Page 5 of Desperate Pucker
The sting of Ryker’s words hits me square in the chest. I keep my expression neutral despite the urge to shrink into myself.
I stand up so I can have that extra bit of physical edge, even though I’m nowhere near as big as he is.
I’m tall for a figure skater—five-foot-seven. But he’s just past six-foot-three. And he’s huge.
I take in his massive frame. Even through the jacket he’s wearing, I can tell how ripped and muscular he his. His thigh muscles are bulging through the fabric of his jeans. His shoulders are so broad, they almost hit both sides of the doorway when he first walked in.
“None of them have been to the Olympics as many times as I have,” I say. “None of them have ever made it to the podium.”
He exhales sharply and purses his lips. He can’t argue with how good I am, and that feels really damn good.
“I’ve watched footage of the way you skate,” I say. “You’re slow on your transitions. Really slow. You’re going to be even slower with your ankle and knee injury. You have poor edge control. You trip a lot when you’re turning at a high speed. You’re too slow on your crossovers. And don’t get me started on your posture.”
His gaze on me sharpens, like he’s pissed off but also mulling over everything I’ve said.
“You say I’m making you wait too long to start training you, but I know better than anyone the risks of training too soon,” I say.
It’s why I no longer compete as a figure skater. It’s part of why I barely made it on the podium in the last Winter Olympics.
I hold back from saying more. I don’t want it to come off like I’m roasting him, even though I could. I’ve watched enough footage of this guy to write a novel about his skating weaknesses.
But I want him to understand that I know what I’m talking about so he’ll agree to work with me. If he walks out of here still refusing to train with me, it’ll get back to my dad. I’ll lose this job and probably get pushed into some meaningless position on the team while someone takes over as the skating coach.
And once again, I’ll be a failure. Just like at the Olympics. Just like in my life.
Not good enough. Not wanted.
That sinking feeling from earlier claws deeper in my gut. I wonder if it will ever go away.
You know it won’t.
I push all those feelings aside and focus on Ryker, waiting for him to say something, anything.
“So you know my skating weaknesses. Congrats. So does everyone else,” he mutters, unimpressed.
“That’s not?—”
“And your plan is to keep me off the ice longer than I need to be. So when I finally do hit the ice to work on my skating, I’ll be stiff and out of practice and injure myself again. Did I hear that correctly?”
His “are you fucking kidding me” tone feels like a slap to the face. He doesn’t think I can do it. He doesn’t think I’m worth his time.
Before I can say anything, he rolls his eyes at me. “I don’t want you as my skating coach.”
He walks out of the room and disappears down the hall. And I’m left standing there, alone, feeling like an utter failure on the first day of this job.
Chapter 3
Maddy
Iunlock the door to my luxury apartment on the edge of downtown Denver. The second I walk through the door, my fluffy Himalayan cat Bruce rubs against my ankles.
“You miss me, buddy? I was only gone a few hours.” He aims his adorable brown face up at me and meows.
I smile and reach down to give his ears a scratch. He follows me as I walk into the living room and drop my bag on the couch, meowing the whole time.
“So impatient.” I head over to the kitchen and open his treat drawer. I grab a few cat treats and drop them on the ground. He gobbles them up.
I chuckle as I crouch down and pet his fluffy white body. “Always hungry.”
