Page 1 of Waltzing on Ice

Chapter One

Daisy

I exhale slowly, centering myself as I glide across the ice. Precision. Control. Elegance. These are the things that define me, have earned me medals and sponsorships, and separate champions from amateurs.

And then there’s my skating partner.

“Fuck, Daisy, are you made of glass?”

Finn Sullivan’s voice cuts through the crisp air of the rink, sharp and grating as ever. I clench my jaw and keep my posture perfect, refusing to react.

“Maybe if you stopped flailing like a baby deer on a frozen pond, I wouldn’t have to be so careful,” I retort smoothly.

Finn skates up beside me, his towering frame in stark contrast to mine. He’s all power and brute strength, built more like a hockey enforcer than an ice dancer. His dark hair is perpetually tousled, his sharp jawline dusted with stubble—because, of course, he can’t be bothered to shave. He wears arrogance like a second skin, but worse than that? He’s good. Infuriatingly good.

He grins, cocky as ever. “Baby deer, huh? That’s funny, coming from someone who just botched a twizzle sequence.”

I whip around to face him. “I did not botch it.”

Finn smirks. “If that’s what helps you sleep at night, sweetheart.”

I inhale sharply through my nose, willing myself not to rise to the bait. This is how it always is with Finn—constant pushing, constant testing. He’s reckless and aggressive, while I am calculated and precise. Oil and water. Fire and ice.

Our coach, Victor, skates onto the ice, rubbing his temples like he regrets every decision that led him to coach the two of us. “Are we done bickering, or do I need to separate you two like children?”

Finn shrugs. “She started it.”

I gape at him. “I started it?”

Victor pinches the bridge of his nose. “I don’t care. Again. From the top.”

I force myself to focus as Finn takes my hand. His grip is firm, calloused from years of training. The moment we start moving, everything else fades away. This, at least, is familiar—the rhythm, the sharp turns, the precision of each movement.

Until Finn decides to be Finn.

“Relax, Daisy,” he murmurs as we go into a lift. “You’re stiffer than a nun at a strip club.”

I nearly miss the transition. “Would you shut up and focus?”

Finn chuckles, completely unbothered. “Oh, I’m focused. Just wondering when you’ll admit you like having your hands on me.”

I grit my teeth. “The only thing I like is imagining ways to make you disappear.”

“Dark. Kinda hot, though.”

I exhale sharply, determined to ignore him. But it’s impossible because Finn isn’t just talking—he’s there, pressing against me, the heat of his body bleeding through my costume. Every glide, every turn, every spin feels like a challenge, a battle of wills.

A battle I refuse to lose.

Victor claps once as we finish the routine, nodding approvingly. “Better. Still needs refinement, but it’s coming together.”

Finn stretches, rolling his shoulders. “Told you we’d get there, Daisy.”

I won’t dignify that with a response. Instead, I skate off, needing distance, needing air.

But Finn, of course, follows. “You’re so dramatic,” he teases, skating up beside me. “Is this the part where you storm out and swear you’ll never skate with me again?”

I throw him a sharp glare. “I should. If I had any sense, I would.”

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