Page 39 of My Rival for Christmas

Oh, the delusion he has to think that’s the kind of fuck I’m talking about.

“Not an invitation, Ford. It’s a damnation. As in damn you for bringing me out here.” I rip out my ponytail, hair cascading down my shoulders. “If I wanted a coach to bark at me, I’d just video call Vytas.”

He stares at me, at my hair, for a beat. “But you won’t because you enjoy my face more.”

If that’s what he has to tell himself to sleep at night. “The only time I’d want to see your face more is if it’s pinned to a dart board.”

“I saw you playing darts last night at Dick’s. I feel safe on that board.”

My frustration teeters towards its breaking point, and it has nothing to do with him bringing up my abysmal talent at darts or that an invading thrill shoots up my back knowing he was watching me last night after he went to entertain his fan club.

No, it’s more fine-tuned than that.

Not only can I not land a jump I mastered when I was still in middle school, but I keep doing it in front of Nate.

Nate. The current reigning Nationals Champion.

Nate. Who has scored higher with Stassi than all my scores with Cole combined.

Nate. Who seems to be soaring to new heights in figure skating while I’m struggling to land a fucking triple toe properly.

It’s infuriating. It’s embarrassing.

Broadcasted for him to see.

Ugh. Why did I think coming here would be a good idea?

The fucking beard.

Closing my eyes, I try to take a deep breath, but instead become acutely aware of Nate skating my way.Ignoringour garland divider.

Even if I missed the way his blades scrape against the ice, I can’t miss how my entire body buzzes with an awareness.Crackles with this energy that feels so foreign yet wholly familiar.

A sensation that only he stirs.

I force my eyes open, noting that soft snow flurries have started falling from the sky, in a light, almost slow-motioned drizzle.

But for the first time all morning, the impending snow storm is far from the front of my mind. Chased away by Nate’s intensely focused stare.

It’s made his usually cocky, laid-back features sharpen. More purposed. Demanding.

“You’re holding yourself back.” He circles me like a shark, around and around. Each lap bringing him closer to me.

My jaw locks. “Any more pointless observations you’d like to share with the class?”

I expect him to say something likeonly if I can be your teacher’s petor something equally unserious, because it’s Nate and it’s what we do. Trading in banter that always leans hostile from me and flirty from him.

But he doesn’t lean into the volley I just served. “When was the last time you lost yourself in skating?”

I pretend to think about it. “Well, I was trying to, until someone had to be all creepy and ruin it by staring at me.”

“No, I’m talking really losing yourself.” He shakes his head. An almost crestfallen expression overtakes his rugged features that fit the mountains so well. “Where you almost forget you’re actually skating and instead just give into that overwhelming feeling, that urge to let your body be free and let go. Where skating feels more important than breathing. ”

My chest feels heavy. It’s a simple question, born of a passion and drive that makes this lifestyle so worth it. But what was once an easy answer for me is now riddled with buts and what ifs and feelings that rob me of everything I once found rewarding.

And Nate sees it.

As easy as a billboard, he sees it.

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