“Ty Randall will be paired with Zara Pritchard.”
And just like that, all my hopes and dreams shattered. Shit. Shit shit shit.
He strolled forward to me, all cocky walk. I moved forward and offered him my hand, wishing I could summon up some enthusiasm for our pairing.
I had none to offer.
CHAPTER THREE
So I met my partner today. She’s the mouthiest chick I’ve ever met in my life. Won’t shut up for five minutes. Seriously. Stick up her ass, too. Determined to win this thing. Like it’s a real contest or something? Come on. We’re going to prance around the ice in skates like a bunch of goofballs. — Ty Randall, Private Conversation with his Manager
“Hi, I’m Zara,” I told him, trying to ignore the camera two inches from my face. “Nice to meet you.”
He grabbed my hand and shook it, lips twisting into a slight smirk. “Ty.”
“I know who you are. So, you excited to be on the show?”
“Am I excited to be on the show?” he mimicked, mocking my high pitched, slightly-nervous tone. “Do I look like I’m f**king excited?”
I dropped his hand like I’d been scalded. “Then why are you here?”
“I’m here because I have to be. No more, no less.” He glanced around, his gaze lingering on the slinky Annamarie. “Parts of it might be interesting.” He glanced over at me and seemed less enthused. “I’m not wearing f**king sequins or feathers, though, so get that shit right out of your head.”
“Oh darn, I guess this means I’m not going to have a lot of opportunity to use my Bedazzler,” I said sarcastically. “Gee, and here I was so looking forward to that.”
“Ha ha.” He didn’t sound amused. If anything, he sounded more irritated. “Look, missy—”
“Zara—”
“Zara,” he echoed. “I’m just trying to lay down the law so you know what to expect out of the next few weeks. I’m here because it’s required of me. It’s not because I want to dress up in a goddamn tutu and flounce around on the ice. You understand me? So don’t expect too much.”
My jaw set, and I wanted to kick him in the nuts for his lousy attitude. “All right then. Well, let me tell you what I’m thinking, since we’re laying the law down and all. I want to win. I’m determined to win, even if I have to work around having you as a partner. Shit happens, but I’m good enough that I can make even a clown like you look light-footed. But let’s get one thing straight. I intend to win, so don’t you get in my way, understand?”
He stared at me. After a long moment, he added, “You going to f**king yap at me for the next two months?”
“Probably. And if you don’t make an effort? I’m going to make your life miserable. Understand?”
Ty looked amused. “That’s cute. You do realize you’re ninety pounds soaking wet?”
I was a hundred and two pounds, and what did it matter? “What does my size have to do with anything?”
“If you think you’re going to intimidate me, honey, it’s not working.”
“Don’t you ‘honey’ me,” I said, outraged.
A camera zoomed in next to my face, and I froze. I hadn’t even met my partner for five minutes and we were already fighting. Well, crap. This didn’t bode well for job longevity. The scathing putdown I’d been about to lay on him died in my throat. Instead, I gave him a tight smile. “We practice at 6:00 AM. Be there.”
I turned on my heel and began to walk away.
“I’ll consider it,” he called after my back.
“Six in the morning!” I yelled back.
“I can’t believe it,” my friend Naomi gasped in my ear. “You’re paired up with Ty the Biter? Have you seen the internet articles on him?”
I rolled over on my bed, staring up at the ceiling, my cellphone hot against my ear. We’d been on the phone for an hour, and even complaining to my best friend hadn’t made me feel better about things. “I haven’t. Just that he’s a fighter and he bit some dude on the nose. Give me the skinny.”
“Okay.” She paused for a moment, then said, “So, apparently he dates a lot of C and D list starlets. His name’s attached to a bunch of famous chicks. That’s why he’s such a big deal.”
Like I cared about that. “And?”
“And he has a type. Big. Blonde. Surgically enhanced.”
“Got it. Boulders. This doesn’t help me much, though, Naomi. I don’t want to date the troll. I want to know what to expect when we’re skating.”
“I’m looking, I’m looking,” she muttered. “Oooh. Let’s see. He played college hockey.”
I brightened. “That’s a good sign—”
“Got kicked out for missing too many practices.”
Damn it. “So what you’re telling me is that I’ve got a slacker with temper issues that can skate, but because I don’t have a pair of cannons strapped to my chest, I’m shit out of luck?”
“Kinda what it sounds like. Sorry, girl.”
I sighed. “That’s okay. I’ll just make the best of things. I mean, if I work my tail off, the show can’t blame me, right?”
“I have no idea. Sorry. I’ve never been on TV. I’m a pre-med student, remember?”
I remembered. And groaned. “Why couldn’t I have gotten a decent partner? All the guys got good ones. It’s so unfair.”
“Just do your best,” Naomi said cheerfully. “That’s all you can do.”
A loud “What the f**k?” came from the other room.
Naomi paused. “What was that?”
“You heard that?” I cocked my free ear, listening to the other room. Bottles clinked with rapidity, and and then I heard what sounded like a lot of bottles shaking. “That would be my roommate, Prince Charming. Apparently they’ve decided that things will be more exciting if we’re sharing a house together.”
Naomi gasped, the sound tinny on the other end of the line. “You have to share a house with him? Are you freaking out?”
“Nope. Too many cameras around for him to try any shenanigans. He’s here for PR. He’ll be on his best behavior.” I thought for a moment, and then added, “Theoretically.”