Ice Games Page 2

  We’d see how my celebrity friend liked warm beer and spoiled pizza rolls. He’d have no choice but to eat health food if that was all that was available.

  Satisfied with that solution, I grabbed my suitcase and headed to the rooms. Neither one was labeled, but one was clearly much smaller than the other. That one had to be mine. I looked longingly at the larger room. It had a wall full of windows that overlooked a woodsy, grassy backyard. Pretty. My room had no windows, since I was just the lowly figure skater. Whatever. I spent the next several minutes unpacking. My skates were the last to come out, and I caressed them lovingly before putting them in a place of honor on a hook on the wall. Skates didn’t touch the floor outside of the rink. That was bad juju, and I was mindful of my juju.

  Speaking of rinks. I left my room and headed to the back of the house. There was a sliding glass door off of the kitchen, and a concrete path leading through the grasses off into what looked like an enormous shed twice the size of the house in the distance. I opened the door and stepped out, and then looked down the row of cabins. Each other cabin had an identical shed. That must be our private rink. Smart. We didn’t have to share the ice with the other celebrities. I was glad, though I was surprised at how much money they’d put into the set-up of things. This had to cost a pretty penny. Ratings must have been better than I thought. With a skip in my step, I headed down the path and peeked in the door.

  The rink was small, but usable. A long row of mirrors lined the wall, and a barre was attached. There was a locker room on the far end of the building and off to one side, there was an electronic stereo set-up for the music. Nothing fancy, totally serviceable. I still liked it, though. My own private rink for the next two months. Heaven.

  I just had to put up with some beer-swilling pig of a partner and all of this paradise was mine.

  ~~ * ~~

  My phone rang at 3:00 PM California time, and I yawned, rousing from my nap. I wasn’t used to the hours here, and was still exhausted despite it being early afternoon. “Hello?”

  “This is Melody, calling you to remind you that the celebrities will be arriving in a half hour. Please be ready to meet your new partner. There will be camera crews at hand to film your reaction.”

  “Got it. Thank you.”

  I got up and put a bit of makeup on, and I smoothed my bun again, making sure I looked presentable without being too eager. I hated that I had been dressed so casually this morning. If I dolled up like crazy now, the other skaters would smirk endlessly at my obviousness, and I didn’t want to be on their radar any more than I already was. Still, I added some lipstick, since there would be cameras. Okay, and a bit of mascara. I had big, dark eyes, and it wouldn’t take much to make them pop.

  I went outside and walked down the street where the others were converging. There was apparently a clubhouse at the end of our private little neighborhood, and I guessed we needed to head that way. Stuffing my hands into the pockets of my hoodie, I sauntered toward it.

  Cameras and people were everywhere, and I saw one cameraman split off and immediately head for me. “Zara,” the cameraman said, waving me over. “Let’s do an interview.”

  Interview? Bleh. Part of the job, though. I put on my best smile and shrugged. “I’m game.”

  “Okay, great. Why don’t you tell us what it feels like to be part of the Ice Dancing with the Stars team? Please include the question in your answer and speak in complete sentences if possible to make it easier for the production crew.”

  Oh. Okay. “Being on the show is an amazing opportunity,” I told him, and I wasn’t lying. It seriously was.

  He gestured his hand for me to continue talking.

  Oh. Someone wanted me to actually keep going? Normally everyone couldn’t wait for me to shut up. “Well, actually, I’m super nervous,” I said, and gave a little bounce as if to illustrate this. “I’ve never been on TV and it’s been a while since I skated in any sort of professional capacity, so this is a big deal for me.”

  “But you were in the Olympics back in the day, right?” he interrupted, still filming me.

  “Oh, yeah.” And I grimaced. “We probably shouldn’t bring that up, though.”

  “So have you ever skated doubles?”

  “I have not skated doubles,” I told him. “This is actually a little different, because it’s ice dancing. Doubles is two people on ice, doing a coordinated routine together. Dancing is, well, dancing.” I didn’t bring up the fact that we weren’t even really doing ice dancing, just a mutated version of skating doubles. “You’re constantly in touch with your partner, which means you both have to be in time with the music, except there are two pairs of skates to keep track of instead of just one. It requires a lot more paying attention, because you’re only as strong as your partner.”

  “Let’s talk about partners. Are you excited to meet yours?”

  “Excited? I’m not sure if excited is the word I’d use. Nervous, yes. But not sure if excited is the right word. I’m mostly ready to get this thing started.” I bounced around again, unable to contain my anticipation. “I know everyone says they’re here to enjoy themselves, but don’t get me wrong, I’m here to win this thing. I’m ultra-competitive, and I tend to hyper-focus on things. So I plan on working from sun up to sun down to make sure that we totally rock this thing and get all the way to the end. I’m not going to settle for second best. Not from myself, and not from my partner.”

  “Great, thanks, Zara.”

  “Of course. Any time you need an interview, you just let me know. I aim to please.” And I’d kiss all the right asses if it meant being here next season.

  He left my side and went to go stand with a few of the other cameramen, so I wandered back to the other skaters. Emma beamed a smile at me. “You ready to meet your celebrity?”

  Man, everyone was sure focused on the whole celebrity thing. “I guess? I just hope he can skate.”

  Emma didn’t look worried. “They can. That’s one of the criteria for being on the show. They have to pass a physical and a rudimentary skating test. That, and they have to be someone people would be vaguely interested in seeing compete.” She gave me a fainter grin. “But their idea of skating prowess and ours is a little different, so just be sure to have low expectations.”

  “Low expectations. Got it.”

  “I am really glad that you’re here, Zara,” she said in a soft voice. “I wasn’t kidding. I always thought you got a bad rap. I mean, how many of us have wanted to walk off the ice after a bad performance?”

  “Yeah, but I was the dumbass that did it.” I shrugged. “And I learned why you don’t, but I learned the hard way.”

  “Well, I don’t think you should be punished for the rest of your life just because of something you did ten years ago,” she said softly. “Oh well, anyhow. I’m glad you’re here. Svettie was wanting that baby for forever, so I’m really glad she’s getting it, and I’m glad you’re getting your second chance. Just hope you don’t get stuck with a loser for a partner.”

  Emma sure was being friendly. It was good to have someone on my side. “How do they pick the partners?”

  She made a face at that, her eyes still scanning the horizon—likely for the incoming celebrities. “Oh, that. They pretend like it’s all random, but it’s really not. They select who you’re going to be paired with based on who they want to succeed.”

  My eyebrows drew together. “You mean it’s rigged?”

  She laughed. “It’s TV. Of course it’s rigged. They’re looking for optimal entertainment value, you know. Like you? They picked you because even though they want a good skater, they also like drama. You have the potential for drama. That’s also why they like Serge.” She nodded down the line at the men, who stood in a cluster, talking together. “Ten bucks says they’re going to give him someone sexy because he slept with his partner last year. Made a lot of tabloids. My guess is that they want him to sleep with his partner again.”

  “And you? What kind of partner did yo
u have last year?”

  “I got paired up with a guy that played a dad on TV. Older. Very sweet. If I get paired up with an older guy again, I’m guessing that’s my demographic. Feel-good.” Emma shrugged, but she didn’t seem upset by that.

  “And Tatiana?”

  “Tati is…” she trailed off, then looked over at me. “Well, looks like we’ll see very soon. I see the limos pulling up. Come on.”

  The group moved into action. Cameramen surged forward, and I followed Emma as a line of black sedans pulled in. They stopped, and the first driver got out, tricked out to the nines in a black suit and hat. He adjusted white gloves on his hands for maximum effect, and then went to open the back car door.

  A woman got out. Tall, beautiful, slender. She was dressed in a white pantsuit that left her entire back bare, oversized designer sunglasses, and too-bright red lipstick. It was immediately obvious who it was—Annamarie Evans, who’d been on the cover of every fashion magazine for the last five years or so, until she’d been usurped by a bustier, younger model. It happened a lot in her business, and my guess was that she was here to try and get herself a bit of attention.

  The cameras loved her, though. She smiled and nodded and gave a swing of her lovely hair, stepping gracefully toward a chalk-marked X that had been drawn on the asphalt for her to go stand on when she’d exited the car.

  I was guessing I’d just spotted Serge’s partner. She was gorgeous.

  The next limo contained another familiar figure—Michael Michaels. His black hair was cut into a mohawk, and spikes stuck out from both of his ears. Tattoos covered his neck, and he wore a black t-shirt that had the arm holes cut all the way down to his waistband, which was also covered in spikes. He wore a pair of tight leather jeans and big, buckle-laden boots. He also looked incredibly skinny and pale. I had his CD in my car at home.

  Next was a woman I didn’t recognize. She had blonde, wavy hair and wore a dark polo shirt and jeans. She wasn’t exactly dressed like Annamarie the model. I wondered what she did.

  Emma obviously knew. She leaned over to me. “Julia Mckillip. She’s a racecar driver. One of the few female ones.”

  O-kay. That was an interesting choice. “And she ice skates? Huh.”

  The next car held an older man with a plaid shirt, a cowboy hat, and a beard. I could almost hear Emma’s sigh of disappointment. “Louie Earl. Country singer. I bet he’s mine.”

  I bet he was, too.

  The next car held a younger girl, no more than sixteen or so. I recognized her, too. Victoria Kiss, a teen star with a few kid’s movies under her belt and an equal number of accompanying kid’s CDs. Not surprising, either. I wasn’t really seeing A-listers. I was seeing washed up, washing up, or looking to move up on the rather tough ladder in Hollywood.

  I considered Michael Michaels. If Louie Earl was Emma’s partner, either the rocker was mine or the next guy. I didn’t have anything against Michael Michaels (other than his dumb name), so he wouldn’t be so bad.

  “Last one,” Emma murmured, and I turned back to the end car, watching as the door opened.

  I didn’t have to fake my gasp of surprise. Neither did anyone else. We were all genuinely shocked at the man that came out of the sedan.

  Ty Randall, a.k.a. “Ty the MMA Biter.”

  Oh, Jesus. That was an…interesting choice.

  Michael Michaels had been lean and skinny. This guy was neither. Tall, but he seemed more muscles than anything else. His shoulders were broad, but he wasn’t bulky, and he moved like, well, a warrior. He had a big, thick neck, big thick legs, and a shaved head that held a five o’clock shadow. His face was impassive, not clearly defined, and one of his brows had a scar through it. His nose had clearly been broken more than once.

  Ty Fucking Randall.

  I didn’t watch Mixed Martial Arts, but I sure knew who he was. Everyone did. He’d made headlines about a month or two ago when he’d been headlining a fight in Vegas, and he’d bitten his opponent. Bitten. As in, chomp chomp. As in, tore a hunk out of his nose. People had been scandalized, and he’d been put on hiatus. No one wanted to fight him. It wasn’t exactly that you were expected to fight clean in MMA, but you didn’t tear your opponent’s face apart. I mean, Jesus. He’d made public apologies through his reps, but the incident was still too new and fresh on everyone’s minds for this to be anything besides a shock.

  And I was filled with a cold ripple of dread, thinking of all the beer in the fridge. Something told me that Michael Michaels wasn’t going to be my partner. Oh no. Oh, nonono.

  I didn’t want to be with Ty the Biter.

  It was clear he didn’t want to be here. He leaned against the sedan and crossed his legs, and then crossed his arms over his brawny chest. He looked bored. Pissed.

  He wouldn’t want to win. I had a feeling he was just here for some good PR. He sorely needed it. But my guess was that he’d also be just fine with last place. Not me. I needed to win.

  If he were my partner, I was screwed. Goodbye, second chance at a career. Hello, skate monitor at the mall once more. Or skating as Hildy the Pink Dinosaur in the local production of Dino Friends on Ice. Again.

  A woman with a big poof of feathered blonde hair came out from the other side of the cameras. “All right. It’s time for the team assignments! Are you ready?”

  It seemed to be a rhetorical question since no one was answering. I waited, tense as hell, for the assignments.

  “Tatiana will be paired with Michael Michaels.”

  The two moved forward and joined hands. Tatiana did a cute little twirl and beamed at the cameras. Michael Michaels just looked kind of bored. Okay then.

  “Victoria Kiss will be paired with Toby.”

  She grinned and moved forward, putting both of her hands into Toby’s, and then leaned forward to kiss him, her foot popping up. Cute.

  “Julia McKillip will be paired with Jon Jon.”

  Julia wasn’t a showy type. She moved forward and shook his hand, and then they stood next to each other awkwardly.

  “Annamarie Evans will be paired with Serge.”

  Annamarie didn’t walk—she glided forward, and Serge pulled her into his arms and dipped her. Hams, every last one of them.

  The only two left unclaimed were Louie Earl and Ty Randall. I looked at the two, and then had a new appreciation for Louie Earl’s stouter figure and his bushy beard. I could work with that. I knew I could. Being on a heartwarming team wouldn’t be so bad, and if the public loved us, we could do well even if we didn’t win. I could still be called back.

  “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 fucking 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 fucking se
quins 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 fucking 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.”