure, have thought some day when I’m not skating competitively anymore that I’d find some nice person who was poly, too, and we’d have a home with a rotating cast of bedmates or however poly happened to look for us at the time, and it’d all be fine. Maybe some cats. The idea of Maisy being that person I share a life with, though?

“Why are you asking?” Hope is starting to creep up on me, and if it has no business being there, I want to beat it back before it gets any ideas.

“I . . . I want you to be happy. I would really like it if your version of being happy included me. For kind of a long time. I know since we’ve been here I’ve asked for you to be just mine, but I don’t think it would always have to be that way. I want you to be sated, I want you to have enough, and if . . . if other people could provide some of that, maybe I wouldn’t feel as though I was letting you down?”

Something sticks in my throat. I’d say it was a reptile, but a spikey one, because I can’t clear it. “You’re not, and you never have let me down. You’re incredible, and it makes me feel good that you like me enough to let me into your world even though I’m so . . . disruptive. I thought maybe this was SIG mania. You know, temporary competition-induced insanity? But if you’re telling me you’d like to be around me longer than that, more than that . . . That makes me really fucking happy. But what exactly are you proposing?”

“I feel like maybe you’re poly, and I’m not? But it’s possible I’ve been doing some research on this because I clearly had some misunderstandings. From what I can tell, it’s maybe not easy, but people can make this work. There would be some times when I’d want you, need you, all to myself, but as long as I got first dibs, I think I’d be okay with you having other people?”

Okay, now the hope has climbed up to my shoulders and has wrapped its desperate limbs around my head. Which would explain why I’m feeling dizzy, lightheaded. Definitely not the head injury at all. “That sounds a lot like a question.”

The corner of Maisy’s mouth tugs up in a smile, and she half-rolls her eyes in that self-conscious way she has. “I mean, it is. I’ve never done this before; I don’t know how I’ll feel about it for real. I might get jealous, but right now, I can see how it might be a relief. I can have you, you can have me and like, bonus sex, or date someone, and if I ask for it, I can keep you for a while. That sounds pretty good to me. I don’t want to change you, and I don’t want to shame you. I want us both to be happy and to figure this out. I love you exactly the way you are, and I’m hoping you feel the same way, and not as though I’m trying to take what I want and ditch the rest.”

I roll my lips between my teeth and shake my head. “I absolutely do not feel that way. I actually feel like the luckiest girl in the world. Especially because I’m pretty sure you just said you loved me. Was that a thing that happened?”

Now that she’s not on the verge of tears, I think I can find a better use for my hands. So I slide them down her neck, over her narrow shoulders, and past her shoulder blades, all the way to her waist, which I use to steer her even closer to me, because I want her closer. Close enough to kiss. But not quite. I want to hear her answer in words, not in the language of physicality we’ve always found it so easy to communicate in.

“Yes. Is that okay?”

“That is way better than okay. Because I totally love you back.”

I love how she bounces on her heels and launches herself at me, her hands spearing into my hair that she cut, her mouth sloping over mine, and the nip to my bottom lip that follows. Doesn’t take much to rev my engines, and here she is, starting me up with no more than a kiss. I hope she’s prepared for what she’s started, but a hand suddenly grabbing my ass to grind our pelvises together says yes, and that’s precisely what she wants, too. As much of me as she can possibly handle, and the trust and freedom for me to seek out other sources for the remainder while she rests up to take me on again.

Epilogue

Maisy

Blaze is coming home today. Our schedules have not been playing nice for the past few months, and I feel as though we’re like one of her relay teams, ass-grabbing and all. Not that I mind the drive-by quickies—one of which actually took place in an airport bathroom due to a delayed flight, much to both my delight and mortification—but I won’t be sad to have her all to myself for a bit.

We’ve figured out a pretty happy medium. We know we’re together, our friends know we’re together. We’ve tried to keep exactly how serious we are out of the press, and in the few times I’ve talked to my parents since Blaze and I moved in together not that long after the SIGs ended, I’ve just said we live together. They can draw whatever conclusions they’d like from that.

My parents have been on the back burner of my worry stove, though, and my relationship with Blaze on the front. Not because anything’s wrong—to the contrary, it’s perfect—but it’s changing, evolving, and that can be scary. Intimidating.

Blaze has been on the road, and it’s the first time we’ve really gone whole-hog on the poly thing. I was nervous about how I was going to feel about it, but it’s been better than I’d ever expected.

I’m the one she calls every day, I’m the one she texts filthy pics to, I’m the one she comes home to at the end of her competitions, and I’m the one with whom she shares a home. And a cat named Captain Flufferbutter. If some other people have shared her bed while she’s away, and she’s gone out with a couple of people a few times on for-realsies dates? I’ve been fine with it. It makes her happy, keeps her satisfied, and I feel good about having given this to her. I like knowing, too, that she’ll be honest with me about all of it, and that if anyone’s unhappy, it’s a problem to be solved, not the end of the road.

In return . . .

The tumblers in the lock of the front door thunk as a key is turned, and then there she is, all crazy-haired from travel and road worn, but with a glint in her eyes and a smile curving her mouth that I want for myself. She drops her duffle, unzips her coat, and doesn’t bother hanging it up before striding across the living room of our small apartment.

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