Page 6 of Curves of Steel

Because am I happy, really? My entire career consists of being the skating world’s poster child for misfortune. It pays well enough, but damn, it’s gotten old.

I’ve got dreams. Dreams of sharing my life with a person who loves me as much as I love them. Dreams of making a success out of my new non-profit that’s focused on serving the kids who can’t afford the expensive sport otherwise. Dreams of having a family of my own.

Am I living into those dreams now?

Taking a swig of my martini, I have to admit to myself — no, I’m really not. I’ve started the non-profit, but it hasn’t gone anywhere yet.

Like my love life.

Seizing my phone from where I dropped it on the bar, I navigate to my in-app profile.

“What are you doing?” Bea asks.

“Uploading a photo,” I say. “You’re right. It’s about time I moved past Donny and everything he ruined — everything Ilethim ruin.”

Bea does a little happy dance right on her stool. “Hell yes! Get it!”

I pause in the midst of typing out my Curve Connection bio. “Promise you’ll be there for me if this crashes and burns?”

My friend melts a little. “Michelle, you know I’m always here for you. Period.”

She’s right. I do know that.

I throw my arms around my bestie. “Love you, Bea-Bea,” I murmur, using my pet name for her.

“Love you back, Chellie-Bean,” she returns, squeezing my shoulders.

“Okay,” I say when I’ve let my friend go. “Let’s see if we can get me a guy.”

“Or,” Bea adds with a giggle, “catch you some dick.”

“I’d prefer the former, but you know . . . I wouldn’t turn away some good peen,” I say, laughing with her. “Bring it on.”

And fuck you, Donny Tartova, I add silently.

Dan

I’m not sure I’m using the right dating app for me.

When I’d thrown myself on the squashy couch in my hearth-warmed cabin and searched the termdating appon my phone, I’d been inundated with options. Most of them were clearly only about one-time hook-ups.

Not my style.

But the remaining options still overwhelmed me. I ended up scrunching up my eyes and stabbing wildly at my phone until I ended up with an app that seemed more my speed.

Curve Connection, it’s called. I thought it might be about the learning curve of dating or something.

Yeah. I did think that. Like an idiot.

Turns out, this app is all about curvy women. As in plus-size, big-hipped, zaftig goddesses.

I’m into that. Big time.

What I’m not into?

The fact that the majority of these women seem so damn together, smart women with careers and sophistication and class. Meanwhile, I’m over here, considering coaching intramural hockey a big step up in the world — and one that I had to be talked into.

I’m not sure I’m in the same league as these ladies. There’s probably not a snowball’s chance in hell that women like them would want someone like me.

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