I have an entire routine of mojo-producing things, but my favorite is to kiss the ice before I step onto it. It was something I started to do when I was a child, and it’s always brought me luck. Even after years of skating, I hadn’t changed. Kissing the ice was like asking it for permission. It showed respect, and it gave good juju.
I was a big fan of juju.
So I leaned in and kissed the ice, inhaling the crisp scent of it. God, I loved the ice. Nothing made me happier. The ritual done, I got back to my feet and set my skates on it, testing the feel. Somebody must have come by and ran a Zamboni overnight, because the ice was slick and spotless, not carved up in the slightest. I began to skate along the edges of the rink in circles, warming up my muscles while tearing up the ice just a little to make it easier to skate on.
Wouldn’t want precious Ty Randall falling and breaking his nose again, would we?
Once I was sufficiently warmed up, I began to work up a sweat, going through moves just to get my muscles going. An axel on this round, then a double axel. When I was fully warmed up, I’d do a triple. I also practiced my toe loops and a triple lutz. Then a sit spin, and moved into a standing spin, grasping my leg and pulling it high over my head to form a clean line.
The door to the gym opened, and I broke out of the spin and circled back around, hissing to a stop at the sight of an unfamiliar woman. I frowned, glancing around. “This is a private rink.”
“I’m Imelda Garcia,” she told me in a pleasant voice. “Your assigned choreographer.”
Oh. Disappointment flashed through me. She…didn’t look like what I’d pictured. I skated to the edge of the ice, and then dug my toe pick in to stop in place. “Hi. I’m Zara.”
She chuckled, looking for all the world like a schoolteacher more than a choreographer. Her hair was short and feathered with gray, and she wore a yellow cardigan and a pair of navy slacks with her loafers. She carried a big bag over one shoulder that didn’t look like athletic gear. “I know who you are. Now, where’s your partner?”
I skated away, keeping my muscles warm. “No clue. Sleeping off his beer, I suppose.”
She frowned at me. “You haven’t seen him? It’s nine in the morning.”
“Is it?” I hadn’t noticed. I’d been so caught up in enjoying my skating—my own private rink!—that I had lost track of time. I’d been picturing routines in my head, trying to think of the best moves that would be easy enough for a douchebag like Ty to do and still have us come out looking great.
“Yes. Where’s your cameraman?”
“I don’t know that either,” I told her, shrugging. Then, I curled into another sit spin, because skating was easier than answering questions. A freaking choreographer. Imelda was nice, but I resented that we had to have one. I liked to do my own routines, damn it. Wouldn’t I know what was best for me? This was like having a coach again—worse, because at least a coach would be positive and encourage you. A coach could tell you how to fix your moves.
Imelda didn’t look as if she’d ever stepped onto the ice. I gave her another wary look as I circled around, hands on my hips. She had a phone out and was calling someone. A minute later, she put it down and gave me a tight smile. “We’ll get this taken care of.”
“Okay,” I told her, and I began to speed around the ice, jumping into a triple Salchow. I was off, though, and doubled it. Damn it. I lifted my skate and rubbed the penny taped to the bottom for more good juju, then skated around to try again. Nailed it the second time.
I was still skating and being ignored by Imelda when the double doors of the ice rink opened a short time later. In walked Ty, dressed in sweats and a dirty wife-beater. His eyes were puffy slits that told me he was hung over, and his feet were bare. Lovely. At his side, another man in an ugly striped polo shirt and khakis talked into his phone, a frown on his face. He held a pair of skates out to Ty, who snatched them with a grumpy look.
Ty had the look of a kid that had been called to the principal’s office.
Damn. I couldn’t even enjoy that. It had to be embarrassing. Who was that guy? His dad? His manager? It didn’t matter. Ty being schooled in front of me like a child wouldn’t do much for his mood.
The man clicked his phone shut and turned to Ty. He pointed at the ice. “Now. You’re here, and you’re going to do this competition like we talked about. If you ever want to fight in Vegas again, you need to take this shit seriously. Show people you have a heart. Because if you don’t, you’re finished. Remember Mike Tyson? The only reason he ever got work in this town again is because he had good PR people.”
Ty rolled his eyes and his shoulders slouched, the very picture of irritated sulking. “You know I don’t want to do this, Chuck.”
“Do you trust me?”
Ty glanced over at me, as if to say, “Do you believe this shit?” He smacked his lips a few times, as if considering, and then let his shoulders drop again. “Yeah.”
“Then no more f**king beer orgies. You’re going to shut up, and pay attention, and if you value your career, you’re going to do this f**king dancing shit, understand me?”
“Ice skating,” I corrected.
“Ice dancing,” Imelda said. “You’re both right.”
“Actually, it’s really not ice dancing,” I began, and then stopped. Oh, whatever. No one was listening anyhow. I twirled on the ice slowly, watching the scene play out.
There was another long, tense pause. Then Ty moved forward and sat down on the bench, putting his skates on. Once they were laced, he looked at his manager, then at me, and stepped onto the ice.
“Okay,” his manager said. “Why don’t you show them what you can do.”
Ty glanced over at him and took a few shuffling steps onto the ice, spreading his hands. “Voila.”
“I know you can skate,” I told him. “Don’t pull this shit.” And I circled around him just to show off.
He smirked at me and turned around, skating backward now. So I did another circle and passed him, just to show my stuff. The next few minutes turned into a pissing war between us. The faster he skated, the faster I moved around him, determined to zigzag in front every chance I got.
Then, when I crossed over in front of him again, he grabbed me around the waist and twirled us both in a circle, my skates flying into the air.