Ice Games
Page 24
I raised my brows and looked over at Ty as we entered the swanky restaurant. “Regular table? You a big sushi fan?”
He laughed.
“What’s so funny?” I crossed my arms over my chest, maneuvering through the sea of tight, white-tablecloth-covered tables. Each one was tiny, two chairs crammed close to it, and I had to watch myself to make sure I didn’t bump anyone’s elbows. The place looked pretty fancy.
“The last girl that asked me that wanted to ensure that I’d go down on her. Just sounded weird coming out of your mouth.”
“What? No! That wasn’t what I was—I mean—I didn’t—”
“I know,” he said with another chuckle. “Chill out.”
We moved to the far side of the crowded restaurant to a private booth with deep, red seats and wooden accents. I slid in on one side, and Ty slid in next to me instead of going to the other. After my initial moment of surprise, I scooted over a bit more, trying not to blush.
Now this was really feeling like a date. Bad Zara, bad. No lusting after your partner. Hooking up while ice skating together? Everything I’d ever been told by other skaters said that it was some seriously bad juju.
And we had enough things working against our mojo at the moment.
A waiter set down two glasses of water and gave Ty an expectant look.
“Bottle of sake, please,” Ty said. “Your best.”
The waiter nodded and whisked away.
Ty glanced over at me. “You wanted to drink the other night. I figured this’d be your chance to get good and plastered.”
“I’ve never had sake. Does it taste good?”
“That depends on your definition of good. It’ll get you drunk, though.”
“Fair enough,” I told him, curiously excited about getting sloshed. Hey, first time for everything.
“So what’s your story?” Ty asked me as the waiter returned with a tiny bottle and two even tinier shots. Ty immediately took the bottle and began to pour a teeny tiny shotglass for me, and then held it out.
“My story?” I took the tiny shot and sniffed it, not sure I liked the odor. It was cold, though. I’d wait for Ty to drink before trying it.
“Yeah. You don’t drink, don’t smoke, eat healthy food all the time, work out like a monster, and you’re talented as hell. Yet you’re on this show which, for all intents and purposes, is basically a regurgitation of a bunch of washed-up talent.”
I blinked at that assessment. “I should remind you that you’re on this show, too.”
“I know,” Ty told me, his voice blunt. He picked up his sake shot. “But I’ll be the first one to tell you that I fucked up my career.” He held his shot out to me.
I clinked mine to his. “To fuck-ups?”
“To fuck ups.” He tipped his head back and downed the shot.
I sipped mine and immediately coughed. God, that was strong. At Ty’s amused chuckle, I held my nose and downed the rest of the shot. It burned cold and oddly dry going down my throat, and I swallowed hard. Warm bliss began to spread through my veins. Oh. That was nice. “I’m…not sure I liked it.”
He grinned at me. “You’re fine. Have another before you decide.”
“Okay,” I said, holding my shot glass out to him.
“But you have to tell me your story.”
As he poured, I shrugged. “I thought you already knew my story. Everyone else does.”
“Nope. Contrary to what one might believe, I’m not much of a follower of figure skating.”
I giggled at that. “Somehow, I have no problem believing that. Okay, me.” I thought for a moment, and as soon as he filled my shot, I held my nose again and drank the next. I gave a little shiver at the burn going down my throat. “Oh, wow. Okay, I think I liked that one more.”
“Slow it down, Zara,” he said in a husky voice, scooting closer to me. “We’ve got all night.”
Those delicious words burned through me nearly as much as the sake did. I gave him a slow smile, and then my focus went to his mouth. Such a beautiful, full mouth. Hard to believe it had bitten half of some guy’s nose off.
“Your story?” he prompted again.
“Right.” I put my elbows on the table and propped my chin in my hands. “Well, this might come as a shock to you, but I can be a bit high strung at times.”
He clutched his chest, as if shocked. “No! You’re kidding me.”
I batted my hand at him. “Very funny. It’s true. Actually, I was a lot worse during my teenage years because I was also a huge brat. I was super successful really early. I was doing Nationals by the time I was twelve, and I medaled at my first one. And my next. People thought I was a prodigy, and so did I. I got really, really stuck on myself.” I swirled my finger on the rim of my shotglass, and then I licked it. I could get used to the taste of sake, especially if it came with that lovely burn in the stomach afterwards.
“Uh oh,” he said, teasing. “I think I smell hubris on its way.”
“Oh, it’s hubris all right. Anyhow, the 2002 Olympics came up after I’d won Nationals again. I was picked for the Olympic team, and I was the gold medal favorite. I knew it, too. I knew I’d win. I was great at the technical stuff, and I always scored very high on artistry. Judges loved me, and I think it’s because I was tiny and graceful. I can fly through the air on a triple like nobody’s business.”
“I’ve seen that,” he murmured, his voice warm and appreciative.
“I had already planned out my career after my gold medal win. I’d accept a few sponsorships, go on tour, maybe reach out for an acting career, who knows. I was only fourteen, and I had everything at my feet.” I sighed. “And then I blew it. I skipped a practice on a crucial day because I saw a penny face-down before I went onto the ice. I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m also extremely superstitious.”
That sexy smile tugged at his mouth. “The thought crossed my mind once or twice.”
“Well, I was an arrogant little shit, remember? So I figured I had my routine perfectly, and if I practiced, I’d just give myself bad luck. So despite Edgar—he was my coach—and his screaming, I skipped it. I knew better than him, of course. I was the great Zara Pritchard.” I rolled my eyes at how arrogant I’d been.
“And…” he prompted.
“And of course I fucked it up,” I told him. “This story does not have a happy ending. I landed smack dab on my ass in front of the judges’ panel. It was the worst. I should have picked myself up and kept going, but instead, I panicked. I was so embarrassed at the thought of me—the amazing Zara Pritchard—bombing out in front of the world that I ran off the ice.” I gave him a wry look. “Rule number one of figure skating? Always finish gracefully. Never, ever, ever walk off the ice.”
“So what happened?”
I winced. “They booed me. I might have shot the world the bird.”
He chuckled.
I grimaced. At least one of us thought it was funny. “I scratched. I was a disgrace to the team. I had to make a public apology for my actions. Penelope Marks won the gold and got my endorsement deals. I got a big fat donut.” I made an O with my fingers. “My coaches fired me. So did my manager. I was disinvited from every event I could think of for poor sportsmanship. And I couldn’t show my face for years afterward. Still can’t, in a lot of circles. I’ve been blackballed by any figure skater that might have any sort of professional pull, and now I’m too old to start over. So I get jobs where I can. I skate at a mall, give private lessons to kids, and have done the occasional foray as a big, pink dinosaur.” I grimaced. “And thinking about all that? Makes me realize I need another drink.” I held my glass out to him.
He laughed.
“What’s so funny?” I crossed my arms over my chest, maneuvering through the sea of tight, white-tablecloth-covered tables. Each one was tiny, two chairs crammed close to it, and I had to watch myself to make sure I didn’t bump anyone’s elbows. The place looked pretty fancy.
“The last girl that asked me that wanted to ensure that I’d go down on her. Just sounded weird coming out of your mouth.”
“What? No! That wasn’t what I was—I mean—I didn’t—”
“I know,” he said with another chuckle. “Chill out.”
We moved to the far side of the crowded restaurant to a private booth with deep, red seats and wooden accents. I slid in on one side, and Ty slid in next to me instead of going to the other. After my initial moment of surprise, I scooted over a bit more, trying not to blush.
Now this was really feeling like a date. Bad Zara, bad. No lusting after your partner. Hooking up while ice skating together? Everything I’d ever been told by other skaters said that it was some seriously bad juju.
And we had enough things working against our mojo at the moment.
A waiter set down two glasses of water and gave Ty an expectant look.
“Bottle of sake, please,” Ty said. “Your best.”
The waiter nodded and whisked away.
Ty glanced over at me. “You wanted to drink the other night. I figured this’d be your chance to get good and plastered.”
“I’ve never had sake. Does it taste good?”
“That depends on your definition of good. It’ll get you drunk, though.”
“Fair enough,” I told him, curiously excited about getting sloshed. Hey, first time for everything.
“So what’s your story?” Ty asked me as the waiter returned with a tiny bottle and two even tinier shots. Ty immediately took the bottle and began to pour a teeny tiny shotglass for me, and then held it out.
“My story?” I took the tiny shot and sniffed it, not sure I liked the odor. It was cold, though. I’d wait for Ty to drink before trying it.
“Yeah. You don’t drink, don’t smoke, eat healthy food all the time, work out like a monster, and you’re talented as hell. Yet you’re on this show which, for all intents and purposes, is basically a regurgitation of a bunch of washed-up talent.”
I blinked at that assessment. “I should remind you that you’re on this show, too.”
“I know,” Ty told me, his voice blunt. He picked up his sake shot. “But I’ll be the first one to tell you that I fucked up my career.” He held his shot out to me.
I clinked mine to his. “To fuck-ups?”
“To fuck ups.” He tipped his head back and downed the shot.
I sipped mine and immediately coughed. God, that was strong. At Ty’s amused chuckle, I held my nose and downed the rest of the shot. It burned cold and oddly dry going down my throat, and I swallowed hard. Warm bliss began to spread through my veins. Oh. That was nice. “I’m…not sure I liked it.”
He grinned at me. “You’re fine. Have another before you decide.”
“Okay,” I said, holding my shot glass out to him.
“But you have to tell me your story.”
As he poured, I shrugged. “I thought you already knew my story. Everyone else does.”
“Nope. Contrary to what one might believe, I’m not much of a follower of figure skating.”
I giggled at that. “Somehow, I have no problem believing that. Okay, me.” I thought for a moment, and as soon as he filled my shot, I held my nose again and drank the next. I gave a little shiver at the burn going down my throat. “Oh, wow. Okay, I think I liked that one more.”
“Slow it down, Zara,” he said in a husky voice, scooting closer to me. “We’ve got all night.”
Those delicious words burned through me nearly as much as the sake did. I gave him a slow smile, and then my focus went to his mouth. Such a beautiful, full mouth. Hard to believe it had bitten half of some guy’s nose off.
“Your story?” he prompted again.
“Right.” I put my elbows on the table and propped my chin in my hands. “Well, this might come as a shock to you, but I can be a bit high strung at times.”
He clutched his chest, as if shocked. “No! You’re kidding me.”
I batted my hand at him. “Very funny. It’s true. Actually, I was a lot worse during my teenage years because I was also a huge brat. I was super successful really early. I was doing Nationals by the time I was twelve, and I medaled at my first one. And my next. People thought I was a prodigy, and so did I. I got really, really stuck on myself.” I swirled my finger on the rim of my shotglass, and then I licked it. I could get used to the taste of sake, especially if it came with that lovely burn in the stomach afterwards.
“Uh oh,” he said, teasing. “I think I smell hubris on its way.”
“Oh, it’s hubris all right. Anyhow, the 2002 Olympics came up after I’d won Nationals again. I was picked for the Olympic team, and I was the gold medal favorite. I knew it, too. I knew I’d win. I was great at the technical stuff, and I always scored very high on artistry. Judges loved me, and I think it’s because I was tiny and graceful. I can fly through the air on a triple like nobody’s business.”
“I’ve seen that,” he murmured, his voice warm and appreciative.
“I had already planned out my career after my gold medal win. I’d accept a few sponsorships, go on tour, maybe reach out for an acting career, who knows. I was only fourteen, and I had everything at my feet.” I sighed. “And then I blew it. I skipped a practice on a crucial day because I saw a penny face-down before I went onto the ice. I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m also extremely superstitious.”
That sexy smile tugged at his mouth. “The thought crossed my mind once or twice.”
“Well, I was an arrogant little shit, remember? So I figured I had my routine perfectly, and if I practiced, I’d just give myself bad luck. So despite Edgar—he was my coach—and his screaming, I skipped it. I knew better than him, of course. I was the great Zara Pritchard.” I rolled my eyes at how arrogant I’d been.
“And…” he prompted.
“And of course I fucked it up,” I told him. “This story does not have a happy ending. I landed smack dab on my ass in front of the judges’ panel. It was the worst. I should have picked myself up and kept going, but instead, I panicked. I was so embarrassed at the thought of me—the amazing Zara Pritchard—bombing out in front of the world that I ran off the ice.” I gave him a wry look. “Rule number one of figure skating? Always finish gracefully. Never, ever, ever walk off the ice.”
“So what happened?”
I winced. “They booed me. I might have shot the world the bird.”
He chuckled.
I grimaced. At least one of us thought it was funny. “I scratched. I was a disgrace to the team. I had to make a public apology for my actions. Penelope Marks won the gold and got my endorsement deals. I got a big fat donut.” I made an O with my fingers. “My coaches fired me. So did my manager. I was disinvited from every event I could think of for poor sportsmanship. And I couldn’t show my face for years afterward. Still can’t, in a lot of circles. I’ve been blackballed by any figure skater that might have any sort of professional pull, and now I’m too old to start over. So I get jobs where I can. I skate at a mall, give private lessons to kids, and have done the occasional foray as a big, pink dinosaur.” I grimaced. “And thinking about all that? Makes me realize I need another drink.” I held my glass out to him.
