Page 13 of Flirty Pucking Wolf

“Well, how do you learn them?”

His shrug is…uncertain. I don’t know how to describe it. He’s reacting because I’m expecting him to. Not a good start. “We practice them. Repetition.”

“But no music?”

His brows draw together. “Of course not. It’s hockey, not figure skating.”

My turn to do acrobatics with my brows. Where his went down, mine go up.

“No,” I say with a shake of my head, “it’s not. But it’s choreography in its own way.”

He tilts his head from left to right, his lips quirking to the side. “Yeah.” He nods slowly. “I guess it is.”

I mentally add a tick mark to my side of the scoreboard. “So we’ll treat our counts like plays, and each dance is a playbook.” I’m proud of myself for talking all sporty. My brothers would be amazed. “You watch video to learn about your opponents and what you’re doing, right?”

He nods.

Tapping my laptop, I settle back on the couch and rest it on my lap. “We’re going to watch some videos so you can get an idea of the dance and the moves required. Hopefully that will help you when we learn the counts. Okay?”

“Aren’t we going to dance? I thought that was the point.” He cracks open his water and takes a sip. I try not to stare as his throat ripples with a swallow. Unlike many of his teammates, he doesn’t have a beard, but his jaw has a dusting of stubble along it this late in the day. It’s sexy. And not something I should be noticing.

“We will, but if you know how it’s supposed to look, it may help you understand what I’m trying to teach you.”

He lifts a shoulder, which I take as agreement, so I start the video playlist I created a few days ago. “Hey, that’s you!” He grins. “Is that your brother? Ian?”

“It is. We were dance partners most of our lives. We competed until he switched to another partner and then made the show.”

Trevor’s brow furrows. “He dumped you as his partner? That would make Thanksgiving awkward.”

“We’re Irish, we don’t do Thanksgiving,” I say with a deadpan expression.

He gives a huff of exasperation and rolls his eyes. “St. Patrick’s Day then.”

Bless his clueless little brain.

Shrugging both physically and mentally, trying to dislodge the lingering hurt that’s stirred by thinking about the end of my partnership with Ian, I say, “It was necessary. He had a growth spurt. I didn’t. We weren’t a good match any longer. For competitive dancing, a height difference of more than a foot is less than ideal.”

“But you’re his sister, his twin. How can he just switch because you’re short?” He waves his hand between us. “There’s more than a foot difference between us, even if you’re in heels. They paired us up.”

I sigh. “That’s part of the challenge and a source of drama. They want to make sure we have difficulty and something to be frustrated about. Makes for good television.”

A laugh rumbles from his chest, making his shoulders shake. “Like they need to give us reasons to fight with each other. I think we’re going to butt heads well enough on our own without a few inches coming between us.”

I bet he’s more than a few inches. My cheeks heat. I know he meant inches of height, but he said “coming,”and I grew up with brothers who made crude jokes and innuendos every chance they had. They still do, if I’m being completely honest. I cannot be blamed for my naughty thoughts.

“You think we’re going to fight?” I ask. Logically, that shouldn’t hurt, but no one’s going to accuse me of being the most logical person in the room.

Trevor’s eyes widen like he’s realized he misspoke. I hope he can dance as well as he can backpedal.

“No, of course not! I think we’re going to work together wonderfully. No friction. All smooth sailing.”

I bump him with my shoulder. “It’s okay. I know I can be a pain in the arse to deal with. Ian and I would drive each other nuts. That’s part of the reason we stopped working together. We would’ve ended up hating each other. I love my twin. As much as I love dancing, I love him more. So we split.”

He reaches over to hit pause on the video. We missed it anyway. “Did you find another partner? Did you keep competing?”

Admitting this is humiliating. “I tried. Ian had dancers lined up, hoping to be picked. Not the same for me. I tried with a couple of partners, but we didn’t click. They said I was difficult to work with and too bossy. Ian was winning major international competitions. Not shifter competitions, professional dance competitions against the very best in the world. He was picked for the show, and he made me a condition of his contract—they had to give me a tryout.”

Trevor’s brow furrows. I’m sure he’s regretting being stuck with me. The only reason I’m on the show is because of nepotism.

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