Page 38 of Revolve
“Brat,” he says, and then his bedroom door closes.
FIFTEEN
SIERRA
CHEMISTRY.
I don’t think I’ve ever hated a word more.
“Like any type of dance, partners need to have chemistry.” Lidia continues her speech from the sidelines, and it’s longer than I remember. Though that’s probably because she thinks Dylan and I won’t take this seriously.
Understandable since we spent the first five minutes of practice elbowing each other out of the way as we tried to get through the gate and onto the ice first. I won, obviously.
But it didn’t help that Lidia’s been eyeing me the entire time. It’s because when he walked into practice this morning, I couldn’t stop staring at Dylan. His shirt clings to every muscle, and those slim workout pants leave little to the imagination. I’m pretty sure Lidia caught me fully checking out his ass. And now, with his fresh scent lingering in the air between us, I struggle to keep my focus on her speech.
It wasn’t like this with Justin. Our first practice was all business—formal, obedient. None of his glances set my cheeks on fire. Justin is strong and lean, of course, but Dylan is …big. He’s bulkier, hisshoulders are broader, and his arms might be bigger than my thighs, and that’s saying something, because I’ve got strong thighs. But with all that, he’s also more irritating.
“You seem nervous, Romanova,” he whispers, leaning in as Lidia goes on.
“For you. I hope I don’t accidentally cut you,Captain.” But I love the way his jaw tenses at the mention of his fleeting title.
“… you will learn each other’s timing and cues; you’ll read each other’s movements; you’ll be in sync. Fluid. Tethered,” Lidia drones on.
“Sounds like a prison sentence,” Dylan mutters.
“I’m sure you’ve been handcuffed before.”
He lets out a low chuckle. “Only to my bed.”
“Listen with your ears, not your mouth,” Lidia snaps, looking up from her clipboard. “Sierra, if you’re comfortable, we should discuss your injury so Dylan can adjust his approach.”
I feel like the new kid in school who’s forced give three facts about themselves. Except mine are all trauma. “It’s not a secret, Lidia. He knows I fell. They haven’t taken down the video, so he can look it up like everyone else.” A ball of dread drops into my stomach.
“How’d you fall?” Dylan asks me.
He hasn’t seen it?I don’t look at him. “I messed up our reverse lasso.”
I can feel him staring at me, but Lidia must notice my unease, because she claps twice. “Okay, enough chatting. Show me your edge work.”
I thought we were done with this. We spent two hours on the ice skating laps on our own. It quickly became a competition, and when I realized Dylan might actually be faster than me, I put everything into moving quicker. Lidia was still shoutingDeeper edge work!for the hundredth time when it felt like some of my stamina from years ago shot back into my body. It didn’t work; he was still two laps ahead.
So this time I don’t wait for her signal, I just take off.
“As partners!” Lidia calls out. “Side by side and hold hands.”
I stand tall, refusing to backtrack. Instead, I lift my hand, palm up, offering it to him. I hear the scrape of his skates behind me before his hand slips into mine, the cold of his skin seeping through the warmth of my glove.
“You’re not wearing gloves,” I note. “Your hands are cold.”
“Are they? I don’t usually hold the guys’ hands during hockey practice.”
I roll my eyes. “You should really wear gloves when we’re not doing lifts.”
“Is it uncomfortable for you, princess?” he asks, his voice dripping with mock concern.
I glide forward, and so does he, perfectly in sync. The rink is quiet today—no music, just the rhythmic scrape of our blades on the ice. Even with simple crossovers, our movements blend with surprising fluidity. Lidia’s lack of shouting tells me we’re doing something right.
As we do another lap, I spot Lidia talking to someone by the hallway. I elbow Dylan, and he’s about to elbow me back when I point toward her.
