Page 9 of Perfectly Faked

She smirks—and maybe I’m wrong—but it looks like she enjoys seeing me injure myself.

“You know, it hurts a lot more when you’re not wearing pads,” I fume. “For future reference, you might want to give a heads-up before slamming the brakes.”

She crosses her arms, leveling me with a look. “Aren’t you the big hockey pro? Shouldn’t you be used to sudden stops?”

“Sure, but this isn’t a game, Victoria. I thought we were supposed to be... partners.” It’s hard for me to even say the words.

She points at my skates. “Rule number one: You can’t skate with those. There’s a pair of men’s figure skates on the bench.”

“Fine,” I mutter, stalking over to change my skates. If it wasn’t for Coach’s punishment and the fact that I need to get off that bench, I’d walk out right now. But I’m not about to hand her the satisfaction of telling her dad I wouldn’t cooperate.

I pull on the new skates and stand on the edge of the rink, feeling like an idiot. “Happy now?”

“Yes,” she says, barely looking my way. “Now let’s see if you can keep up with some drills.”

I scoff. “Keep up?Please.” She’s testing me to see if I can skate?

“Ever skated with a toe pick before?” She lifts an eyebrow.

I look at her like she’s crazy—the equivalent to asking a professional swimmer if he’s ever been in the water. “I’ve been on skates my whole life. How hard can it be?”

“Suit yourself,” she says with a shrug and then takes off like she’s an Olympic speed skater, leaving me in the dust.

“Hey, wait...” I stammer. As soon as I step on the ice, the skates feel off, and she’s pulling ahead like a speed-skating show-off while I try not to trip over these awkward blades.

“Hurry up,” she yells over her shoulder. “Or are you always this slow?”

“I’m just warming up. I’m a professional, remember?” I shout, more for myself than for her.

She glances back with a defiant smirk. “Then prove it,Ego.”

“Fine, I will,” I mutter under my breath. But right then, my toe pick catches the ice, and I face-plant spectacularly, crashing onto the ground and then sliding across the ice like a human Zamboni. It’s more than embarrassing—it’s downright humiliating—and Victoria doesn’t miss a thing. She stands at the edge of the rink, covering her mouth like she’s fighting a laugh. The spark in her eyes makes it clear—she’s thoroughly enjoying the show.

Victoria’s lips twitch as she folds her arms. “Guess that toe pick is harder than it looks, huh?”

“It’s fine,” I grind out, my jaw clenching. “These skates are just... uncomfortable. They’re heavier than my hockey skates. It’s like strapping bricks to your feet. And then there’s that stupid toe pick.”

Her eyebrows lift. “The toe pick is kind of essential.”

I gesture at my skates. “These blades? They’re out to get me. Hockey skates are curved so I can pivot on a dime. Not to mention my ankles are screaming for mercy because this leather boot is so flimsy.”

“Poor Leo,” she teases, giving me a fake look of pity while skating around me. “Do you need me to hold your hand?”

“Not a chance,” I mutter, rising to my feet. “But if I go down, don't even think about mentioning the toe pick again.”

She stops and shrugs. “If you can’t keep up and want to quit, I’ll understand. I’ll just tell my dad it didn’t work out. Give you an easy out.”

Oh, she’d love that.A convenient excuse to make me look bad. But I’m not giving her the satisfaction—not when I’ve gotsomething to prove and ten weeks to get back in the game. Nice try, but I’m not that easy to get rid of.

“Not happening,” I growl, skating up to her. “I’m staying until the end, even if it means I have to turn into a dancing ice monkey for a halftime show.”

She scoffs. “Like I want to work with someone who thinks my sport is a joke.”

“Who said I think it’s a joke?” She’s obviously in peak shape, and judging by her speed from earlier, she’s in top form.

She raises an eyebrow. “I can see it on your face. You don’t want to be here, so let’s just call it quits. I’ll tell Dad we’re incompatible. Given our history, I’m sure he’ll understand.”

Just like that, we’reincompatible. She hasn’t even given me a chance to prove myself. Apparently, she still thinks I’m not worthy of the ice she skates on. I’m just the lowlife whose heart she squashed in college with her frosty iron fist.

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