Page 51 of Thrown for a Loop
There are exactly four women in my field of vision, including Darcy. And all four of them suddenly break into applause.
“But apart from that, I don’t really think my gender and stature matter a whole lot to this process. I’m a skating nerd, and I’ve been one all my life. The players here are professionals. They care about results. If I can help them skate faster, turn quicker, or maintain their edge longer, that’s what matters.”
Steve takes a question from someone else, who wants to know what kind of training a skating coach needs. That’s an easier one, and I do a fine job explaining my coursework in biomechanics and performance coaching. And then I take a question about a day in the life of a skating coach, which is silly since I haven’t had that many of them yet.
But it’s all fine, and I maintain my smile. At least until a sports blogger asks something I wasn’t expecting. “This question is for Mr. Sailor,” the woman says with a smile. “How come figure skating doesn’t show up anywhere in Chase Merritt’s bio? When I was prepping for this session, I found areallyinteresting video on the internet of Chase Merritt and Zoe from ten years ago. Haven’t you seen it?”
Sailor’s smile freezes on his face. “You don’t say.”
Chapter 18
Nine and a Half Years Ago
Do it again,” Zoe says, concentration making a cute furrow in her forehead. “This section isn’t working for me.”
It’s late, but Chase skates to the blue line anyway. Then he pushes off into the sequence.
It’s been tricky for them to get much ice time together, and he isn’t very quick at learning their new routine. Zoe uses a lot of skating vocabulary that’s foreign to him. When she says she’s adding a bracket turn or a twizzle, he waits for her to demonstrate.
He hears “Wicked Game” in his sleep now. And that’s not the only kind of wicked dream he’s been having about Zoe. When he closes his eyes, they’re either skating or naked. Anyone watching them practice together can probably read it off his face—he’s fallen hard for the energetic girl with the sad brown eyes.
She’s not sad tonight, though. She’s bossy. “Match the angle of my leg, Hotshot. I know you can get there.” Zoe demonstrates by pushing off on one leg and tilting her whole body parallel to the ice.
Chase knows this one. It’s called an arabesque, which is French forvery bendy, with perfect balance.
He watches her with more amusement than a guy should be able to feel after, what, sixteen hours or so of physical activity? He got up at six this morning for a gym workout, then did a full day of skating sessions. Now it’s ten thirty, and he should be chilling on the roof or asleep in bed. They’re both out past curfew, eventhough he’s supposed to be on call in the dorm. But they got special permission for this practice, and no matter how exhausted he is, they can’t waste it.
And now she’s waiting for him to try the arabesque again. Her arms are crossed; her expression is expectant. Every time he looks at her, his heart shouts,Mine!
“Okay. How’s this?” He pushes off on one leg and raises the other behind him, extending his arm and tilting his body like a teeter-totter on the playground.
“Yes! Great! Now I want to add something. Can you tick-tock your arm with the beat? Like this.” Zoe swings her arm like a pendulum as she propels herself forward.
“Oh,” he says, watching the way a simple arm movement changes the whole feel of the arabesque. It emphasizes the shadowy heartbeat of the song. When they do that side by side, it’s going to look amazing.
“See?” She does an idle spin and then glides to his side with unconscious ease. “On four.” She counts down, and then they accelerate together. He lifts his tired leg as high as hers and moves his arm to the beat, while Chris Isaak sings about his tortured heart.
Preach, dude.The summer is half over already. Whenever Chase thinks about climbing back into his truck to drive seven states away from Zoe, he feels hollow inside.
“Transition to the camel!” she calls out.
Watching her out of the corner of his eye, he matches her next two strokes and then spins.
“Yes!” she squeaks when they finally come to a stop. “Just like that. We have to try it from the top now, though. It’s the only way to nail down all the transitions.”
He bites back the obvious joke about things that he’d rather naildown. “All right. You’re really good at this, you know? I mean the choreography. Do you always make up your own stuff?”
“Not a chance,” she says. “We work with pros. Sister Walsh doesn’t like my choreography. She says it’s not the kind of stuff that impresses judges.”
“Then the judges are assholes,” he murmurs.And so is Sister Walsh.
Thank God for hockey. Sure, sometimes the ref makes a bad call. But it’s not so precious and subjective. When the puck goes in, it’s just in.
“Okay, now let’s practice the sit spin before Martina gets here.”
“Martina?”
“She’s coming to offer suggestions. I mentioned this at dinner.”
