I was glad he saw things my way.
CHAPTER FIVE
Chaps. Goddamn chaps. If there’s sequins, I’m leaving. — Ty Randall, to his manager
We practiced our “Boot Scootin’” routine daily, and I grew to hate it a little more each time.
To be fair, though, Ty never complained. Perhaps it was the sight of my swollen face that made him close-lipped, or the fact that I never complained about Imelda’s choices (poor choices, if you asked me) of what we would do. It was like he’d drawn up his belt and decided to just endure.
Kind of like me.
The routine was child’s play for me, but it was clear that it was tough for Ty. For starters, he tended to surge while skating instead of gliding gracefully. I suspected that was a holdover from his years of hockey training, and it took us days of simply holding each other in an ice dancing embrace before we started to move together fluidly. Once we did, though, Ty gave me a cocky little grin as if to say “See?”
Of course, then we added the music, and things went to hell all over again.
I hated the song. Hated it. I loved classical music, and this piece was the antithesis of that, all twanging vocals and guitars. Ty seemed to like it, though, and I caught him humming it under his breath, as if the tune were still stuck in his head even when we were off the ice.
Which made sense, seeing as we’ve heard it so many times that I’ve been hearing the song in my dreams.
Ty worked hard, though. I had to give the guy credit. Once he’d decided that he was going to do this, he was as determined as I was. If I was there at six in the morning, so was he. If I stayed and skated until eight at night, so did he. He didn’t get off the ice until I did, and I tended to work long hours. Not only because I wanted to get things just right, but because I truly loved being on the ice and pushing my body to the limit.
Too bad the routine wouldn’t let me. While we practiced the simplistic step sequences over and over so Ty could get them right, I kept feeling the urge to add to the routine, to flick my skate in a showy fashion, or to add little twirls here and there that would make the program more artistic.
I had to constantly remind myself that I was just the mannequin. So I practiced smiling and looking like I was having a blast while I did Imelda’s simplistic—and dare I say, boring—routine. And when we took breaks, I punched things up and added a few jumps just for fun, and just because I could.
Ty was taking a breather off to the side as we finished that day’s practice. He watched me come down from a triple axel that was perfectly timed with the change in the music that led to the chorus, and gave me a funny look, wiping his sweat-covered brow. “That was awesome. Why can’t we add that stuff in the routine?”
I skated back to him, ignoring the endless twang of the music. “I’d love to, but there are two problems.”
“What’s that?”
I shook out my legs, feeling the burn from the hours of practice. I was just as sweaty as he was—and about ready to call it a night. “Well, for one, Imelda would freak out, and she has the network’s ear. I want to be seen as a team player, and changing the routine of the choreographer they selected for us? Not exactly a team-player move.”
He grunted acknowledgment. “So what’s the other problem?”
“The other is that you wouldn’t be able to keep up,” I said with a sly grin on my face. “I can do the hard shit. You can barely keep a clean edge.”
He scowled at me, but I just grinned. We’d formed an easy sort of truce ever since he’d agreed to actually try to work, and we bickered and teased and were generally comfortable with each other. It wasn’t quite friendship, but it wasn’t out-and-out hatred, either.
“I could keep pace with you if I had enough practice,” he told me arrogantly.
“No, you couldn’t,” I said, sauntering away, heading to the edge of the ice. “You’d need a lot of practice to even come close. And anyhow, I’m heading off to take a shower.”
“Oh, no you don’t,” Ty said behind me, and I heard him skate closer. “I get the shower first.”
“Nope,” I said, skating a little faster. “You had it first yesterday.” Out of all the money the network had spent, why only one damn shower at the ice rink? We fought over it every day.
“Oh yeah?” Ty’s hands landed on my waist. He grabbed me and hauled me around, spinning me.
I shrieked with laughter as he spun me around once, and then flung me into the air. Was that supposed to scare me? I landed easily on my blade, with a flourish. “Was that what you call a partner toss? You’d better brush up.”
“Yeah, but now you’re further away from the bathroom,” he told me, hopping off the ice and tossing on his blade guards. He sat down and began to quickly unlace his skates.
Damn it! I skated furiously over to the bench, snapped on my blade guards and then thumped down next to him, undoing my own laces. “You are not getting in there first,” I hissed. “I got on the ice first this morning, so I get to the showers first! Those are the rules!”
“Those are stupid rules,” he told me. “And your rules don’t apply if I get in there first.” He tugged at a knot on his skate.
Ha! I pulled mine off and tossed them aside, and then scooped up my towel and ran into the shower room. Success! It was all mine. I reached in to the shower compartment and turned it on, letting the water heat up. Then, I pulled my sweat-damp hair down from my bun and began to slide out of my leotard.
“Hey, thanks,” Ty said in my ear. “You’re heating up the water for me.”
I gave a little scream and a jump, clutching my leotard to my front. One second later and I would have been topless. I turned away from him and glanced down at my front, making sure everything was covered. “What are you doing in here?”
“Gonna take my shower first, like I told you.”
“I’m getting undressed,” I protested.
“I’m already undressed,” he told me, and a second later, I heard the sound of water splashing.
I turned around just in time to see a pair of beefy, pale bu**ocks disappear into the hot shower—my shower! My mouth went dry at the sight, though, and I stood there dumbly as he slid the glass enclosure door shut.
Holy shit. Ty Randall had just walked past me, naked, and I’d missed all the good parts.