Page 173 of Facing Off
The player across from me balks at the sheer happiness I’m exuding. It’s exploding out of every pore of my body.
“We’re going to win tonight,” I tell him, my blue eyes glinting. “Because my girl is here and she’s wearing my jersey!”
“I doubt it,” he scoffs.
“Just watch!”
The puck drops.
Three periods later, we defeat the defending Stanley Cup champions five to one.
The stadium roars to life, fans screaming and getting to their feet. The Wings players on the bench storm the ice, and we surge into each other. Everyone is celebrating together, but it’s Sonya I look to. She hoists a leg up as ifshewants to climb up over the glass and join me. I grin, flying towards her, my arms outstretched.
We’re both being silly, and this is one of those days I’m going to remember for the rest of my life. I couldn’t be happier, and I couldn’t be prouder of the Wings.
I just know that, watching from the box above somewhere, our GM got to see that nothing can stop the lineup we have from going all the way. I can feel it in my bones.Thisteam is going to win the Cup this year. We’re going to get there by working together.
Later that night, the only thing Sonya’s wearing is my jersey. I’m on my knees, massaging her feet, softly rubbing ice over the spots where she’s swollen and bruised.
I’m so dedicated to the task, that it takes a few pokes from Sonya to get my attention. When my eyes rise to meet hers, she scowls.
“Don’t mention this to anyone. If you do, I’m going to pretend it never happened and that you made it up all in your head.”
“Darling, pretend what?—?”
Before I can finish asking, she makes a heart shape with her fingers. The same one I made for her at the game. “It’s so corny, but I’m doing this because you won and I’m so proud.”
Silent laughter. Because I’ve softly tackled her and she’sfallen back on the bed, and I’m above her, without putting any weight on her body, kissing her cheeks. Nose. Neck. Mouth. Forehead.
After what must be the hundredth kiss, she reaches for the button on my jeans. I deflect her hand and pull back. “Your audition is tomorrow. You have to rest and save your energy.”
She brings her hand to my chest, over my hammering heart. “What if I need you?”
“Fuck,” I groan. “Baby, don’t say that to me right now. We can’t strain your muscles.”
Her mouth curves. “It’ll relax me, I swear.”
And that’s how she convinces me to have her spooned against my front as I stroke in and out of her so slowly, it’s unraveling us both.
“You don’t move,” I say, pushing a lock of her hair back. “Not an inch.” My hand comes around and I find her clit, drawing circles. “You’re going to let me do all the work.”
She shivers and nods. And I kiss her shoulder, then look into her eyes as I help her fall apart, following closely behind.
68
SONYA
It’sthe day of the audition.
After stretching, I—along with twelve other dancers—tape our toes, turning them into little mummies. Gel-filled burn pads cushion toe knuckles. Moleskin stiffened with glue goes under the balls of our feet. Pointe shoes are pulled on and tested as we rise to our tips.
A two-person video crew films us, live-streaming for the rest of the world. Whatever happens on the stage today, it’s going to be shown.
Doors to the theatre open up. Bob Pepita’s assistants call us inside. He’s set up, sitting front row with his notebook out, ready to judge.
We file down the corridor and wait in a line to get on stage. I’m near the middle of the group. Nina Hart and Robert Chang are near the front. Today, they’ll be dancing together.
When it’s their turn on stage, I brace myself.
