Page 12 of My Rival for Christmas

No.

Because nothing comes before skating.

Nothing.

Not even when she’s been running a fever or crying on the locker room floor from period cramps. She’s laced up her skates and gotten out on the ice.

Ice skating is all that matters, even at the detriment of her health, her happiness. Her relationships.

Us.

And yet.

And yet.

And yet.

She’s here.

Hi, Princess.I raise my hand—and wave. Wiggling each finger with deliberate exaggeration.

I relish in the way her face contorts, her already ruddy freckled cheeks blazing with an agitation that wraps around the room. Or at least wraps its cranky arms around me as she starts to move.

Crossing the room.

Right toward me. Heated determination hardens her delicate features as she does.

Well, if she wants to come over to say hello.

I lean back against the bar, wearing a half-smile that I know drives her insane. She calls it my scoundrel smile, like I’m up to no good, taking great pleasure in doing so.

I watch with deep satisfaction as her refined features darken. Eyes narrowing, lip curling. Nose scrunching.

Adorable in every facet.

She makes it too easy. All I have to do is breathe for a crease to dent her eyebrows.

And what a cute crease it is as she glides toward me. Even brimming with agitation, she moves with a grace that should only exist on ice. An ease that carries her on skates. She’s art walking, and I’m nothing but a lucky observer.

“Princess,” I greet when she’s close enough, opening my arms wide for a hug that won’t come. “Miss me that much? It’s only been a few days.”

Days. Such a funny way to say years, because even though we still train at the same arena together, both still members of Charmed Athletics, we only interact with quickly traded jabs and long-distance stares—or in her case, glares.

She avoids me otherwise.

“Nate,” she all but growls, my name a curse on her tongue.

“You didn’t need to come up to Canada to see me. A call would’ve worked just as well after you unblocked my number.”

“Why would I do that when you just show up when I least want to see you?”

A hand goes to my chest. “You say the sweetest things to me. How do you manage to save any pleasantries for anyone else?”

Her lip curls before she says, “You know, somehow I manage.”

“Don’t make me jealous now. Here I am thinking I’m special.”

“Oh, you are. I have a special place in my hell for you.”

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