Chapter 8

EIGHT

Annie

"I need sex."

Ivan holds his arms out at his sides. "Hey. I've told you—any time."

I snort. "We both know that's not happening."

"We could try again."

I know he's talking shit by the curve of his lips as he dishes instant pot Mediterranean chicken onto a plate.

We became skating partners at twelve years old. He knew intimate details about me, like when I was having my period and felt bloated and grouchy, when I needed to wax my bikini line due to a skimpy costume, and the fact that I wore padded bras off the ice to make up for my non-existent boobs. I told him when his nose hairs needed trimming and showed him how to tame his unibrow.

At one point, teenage hormones and curiosity overcame us and we considered dating. We tried making out but ended up both collapsed in laughter. That put an end to any romantic ideas and we continued popping each other's zits and giving dating advice about other people.

"Sure," I say casually, taking the plate he offers. "I could use a good laugh."

He grins. "Me, too."

"I need stress relief." I pick up my fork, sitting at the counter on a stool. "Sex is good for that."

"Nothing better," he agrees. "Is it the job?"

"I guess so? Things are going okay." I tell him about my meeting with management. "It sounded positive. And… I had coffee, er lunch, with Logan today." I poke at a black olive. "We sort of came to a truce."

He lifts an eyebrow. "That's good."

"I still hate him."

Ivan laughs.

"What?" I scowl at him.

"That didn't sound very forceful."

I nod slowly. "I know. He's actually not so bad. I mean, he still did a terrible thing." I'm having a hard time reconciling the monster that hurt my brother with the handsome charmer sitting across from me in the diner, making me laugh, disarming me with his apologies. "He apologized."

"Wow."

"He apologized for what happened with Jensen but also for being a dick to me about the skating." I shake my head. "I don't exactly know how to deal with that."

"Do you think he was sincere?"

I purse my lips. "I do," I answer reluctantly. "And he has paid for what happened."

"Did he learn from it?"

I eat a piece of chicken while I consider that. "He says he's never intended to hurt someone." After a pause, I add, "He actually got kind of squeamish when I was talking about my injuries, like that time I fell backwards on the ice and hit my head."

"Jesus. Don't remind me of that. I lost ten years off my life that day."

I smile. "And he told me about his dad. He played hockey, too. Dennis Coates. Also known as Dennis the Menace."

"Never heard of him."

"You aren't into hockey." I wave a hand. "He was a famous goon, years ago. Apparently he thinks his son should follow in his footsteps."

"Ohhhh."

"I got the feeling Logan doesn't want to do that." When I made that comment, like father, like son, he'd seemed really uncomfortable.

Ivan shrugs. "And yet…"

I sigh. "I know. Anyway. It sounds like he's at least going to be more cooperative. Not sure about some of the other guys, though. Jake Colman is kind of a jerk. Although, Logan said he talked to him and told him to cut out the sexist bullshit."

Ivan fixes his gaze on me. "Logan did that."

"Yeah." I pop an olive into my mouth and shrug.

"Interesting." He nods slowly and forks up rice.

"I told him I can handle him myself. I've done it before. There was this guy at Bayard who told me he'd love to serve a five-minute penalty in my box."

Ivan chokes. "Jesus. What did you say?"

"I pretended I didn't understand what he meant." I grin, "I was like, ‘What does that mean?' And he said, ‘It's a joke.' And I said, ‘I don't get it. Can you explain it to me?' And he started sputtering and backtracking and got all red in the face."

"Ha. That's good."

"Sometimes that works. If it's a guy who gets that it's sexist and harmful. But some guys double down on the joke." I roll my eyes.

"You're a tough cookie."

I straighten. "I am."

"So, back to needing sex…"

I give him a look.

"I mean, do you want me to fix you up with someone? I know! Come out with us this weekend. Some of my friends are going to check out a new club in the Meatpacking District. You need some fun."

"Ooooh. A dance club?"

"Yeah."

I love dancing. Dance lessons were part of my figure skating training and I love, love, love moving to music, which totally makes sense. "Okay! That sounds fun."

* * *

We're greeted by pumping music that I feel right in my heart and I instantly want to boogie. I take in the surroundings of Club Crystal. The name obviously comes from the multitude of chandeliers hanging from the high, dark ceiling, all different shapes, sizes, and styles, all dripping with crystals. The bar stretches out in front of us, surrounded by party spaces also lit by chandeliers, and we're led to a small private room with red velvet banquettes and silky curtains tied back. From here we can see the high booth where DJ Phunk is spinning tunes. The dance floor isn't full, but it's early yet.

Excitement ripples through my blood. "This is so cool!"

Ivan has introduced me to his friends Inaya, Maya, Ellen, Khaza, Mateo, and Jack. Ellen and Khaza are a couple; the others are all single. I've met Inaya and Maya briefly and they seem nice. We arrange ourselves in the booth and order drinks. Maya and Inaya order cocktails, so I do, too, but the guys order a bottle of Tito's vodka, which I know is Ivan's favorite.

My Crystal Rum Punch is delicious and disappears much too quickly as we chat. Inaya and I compare notes on our drinks, and I next order what she had, something called a Flower Power. Also delicious!

The music gets to me and I beg Ivan to come dance. He's my favorite dance partner, and together again we move in a rhythm that's instinctive and familiar. A funky mix of Pump Up the Jam has us grooving to the beat and grinning at each other.

We worked with various choreographers over the years, learning dance moves in the studio that we translated onto the ice. When the tune "We Will" comes on, a hip hop song we used as one of our numbers years ago, we immediately do our choreographed moves. I laugh out loud at how good it feels as I spin.

I'm aware of other dancers watching us. I know we're good dancers and I'm used to being watched. Performing was part of the fun of figure skating.

After a few songs, I grab Ivan's arm. "I need another drink!" I call over the loud beats.

We head off the dance floor, me hanging on his arm, and I stop short when I see Logan Coates standing at a high-top table, staring at us.

"What?" Ivan glances down at me.

"Um." My gaze moves over Logan's companions—Evan Russell, Luke Burrows, and Jay Bobak. "Some of the Bears players are here." I gesture toward them.

Ivan looks that way. "Oh, cool. You going to say hi?"

"I guess I should." I release his arm. "Can you order me a pineapple martini?"

He makes a face. "If I must."

I turn back to the hockey players and walk toward their table. All four guys gape at me as if I'm walking toward them naked. My smile falters but I lift a hand in a wave as I approach.

"Hi!" I greet them. "Imagine meeting you guys here!"

They continue to stare at me, open-mouthed.

Logan looks away first, greeting me with a terse, "Hey," then takes a big pull of the beer he's holding.

My gaze goes back and forth among them. "What's wrong? You all look weird."

"You look…uh…" Jay waves a hand at me, then closes his mouth.

"You look different." Luke blinks at me.

"Oh." I look down at my black dress and heels. "Yeah, I guess this is different than at work."

"Different," Logan mutters. "Yeah."

After an uncomfortable pause, I ask, "Have you been here before?"

"No," they all say at once

"It's new," Jay says. "We had to check it out. We heard it was good."

"Great DJ!" I reply.

"You were burning up the dance floor." Luke rubs a hand over his forehead. "Who knew you had moves like that."

"I knew." Evan elbows Luke. "Haven't you seen her figure skate?"

"No."

"Lots of videos out there," Evan says.

"Oh boy." I shake my head. "You don't need to be watching those."

"Hey, you were good," Evan says.

"Aw, thank you."

Logan drinks more beer.

"Was that your boyfriend you were dancing with?" Jay asks.

"Just a friend." I wave over at the booth. "We're here with some other friends." Inaya and Maya are watching with avid interest. Actually, they all are. The tall, good-looking guys I'm talking to are attracting as much interest as Ivan and I were on the dance floor. Especially from women. I sigh. Hockey players. I've seen it all my life. Even my stupid brothers had girls chasing them all the time. I don't get it.

Then Maya slides out of the booth and trips over to us in her heels. "Hi! Ivan says you work with these guys." She beams at them all.

"I do." I bite back a smile and introduce everyone.

"You should come join us!" she says. "We have lots of room!"

The guys exchange looks, then nod. Well, all but Logan. His face is still frozen in a slightly unhappy grimace.

"Okay, sure," Jay says.

They all pick up their drinks and follow Maya back to our room. My pineapple martini has arrived and I grab it gratefully as I'm crowded in between Logan and Evan.

"You two are such good dancers!" Maya says to Ivan and me. "We were watching you out there."

"Thanks!"

Awareness of two big, warm, male bodies on either side of me has my skin prickling all over.

Dammit. I still need sex.

I inhale and breathe in a scent of herbs and citrus, fresh and clean. It's Logan. I got a whiff of it the other day at the diner. The erotic scent makes me want to press my nose to his throat and gulp it in.

I make more introductions and give Ivan a tiny shrug when he shoots me a questioning look across the table.

"And you guys play hockey!" Maya says. "That's so cool!"

They start talking about hockey and the Bears. Mateo and Jack are hockey fans, and apparently so is Maya. I let the players handle the conversation and sip my drink. This one goes down way too fast also. Maybe I need to switch to Tito's. It tastes like pure alcohol to me so there's no fear of me downing it. I reach for the bottle and pour myself a glass.

Ivan lifts a brow.

I give him a tight smile.

"Would you guys like some vodka?" I hold up the bottle to Evan and Logan on either side of me.

Logan purses his lips and studies my face, close enough for me to see lighter-colored flecks in his brown eyes and his thick eyelashes. The way he looks at me makes heat flow in my veins. "Sure," he drawls. "We should order another bottle."

The party is just getting started.

Jay looks at me. "So tell us how a figure skater ends up coaching hockey."

His question seems sincere, but I'm never sure. I give him a condensed version of my resume.

Jay nods. "Figure skating is totally different, though."

"Well, hockey players don't glide like figure skaters do. Hockey has more quick changes of direction and stop-start motion."

"Yeah."

"Figure skaters need to do clean edges and turns. That's why figure skating blades are longer and flatter, with more ice contact," Ivan puts in.

"Huh." Luke contemplates that. "Figure skating's a whole different sport, though."

"Yes."

"Is it really even a sport?" Jay asks.

I choke and meet Ivan's eyes. We've been through this discussion before. "Oh, here we go."

"Well, most sports are determined by a score," Evan says.

"There is scoring in figure skating."

"But it's done by judges, right?" Jay says.

"Yeah."

"So it's subjective. Not like in hockey where things are black and white."

"Yeah," Evan says. "The puck's either in the net or it's not. A goal or no goal. That's how you win."

"I don't even know where to start with that. First of all, hockey's not black and white. Refs make calls and they make mistakes."

"True." Jay and Evan nod.

I glance at Logan and see his amusement at this discussion.

"And the scoring for figure skating is very prescriptive," I add.

"Okay."'

"It is! Every element a skater performs has a technical point value. If you hit the element perfectly you get most or all of the points. If you mess up or fall, there are automatic deductions."

"I thought whoever has the most sequins wins." Jay grins.

I gasp in outrage.

"But isn't there also an artistic part to it?" Evan says. "Isn't that subjective?"

"Okay, yeah, there is a Program Component Score. It's based on skating skills," I tick off my fingers as I list the components. "Transitions, performance, composition, and interpretation of the music. But only three of those are subjective."

"There," Jay says. "So it is subjective."

"I don't know…figure skating seems more like entertainment than a sport," Evan adds.

I press my lips together briefly. "And hockey's not entertainment?"

"Hmmm. You have a point there," Evan says.

"You think hockey's entertaining?" Logan asks.

I turn to him. "Of course it is. I was forced to watch enough of it." I roll my eyes. "I would have died if it wasn't a little fun to watch."

"I think if you look in the dictionary and find the definition of a sport, figure skating meets all the criteria," Logan says casually.

Sticking up for me.

Whoa.

"I don't know," Jay says.

I've had enough of this. My eyes fly open wide and I can feel steam coming out my ears.

"Because it's considered a sport for girls?" I demand. "Women athletes in figure skating aren't only judged on their athletic ability, but on their performance . So not only do we have to be strong and skilled, we have to have ‘style' and ‘grace.'" We have to be feminine , which here in the U.S. means white and decorous, and effortless . We can't look like we're trying hard. Other athletes, like hockey players, get sweaty and bruised and banged up, but we have to stay pretty and elegant. And that is why people don't take us seriously. We look like we're not trying hard. And how can it be hard? It's for girls ."

"Uh…" Logan looks at me like I'm holding up an explosive device, ready to toss it.

Jay grins. "Okay, okay, I've been teasing you. You make a good case for it being a real sport."

I sigh and relax. "Sorry about the rant. You pushed a button. I get a little defensive about it when people criticize figure skating."

After a round of Tito's, Inaya drags Ivan out to the dance floor, Maya asks Evan to dance, and Jack, Mateo and Luke disappear somewhere.

"You seem to like dancing," Logan says, lightly holding his glass in his fingers.

"I love dancing. Almost as much as skating."

"Let's go."

I blink at him, not sure what he means.

"Dance." He nudges me with his shoulder.

"Oh. Really?" It's probably not a good idea, but the music is pulsing its rhythm into my soul and I need to move. "Okay."

I shimmy my way over to the now-crowded floor with Logan following me. I turn to face him, swinging my hips, smiling. He looks so good—so tall, his beard and hair neat, dressed in narrow dark pants, a thin gray sweater, and a black leather moto jacket He's still watching me with that intense, unsmiling expression and my belly flutters.

"What is wrong?" I ask, leaning and going on my toes to speak into his ear over the noise in the club. "You don't seem in a very good mood."

He sets his hands on my hips to steady me as I wobble. "I'm good."

I tip my head back and give him a look that conveys my disbelief. The corners of his mouth twitch.

"Are you mad that Maya invited you to join us?"

"No."

"Are you mad that you ran into me?"

He sighs. "No."

"Just a bad mood, then?"

He scowls.

"Apparently eating chocolate can improve your mood. Have you tried that?"

His forehead creases, one corner of his mouth deepening. "No."

"You don't like chocolate?"

"I love chocolate. I don't eat it very often though."

"The scent of orange or lavender can also help. Maybe you should invest in some scented candles."

"What the fuck."

I laugh. "Meditation? Oh, wait, you have a dog! You could cuddle with Teemu."

"Jesus." He can't stop the smile tugging at his mouth.

"But you know what's really good for a bad mood?" I pause. "Sex."

His smile disappears and his eyes darken, fixed on me. The air around us shifts, becoming hot and close, pressing in on us. We're both remembering how good the sex was.

"Forget I said that," I mumble. "Oh my God."

He surprises me with a low laugh. "No takesie backsies. It's the rule."

I peek up at him. With his hands still on my hips, we move together in an easy rhythm. He's not as good a dancer as Ivan, but then who is? Logan has rhythm, though. We could be alone on the dance floor, I'm so caught up in his energy—the snare of his gaze, the grip of his hands, his scent. "I know," I agree. "It's the rule. Also it's impossible to put toothpaste back in the tube."

His smile reveals white teeth, and it's such an attractive smile I feel like I'm being reeled in by it. "True."

"I didn't mean anything by it. I was just trying to help. And hey—I think it worked! Look, you're smiling now."

He slowly moves his head from side to side, his smile going crooked as if he's perplexed. "Yeah. I am." He pauses. "Are we gonna talk about it?"

"A-about what?"

He gives me a level look. "Pyeongchang."

"Oh. That."

"Only the best night of my life."

I snort. "Oh, come on, it was not."

He gives me a steady look.

My belly does a flip flop. It was hot. "I think we should agree that never happened," I say, striving for composure.

"Mmm. Don't think I can do that, Mini Bang."

"Let's pretend."

The song changes, and I step away from him to lift my arms in the air and dig my hips into the tempo of "Naughty Girl," by Beyoncé, letting my hair swing around my shoulders. The lyrics are steamy and I'm acutely aware of Logan watching me, but I'm most confident when I'm skating or dancing, so I let myself feel the rhythm of the music deep down inside me. The lights of the club flash and flare around us in the darkness along with the thump of the bass, adding to the sexy ambience.

It's just dancing.

The song slides into another, a slower beat, Calum Scott's "You Are The Reason" and I lower my arms and look at Logan. Others on the dance floor are moving together, pairing off, and Logan reaches for my hand and tugs me closer again. With his other hand on my waist and mine on his shoulder, our bodies shift together in slower, smoother movements.

"I love Calum Scott," I say.

"Who?"

I grin. "This singer."

"Ah."

"What kind of music do you like?"

"Mostly country, I guess."

"Hmm."

"What does that mean?"

"Country music's not my favorite. Too much twang."

"I like the twang."

I nod and we move to the music, swaying, gazing at each other as the romantic lyrics play and the melody builds.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" I blurt out.

"No."

"I'm not…I'm just asking because of the sex remark I made about sex being good for a bad mood, because if you had a girlfriend sex probably wouldn't be a problem." Jesus. Say the word sex again, Annie.

"A lack of sex?"

"Uh. Yes."

"No, if I had a girlfriend, it would not be a problem."

" Is it a problem?" Clearly I've had way too much to drink.

He gives me a long look. "It might be."

I don't know what that means and I don't want to go there. "Did you know that Harry Styles has four nipples?"

After a startled beat, he barks out a laugh. "Jesus Christ, you're cute."

I blink a few times.

"No, I did not know that."

"It's a medical condition called…I forget what it's called. But it's true. I read that today."

"That's fascinating."

"Not really, but I wanted to change the subject."

He laughs again. "My teammates and I once had an in-depth discussion about why men have nipples."

I laugh, too. "Did you figure it out?"

"Yeah, it has something to do with the way embryos develop in the womb. They don't know if they're male or female until after the nipples develop."

"Oh. Well, that's interesting." Now I'm acutely aware of my nipples, so close to his chest. Our bodies are touching, swaying together, his hand splayed on the small of my back, fingertips brushing the upper curve of my butt. I have an intense urge to press myself even closer, as if his hand is impelling me, and my muscles tighten as I try to resist. His fingers slip lower and my body is dissolving, liquid heat gathering low inside me.

"So Ivan's not your boyfriend," he says.

"No. He's my roommate."

His eyes narrow. "Roommate?" he barks.

"Yeah. I needed a place to stay when I moved here to take this job."

"Christ."

"It's not a big deal."

"You have a male roommate."

"We're friends. He was my skating partner."

"Is he gay?"

"No. Geez. Not every male figure skater is gay. That's a stereotype."

"Yeah. I know it is." He sighs. "Just checking."

The slow song ends and I force myself to step away. "I think I need another drink."

Hands on my shoulders, he turns me and steers me through the crowd and back to the table. "I don't know about that."

"It's fine. I'm fine."

I feel his breath on my hair and shivers slither down the back of my neck as he leans close to my ear and says, "Yeah, you are."