Page 8 of Melt My Heart: Denver Warlords

We stepped onto the ice together, which was a surreal moment—two different worlds colliding on the same slick surface. The overhead lights gleamed against the freshly resurfaced rink, almost mirror-like in its sheen.

“You color-code your daily schedule, too?” Gunnar teased, side-eying my meticulously arranged phone, water bottle, and choreo notes lined on the boards.

I snorted, pressing “record” on my phone’s voice memo app. “Don’t mock it. My method works.”

“Sure, if you like living in a perfect little box,” he teased back. “But hey, maybe I could use some structure…Not.”

I shot him a look, noticing how broad his shoulders were under that tight performance jacket. He radiated heat in the chilly arena, which was irritatingly distracting. “Focus, please. We only have the rink for a couple hours before the youth hockey team arrives.”

We began by mapping out a rough routine. I insisted on an opening spiral to showcase classical lines—the sort ofthing the Olympic Committee appreciated. Gunnar demanded an explosive segment that emphasized speed and power. We agreed on weaving them together, creating a push-pull effect as we navigated from graceful to high-intensity.

“Think of it like a story,” I explained. “We start with elegance, then your wilder energy bursts in, eventually merging into a final demonstration of synergy.”

He arched a brow. “Synergy, huh? That’s a fancy word for‘look, we’re not killing each other.’”

“Synergy sounds better,” I said dryly.

We set up a portable speaker on the boards and loaded a track that started with mellow piano and built into a dynamic beat. I took my place at center ice, arms lifted into position, while Gunnar lingered at the far left, knees bent as if about to explode forward.

On my signal, the music began. I moved into a slow, extended spiral, left leg outstretched behind me, chest lifted. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Gunnar powering around me in a fluid arc that contrasted my precision with his unstoppable velocity. The combination felt jolting at first—like blending two entirely different routines. But just as I turned a pivot into a side-by-side spin, he matched me. Our timing wavered, but we didn’t crash.

When the music hit a deeper pulse, Gunnar shot off in a mini race around the perimeter, leaving me to transition into a spin sequence. Then I reached out for him, and we joined in a short side-by-side footwork pattern. By the time the track faded, we stood, breathing hard, with wide-eyed surprise.

“That was rough,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “But not a total train wreck.”

My cheeks heated. “We need to refine transitions…some spots felt jarring. But the concept...might actually impress people.”

We ran it twice more, recording each attempt on my phone to spot flaws. The second pass ended with me stumbling out of a spin, nearly colliding with Gunnar’s broad chest. His reflexes saved me—he braced my shoulders just in time.

“Easy there,” he murmured. “I know I’m irresistible, but no need to throw yourself at me.”

I scowled, stepping back. “You wish. My skate caught a rut in the ice.”

He smirked. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, Ice Queen.”

“Stop calling me that,” I grumbled. But the warmth in my cheeks betrayed me, and I hated how he seemed to notice.

We tried it again, this time nailing the side-by-side spin with fewer wobbles. When we finished, I halted near the boards, breath coming in quick bursts.

“How do you feel?” Gunnar asked, eyes scanning my face.

I shrugged. “Better than I expected. You actually can follow a plan.”

“Don’t act so shocked,” he teased. “I do more than fling myself around a track.”

After an hour of stops and starts, we decided to pause before tackling lifts. I was sweaty under my jacket, hair frizzing around my forehead, while Gunnar seemed merely warmed up. Our gaze locked for an awkward moment—just enough to make me hyperaware of his strong jawline and the way he managed to look unfairly good even peppered with spots of sweat.

I sidestepped, focusing on my phone. “We’ll keep building from here. The second half needs a big moment…maybe a quick lift or a synchronized jump.”

He cocked his head. “Alright, as long as you’re sure. You know I’m game. But let’s not break your neck on day two. My arms are strong, but we gotta train the technique properly like you said.”

“Agreed,” I said. “We’ll go step by step. No sense rushing a major stunt.”

“And here I thought you liked living dangerously,” he teased, eyes gleaming.

I almost snorted. “You have me pegged wrong. I like living safely and winning gold.”

He laughed, a surprisingly rich sound that made the empty arena feel warmer. “Whatever floats your boat, Tiger. Let’s watch our playback.”

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