“Not great?” he echoes, skating back toward me. “You’re supposed to be my coach, not my heckler.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m your coachandyour heckler. Welcome to figure skating boot camp.”
He puts his hands on his hips. “Alright, teach. Show me how to nail it.”
For some reason, the challenge in his tone gets to me. He’s taking this seriously—and I can’t decide if that’s good or dangerous.
“Fine. Let’s try it together,” I say, moving closer. “We’ll go in unison. Watch my lead, match my timing, andfor the love, don’t trip me.”
“Got it,” he says.
I extend my hand for balance, and he takes it, his grip warm and solid, his body brushing against mine. The air between us heats despite the cold of the rink, and I can’t ignore the way my pulse races under his touch.
“On three,” I say. “One, two, three.”
We push off together, and for a moment, it works. Our blades sync in unison, and it feels almost too natural. But right at the turn, Leo’s timing falters. His skate clips mine, and before I can catch myself, my feet slip out from under me.
“Victoria—” he warns, but it’s too late.
I hit the ice with a gasp, the cold numbing my body as I lie there, momentarily stunned. My hands throb from trying to blunt the fall, but I’m okay—except for my pride.
“Are you okay?” Leo kneels beside me, his face full of concern. He reaches out a hand to help me off the ice, but I shakemy head, knowing it’s just going to confuse my feelings for him more.
I wince as I sit up. “I told you not to trip me!”
His mouth twitches, like he’s trying not to laugh. “Technically, you tripped yourself. I was just... involved.”
“Involved?” I glare at him. “I may have overestimated your ability to avoid doing what I asked you not to.”
He lets out the laugh he’s been trying to hold in. “You’re kind of cute when you’re mad, you know that?”
I groan, covering my face with my hands. “I hate you.”
“No, you don’t,” he says softly.
My heart stumbles because I know Leo’s right. I could never hate him.
“Come on, get up. I’ll do better next time,” he promises with a grin.
Reluctantly, I take his hand, letting him pull me to my feet. As I brush off my leggings, I catch him watching me, a half-smile on his lips.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing,” he says, skating backward. “Just thinking I might be better at this figure skating thing than I thought.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, Ego,” I say, skating back to center ice. “You’ve got a long way to go.”
Leo offers his hand to try the turn again. When I reach for it, his eyes narrow, and his hand snaps out, catching my wrist. “Victoria, you’re bleeding.”
I follow his gaze to a thin trickle of red running down my palm where I must have scraped it on the ice. It stings now that I’ve noticed it, but I shrug, brushing it off. “It’s nothing. Just a little scratch.”
He frowns, unconvinced. “That’s not ‘nothing.’ We need to get that cleaned up.”
“I’m fine,” I argue, waving him off. “Let’s just keep practicing.”
“Fine, huh?” He arches an eyebrow, pointing at the blood. “Because last I checked, people who are fine don’t leave a trail of blood across the ice like they’re in a horror movie.”
“I’ve practiced before with way worse injuries,” I insist. “I don’t need to stop. Let’s go again.”
