Page 117 of Fly Boy
Evan breathes heavily, long and endless, as if he’s deflating. “Well, shit. Mr. Sexy Pilot Man must have a magical cock to make Little Miss Gold Medal realize that sometimes it’s okay to fail.”
I smack his chest playfully. “No one said anything about failing. I just mean, I know it’s not the end of the world if I don’t come first. No one will take my skates away and say I’m done.”
“Growth looks good on you,” he says before looking around and leaning forward. “But you didn’t answer me. Does he have a magical cock or not?”
“What an amazing start. The way they conduct those triple twists? Perfection. Evan’s lift is perfectly controlled, while Pippa’s position is flawless. I think we’ve seen the way they intend to carry on, Jessica. Solid formation, clear execution. Just…perfection.”
“I could watch them skate all day long, Luke. And now we’re on to the side-by-side triple salchow. There was a slight wobblefrom both skaters on the landing there, but nothing too major. The height and control Pippa had on that jump… What a significant improvement from yesterday’s performance.”
“It’s like we’re watching a different couple as they move into the camel spin. Watch the way they glide across the ice, preparing for the leap into the air… and there we have it. What an excellent display of flexibility and control from both skaters. This will definitely work in their favor, that’s for sure.”
“This is another crowd favorite, the diagonal step sequence, the intricate footwork from both, the way they shadow each other flawlessly, a mirror of one another, in perfect time with their chosen music… Whatever was in their heads yesterday is long gone because out there on that rink, those two have one thing in common. Getting onto that podium.”
“I agree, Luke, and not to be biased or anything, but if I were the judges, I’d get them first place right now.”
“And that is why we’re commentators, not judges, Jessica.”
“The audience grows quiet as we watch them transition into a quadruple salchow. There is a slight under rotation from Evan while Pippa completes the four turns; the height she managed to get and maintain is as impressive as her landing.”
“Even with Evan not being able to complete the full rotations, I must say, his form was near perfect. Just a pity for the lack of height. Either way, a standout move in their routine.”
“We’re coming into the final elements to wrap up their last time competing in this season’s Figure Skating Championships, and Pippa and Evan have fought tooth and nail today for their score. What a remarkable comeback from their Short Program yesterday, what a remarkable demonstration of skill in their free skate now.”
“I think it’s safe to say that after this, the two skaters from Team USA will be walking away with a medal at the very least. A well-deserved finish to a difficult start here at Worlds.”
“What a testament to how they can bounce back after a setback. To some, fourth place isn't that far from a podium finish, but seeing Pippa come into the professional circuit and go from strength to strength at each turn, she’d want to win something at the last competition of the season. There is no doubt about that.”
“And that is why they’ve proven they’re definitely ones to watch for the upcoming season starting in September. And fingers crossed, we’ll be cheering them on in the Winter Olympics sometime soon.”
My lips part as I stare at the board, confirming Evan and I win third place.
“Fuck yes!” Evan screams, crouching down and throwing his arms around me, spinning me in the air. “Third fucking place.”
I laugh, my cheeks hurting as I smile, my eyes burning as I fight the tears threatening to fall. If I start crying, I doubt I’ll stop.
We did it.
We got on that podium.
We’re now the favorites to represent America at the Olympics.
Looking around the arena, I notice the VIP box at the top of the stands, knowing my dad and Nancy are in there, probably celebrating together, and as much as I want to see them, they aren’t the ones Ineedto see. I try to search for Wyatt, knowing it’s pointless as different countries' flags are being waved around the sea of people. They’re all standing, too, cheering and clapping, some singing the Canadian National Anthem, and the winners, Meghan Shand and Patrick Ronson, do laps of the rink.
Evan sets me back on my blades, his entire person beaming brightly under the arena lights. I swear that man must have aradar for hot men because he puts his hands on my shoulders, turns me around, and says, “Go,” in my ear.
Walking over to the first row, I stop by the gate in front of the stairs as my sexy-as-sin, tattooed ex-pilot moves purposely toward me. The fans screaming my and Evan’s names disappear as Wyatt reaches the gate, glaring at the security guard who tries to stop him from leaning over.
Wrapping my hands around the metal bar, I push up onto the tips of my blades, laughing when he brushes a thumb under my eye. He pulls it back, looking at the mascara smudge before wiping it on his pant leg.
“How do you feel, baby?” he asks, the smile on his face brighter than the strobe lights around us.
I open my mouth, shaking my head as I cannot find the right words to describe this feeling. Elated. Shocked. Ecstatic. Stunned.
“Tired,” I half-huff, half-laugh. Because it’s true, the adrenaline is fading, the knowledge that all our hard work paid off, crashing into me like a tsunami.
Stretching to cup the back of my head, I almost whine when he bypasses my lips, continuing to my ear and whispering, “Not too tired to celebrate?”
“Never,” I whisper, shuddering when he nips my ear.
