Ice Games Read online

  To say I was frustrated was an understatement.

  Imelda looked clearly hurt by my arguments. “Well, Miss Zara, I understand your concerns. Would you like for me to tell the network that you’re not interested in doing the routine?”

  I blinked a few times. “No, ma’am. I want this job.”

  She beamed at me, just as if I hadn’t argued with her at all. “Well then, I believe we should practice, don’t you? Now for starters, let’s get you two comfortable with each other. You both look like two porcupines with how prickly you’re being to one another.” She gestured with her hands for us to move forward. “Ice dancing is all about body language, and right now your body language is telling me ‘no thank you.’ I want you both to pull in together and try to waltz on the ice.”

  I dug my toe pick into the ice and skated toward Ty, extending my hand for him to take.

  He grasped it in his, and I was immediately struck at how strong—and big—his hand was compared to mine. I knew that my build was small, but standing next to Ty’s bulk, he made me feel positively dwarfed. His big hand clutched mine, and his hand went to my waist, pulling me in.

  Did I think that Ty spontaneously holding my hands had been intimate? It was nothing compared to him putting his hand at my waist and dragging me against him. My breast pressed against his chest, and my body fitted against his.

  Imelda tittered. “Not that close. This isn’t dirty dancing.”

  “Yeah, that’d probably get better ratings,” Ty muttered, his gaze flicking to me.

  I smothered a laugh. “This is serious,” I told him in a stern voice. “Please concentrate.”

  “Further apart, please,” Imelda instructed us.

  I obediently took a step backward, extending our embrace outward.

  Imelda continued to sit on her bench, directing us from afar as she guided us on our posture. She never took a step toward the ice, content with politely barking orders from afar as we shuffled, clasped hands, re-clasped, adjusted our arms, and whatever else she wanted us to do. When she was satisfied with our posture, we were instructed to simply dance around the rink in time.

  I picked it up easily, which was no surprise, since I had a lot of skating experience.

  Ty was definitely the weak link on our team. He struggled to find a rhythm, and his hand clasped mine so tightly that it was sweating. He frowned the entire time, watching our feet. When he stumbled, he thrust me away from him, clearly done. “This is stupid. I hate this.”

  “Ty,” his manager said warningly.

  “I feel like I’m fucking back in high school,” Ty muttered.

  “You’re acting like it too,” I told him in a light voice, extending my hand back out to him.

  He glared at me, wiping sweat from his brow. “Aren’t you tired? Don’t you want a break? I think we’ve got this.”

  “Actually,” I told him. “We don’t have this. We’re not even close to having this. Your steps aren’t even remotely close to being in time with mine, your arms aren’t locked, and your skating has no rhythm at all. If we go out there like this, you’ll make us a laughingstock, and I’m not about to have that happen. So if it takes twelve hours for us to get down how to move around on the ice? I’m fine with that, and you should be, too. Understand?”

  He pushed my extended hand away. “I’m not doing this for twelve more hours today.”

  “Fine then,” I told him. “You can take the rest of the day off, and we’ll do twelve hours tomorrow of nothing but holding hands and skating together.”

  He threw his hands up, as if done. “You know what? I’m out of here. Close enough. We have two weeks to learn this shit.” He began to skate off of the ice.

  I skated after him. “You can’t quit. It’s barely even eleven am. That’s way too early to finish for the day.”

  Both Imelda and his manager were frowning at him. “Ty,” his manager began.

  “Nope,” Ty said, stomping onto the carpeted steps with his skates, and then outside, not even bothering to take his skates off. “Done,” he yelled. “I’ve done enough.”

  I put my hands on my hips, frustrated. “Well, what the hell?” I looked over at Ty’s manager. “Are you going to let him just walk away like that?”

  He shrugged. “I can’t stop him. It doesn’t matter if he looks like he can skate, missy. The important thing is that he’s on the show and the public likes what they see enough to forget about any…indiscretions.”

  Unreal. So Ty was going to get to do whatever he wanted, and I was the one whose career was going to be sabotaged?

  This was so freaking unfair.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Zara? She’s a real piece of work. When she’s not nagging me—constantly, I might add—she’s at work on the ice. Body of a twig, heart of a champion. Gotta admire that. — Ty Randall, Day Two of Preliminary Practice, Ice Dancing with the Stars

  ~~ * ~~

  I continued to skate solo for the rest of the afternoon, learning the steps and beats of the routine as best as I could without a partner at my side. After all, just because he was lazy didn’t mean I was. Imelda hadn’t provided the music yet, but I didn’t need it. A good skater learned the routine first and meshed it with the music later. At least, that was how I’d always been taught. I wasn’t sure if it would work as well with ‘ice dancing’ (or whatever we were calling the skating we were doing), but I’d probably find out soon enough.

  By the time I was satisfied with the amount of work I’d put in, it was getting late, and the sun was going down. I’d worked up an exhausting sweat, my leotard soaked. But I felt good. My muscles were loose and aching from the workout I’d put them through, and my mood was awesome despite my terrible partner. I had a real skating job again, despite the crap partner and kiddie routine.

  They wanted a mannequin that would go out on the ice and do their rinky-dink performance? I’d be the best damn mannequin on ice ever.

  (I mean, after all, I’d already been a pink dinosaur on ice. A mannequin was a step up.)

  I took a long, hot shower in the locker room after practice. It was a little unnerving to notice that the gym had only one shower in the adjoining locker rooms, but I guessed it wouldn’t matter since Ty didn’t intend to work up much of a sweat. I changed into leggings and a tank top, grabbed my skates and dirty laundry, and headed back to the cottage.

  When I stepped inside, it was dark. Flashes of light came from the living room, along with the sounds from a loud action movie. Figured. He was watching TV while I was skating and learning our routine. Rolling my eyes, I dumped my stuff in my room and then considered a moment longer.

  I could let this continue, or I could nip it in the bud and have a talk with my partner.

  I went for option B.

  Heading into the living room of our cottage, I spotted Ty sprawled low on the overstuffed leather sofa. His legs were kicked up onto the art deco coffee table, the remote in one hand, beer in the other. A scatter of empty beer bottles covered the rest of the coffee table.

  I crossed the room and sat down on the far end of the couch, away from him, and folded my legs up against me, hugging one knee. I waited for him to say something to me.

  He didn’t blink an eye, just continued watching TV. After a moment, he lifted his beer to his lips and took another long swig.

  “Are you a drunk?” I asked.

  “Only when I’m imprisoned,” he said in a flat voice, gaze still glued to the television.

  “This isn’t a prison,” I told him. “This is supposed to be your second chance. And it’s not going to work if you’re cutting out early every day just to drink.”

  He looked over at me, then, and studied my face for a long moment. After a beat, he offered his beer to me. “You sound like you could use a drink.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Whatever.”

  “You scared?” He wiggled his eyebrows at me. “These are healthy. All those grains and all.”

  Sighing, I snatched the beer from his hand and
took a gigantic swig. I could never ignore a challenge. Almost immediately, I began to cough and choke. The taste was…vile.

  He snickered. “Is that your first beer, little girl?”

  “No,” I lied. Okay, so maybe it was. I wasn’t exactly a party girl. The closest I’d ever gotten to ‘party’ was champagne on New Year’s Eve. “God, that tastes awful.”

  “Take another sip. It’ll get better.” He grinned lazily at me.

  I took another sip and made a face. Still awful. I handed it back. “How can you drink that?”

  “Like I said, I’m imprisoned.” He took the bottle back and swigged it as if it were nothing. “Imprisoned and my cellmate’s an uptight stick with a mouth.”

  I bristled. A stick with a mouth? “Fuck you, Randall. I was coming out here to bury the hatchet, but I don’t care if you flame out and embarrass yourself on national television. You’re a huge jackass.”

  “Stick with a big mouth,” he muttered to himself, and took another sip of beer.

  I flounced up from the couch. “You’d better be there at practice tomorrow. That’s all I’m saying. I am not going to let you ruin my career just because you’re too macho to learn a few skate routines. Understand me? Because if you think you’re hated by the public now? You just wait. I can give them all kinds of shit to film in the next two weeks that will completely decimate what’s left of your image. If you tank my career, I’m dragging you down with me.”

  And with that, I stormed to my room.

  ~~ * ~~

  That night, I was having the dirtiest dream.

  “Hey baby,” Ty Randall breathed into my ear. “Move your hands, sweetheart.” His big body pressed up against mine, and he felt delicious. We were on the ice in sparkling white costumes, waiting for the music to start. He’d pulled my entire body against his, and our legs were intertwined in a gravity-defying lock that was only possible in dreams. His legs rubbed against my own, so big and strong. His arm went over my shoulders and pulled me against him even more, and I was deliciously enveloped against his chest.

  How had he known exactly what I wanted? Ty Randall, all over me.

  One hand pushed onto my breast and I frowned down at it. I was pretty sure the judges would count off for groping during a routine. He squeezed…

  And my eyes flew open.

  We weren’t on the ice.

  I wasn’t alone in bed.

  A big, warm male body was pressed against my own, his legs mixed with mine. Ty Randall had me pulled against his much bigger body, and his hand really was on my breast, kneading it. He was under the covers with me.

  I flung his hand off of me and sat up, horrified. Horrified at him, and horrified at my own reaction (which wasn’t all rage). “What are you doing?”

  He didn’t open his eyes, simply burrowed deeper into my pillows. “Sleeping.”

  “No! You can’t sleep in here! What are you doing in my room, you idiot?”

  He mumbled something that sounded like ‘I’m the celebrity and I should get whatever room I want’.

  I jabbed him with my finger and looked over at the clock. 5:55 in the morning. Five minutes before my alarm was set to go off. “You can’t have whatever room you want. I’m in this one. I gave you the big one because you’re the celebrity!”

  “Windows,” he mumbled into my pillow. “Want the one without the windows. Hurts my head.”

  Oh, he wanted his head to hurt, did he? I leaned into his ear. “FUCK YOUR HEAD. GET OUT OF MY BED.”

  He groaned and jerked upright, knocking his skull into my nose.

  I gasped, flying backward, my fingers clutched to my nostrils. Blood was suddenly gushing from my nose. “Fuck!”

  He was instantly awake, sitting up in the bed. His hand clutched his head. “Oh shit. You okay?”

  I ran to my bathroom, flicking the light on and reaching for a towel, not answering him. Blood was everywhere.

  “Shit. Shit shit shit,” he moaned. I heard the bed creak even as I pressed the towel to my nose, waiting for it to stop bleeding. “Fuck, Zorba, I’m sorry.”

  “Zara,” I told him, my voice muffled from the towel.

  “Zara,” he echoed. “Zara. Zara. Sorry. I didn’t mean to bloody your nose.” Ty gave me a chagrined look. There were dark rings under his eyes, and he looked like a mess. “You just startled the hell out of me when you yelled in my ear.”

  I shot him the bird, still pressing the towel to my nose with my other hand. “I’m going to have two black eyes now, thanks to you.”

  “Ah fuck,” he rubbed a hand down his face. “Great. Now I’m going to have the reputation of beating up girls as well as biting noses.”

  “I’m not a girl, remember? I’m just a stick with a mouth,” I said bitterly.

  “Actually, I felt your tits. They’re pretty good, given that you look like you’re fourteen.”

  “Fuck you! I’m twenty-five!”

  “I know, I know.” He raised his hands in the air, apology on his rough features. “Can we talk about this, Zara? Come to a compromise?”

  “You’re not getting my room!”

  He looked confused for a moment, and then rubbed a hand down his face. “Not that. I don’t give a shit about that now. But if my manager sees you with two black eyes and the camera crew films that? I’m done. I’m so done. Here.” He shoved my makeup bag at me. “Put some powder or girl shit on it and cover it up.”

  “No. I’m going to tell everyone you head butted me.” I’d just leave out the part where it was an accident. “At least this way, I can salvage my career.”

  “It would totally fuck me. Come on, Zara, please.” He dropped to his knees, and I realized for the first time that he was wearing a pair of boxer briefs and nothing else. His big, muscular body flexed as he clasped his meaty hands in front of him in a supplicating pose. And his thighs? When he knelt, his thighs were nothing but enormous cords of muscle. The athlete in me really liked that. Far too much.

  “Look,” he said, giving me a sincere expression of misery. “This is me, begging you for mercy. It’ll totally screw me over if they think I hit you on purpose. After my last incident, no one will think it’s an accident.”

  “Well, we can just tell them the truth,” I said, too-sweetly. “I’ll just say that you got totally plastered and crawled into my bed, and when I tried to get away from you, you head butted me.”

  He groaned, covering his face with his hands. “I am so fucking screwed.”

  “Unless…” I teased, checking the washcloth and turning it. Still bleeding. Ugh. He’d smacked me good.

  Ty looked up at me with so much hope in his eyes that I felt a twinge of pity for the guy. I knew what it was like to fuck up and have everything come crashing down around you. Also, his big pale eyes were kind of sexy. Silvery, almost. Normally they made him look mean, but right now? I kind of liked it.

  “Unless you promise to take this whole ice dancing thing seriously,” I told him, pulling the wad of fabric away from my nose and checking my face in the mirror. My normally tiny nose looked like a potato, and my eyes were already swelling. Lovely. The bleeding had mostly stopped, though, and I looked over at Ty. “I will go out there and tell everyone I practiced late. No, that we practiced late. You had a change of heart and came back. My toe pick got caught on something, and I miscalculated and landed on my face.”

  Hope lit up his brutish features, and for the first time since I’d met him, Ty didn’t seem like a Neanderthal or a caveman. He was actually kind of cute when he wasn’t scowling or drunk. His face was a little more rugged than I liked normally, and he’d definitely taken several hard punches to the face, but he had an appeal to him when he was looking up at me like that. “You’d do that for me? Lie to everyone?”

  “I will…if,” I said, and I made sure to emphasize the ‘if.’ “If you take this seriously.”

  He considered me for a long, long moment, those silver eyes regarding my face. “How seriously?”

  “You know what? N
ever mind—”

  “I’m kidding, I’m kidding.” Ty got up from his knees and grabbed my arms when I turned away. “You mean the dancing shit, right? Fine, fine. I’ll go to practice.”

  “No, you’ll go to practice early and you’ll stay late,” I corrected. “Just like me. And I’ll go on and on about how nice of a partner you are, and how sweet and caring. And you’re going to work your tail off for this and make us both look good. It’s not just your career on the line here, buddy. It’s mine, too. If I don’t look good this season I won’t get asked back again.”

  “No sequins?” He looked dubious. “I really, really refuse to wear sequins.”

  “What is it with you and sequins?” I gave him an exasperated look. “No embarrassing costumes for either of us. We both take this seriously and come out of this to fix our careers, okay? All I want from you is that you work hard and don’t quit.”

  “I can do that,” he said, sincerity on his face. “I promise.”

  “And no more beer,” I added.

  “That’s two things.”

  I put my hands on my hips and glared at him.

  “Fine.” He sighed. “Wasn’t going to drink any more after this, anyhow. I think I’m scared straight.”

  “Good. So we both agree to work our asses off and do whatever it takes to fix our careers?”

  Ty nodded at me. “Agreed.”

  I spit on my palm and held it out to him. “Shake on it.”

  He looked at me like I’d just grown another head. “I’m not touching your hand if you spit on it.”

  I jiggled it at him. “You can’t seal a deal otherwise. It won’t work. The juju won’t be there.”

  His lip curled as if in disgust, and he stared at me for a moment longer. Was the big MMA fighter squeamish?

  I waited, staring at him, hand still extended.

  He sighed, spit into his own hand, and then smacked it against mine. “You are a strange chick,” he told me. And then he pulled his hand from mine and washed it off quickly.