Page 26 of Wristlocked
He hears my sharp intake of breath and turns his head, a half smile tugging at the corner of his mouth when he catches me staring.
“Talk to Dara,” he says, turning back to the straps and pulling himself smoothly into a muscle-up. “She’s in charge of you today.”
The dismissal burns through me, igniting the now-familiar surge of frustration and embarrassment that seems to accompany ninety percent of our interactions. Dara is approaching, though, so I plaster on a friendly smile to match hers and drop my bag againstthe wall.
“I did a lot of duo straps for a friend’s senior project last year,” she explains. “Gale thought maybe I could help you work out the kinks.” Her tone is casual and innocent enough, but I flush, wondering if Gale used those exact words.
The three of us take turns warming up on the point while Gale explains to Dara what we’re working on. At Dara’s suggestion, we work the moves in rotating pairs. First, she and Gale demonstrate the sequence, a variation on the spin and catch from last time. The move is gorgeous, ending with her draped over his free arm so her dark hair brushes the mat, and they look good together, relaxed and fluid. Next, Dara has me try it with her, while Gale watches critically and makes comments. We alternate basing each other, Dara insisting that it will help for me to experience both roles. She’s a good teacher, articulate and gentle, and after a few runs, she hands me over to Gale.
I’m getting pretty good at the spin and release, but every time his hand snags my forearm, his grip a little rougher than necessary, my brain short-circuits as he pulls me into the hard planes of his bare chest. After the fifth or sixth time watching us fumble, Dara’s endless patience begins to wane.
“Look,” she says, “you don’t have to actually like each other, but you do have to trust each other if this is going to work.”
Yeah, right. Catching my scowl, Gale throws me a wry smirk.
“Think you can trust me, princess?”
“Trust goes both ways, asshole,” I retort, and Dara shakes her head.
“Listen, children, there’s a lot of potential here. I know Gale’s aesthetic, and I can see what you guys are going for, but you need to figure out how to make it look like a battle without actually fighting each other the whole time.”
I raise my eyebrows, surprised. She’s right about his aesthetic, but he hasn’t told me anything about the vision for the act, andI wonder if he was actually listening to my ideas at the tryout before it descended into sin.
“Fine,” I say, rounding on Gale. “But if you call me ‘princess’ one more time, I’m walking out the door and never coming back.”
“Yeah? And what exactly do you want me to call you?” he taunts. “Red? Freckles?” He narrows his eyes and runs his tongue over his lower lip. “Shadow?”
The world narrows, something sharp and dangerous twisting inside me at the sound of that name on his lips. Before I can think, I’m pushing into his space, trembling with fury.
“Don’t. Even.Dreamit,” I hiss. “That name is not yours to use. And it never will be.Never.”
Dara’s eyes dart between the two of us, alarmed.
“Gia—” she starts, maybe meaning to reassure me, but Gale cuts her off.
“You can go now, Dara,” he tells her, his eyes never leaving my face. She hesitates, then tosses up her hands in surrender.
“Good luck,” she mutters, and leaves us alone.
Blood surges under my skin, a reckless surf pounding in my ears. I’m ready to launch myself at him and score his perfect body with my claws, but the minute the door closes, he retreats back to the straps. He’s feigning indifference, but I can read the lingering tension in his body like a mirror of my own.
“Tell me,” he says, leaning into the strap and resting his head against his bicep. “Why does the name ‘princess’ get you so hot and bothered?” The exposed lines of his arm and torso are disarming, toying with my rage, and since the question begs way more than I’m willing to unpack, I give him the simplest part of the answer.
“It’s what my dad called me.”
“‘Called’? Pretty sure he’s not dead.”
“Iguess I’m not his princess anymore.” I shrug. That one stopped hurting years ago.
“I doubt that,” he scoffs.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“How do you think you got into ACCA? You might have been a goddess on the trapeze two years ago, but you’re still a baby on the straps. You think Celeste would have taken you if you weren’t Gia Laurent?”
I go cold, even as my heart beats a treacherous echo, whispering,He called us goddessin my chest.
“You lied when you said you were ready for this,” he continues ruthlessly.“I should have taken your pretty boy instead when you offered him up.”
