Page 23 of Ice Rebel

CHAPTER 6

Chelsea

“Hey, roomie. You’ve got the place to yourself tonight.”

Samantha found me in the bathroom as I was brushing my teeth. Foamy toothpaste frothed the corners of my mouth. My hair was in a ratty ponytail and the seven times too large sweatshirt I’d snagged from one of eight completely full boxes because I’d yet to make the time to unpack was a reminder my look was one huge mess.

And Samantha’s?

It was barely after eleven in the morning and she had glitter paint on her cheeks, the lighting in the bathroom highlighting carefully crafted stars.

After spitting, I grabbed a towel since she was lingering in the doorway, eager for me to ask why. “Where are you going?” In bell-bottomed jeans and a bright red peasant shirt with ruffles, her hair as if fresh from a beach romp, she had a gypsy vibe on the cloudy day.

Tomorrow she could be a wildly sensual model. The next day after that, a metal rocker. Meanwhile, I’d still be dressed in my favorite team’s jerseys and sweatpants. At least her hair was still purple. Tomorrow would be different.

“A bachelorette party in Portland. A girlfriend of mine found her Prince Charming. There is no way I’m driving back after tequila and male strippers.”

“Don’t they usually occur on the weekends?”

“The couple can’t wait to be married. They’re flying off to Jamaica so this is the only time I’ll get to see her. Anyway, you’ve got the condo to yourself. Maybe you can pick up a sexy male and show him around the place.”

“Very funny. I’ll be working until six. Then I need to practice.”

“That’s right. You have a performance coming up. Right?” Samantha leaned against the doorjamb, folding her arms. She was much more interested in my dance career than anyone in my family.

“A few days. No biggie.”

Every expression I’d seen on Samantha rivaled the one before. She could bear such emotion with little more than her eyes. When she pursed or twisted her lips, I could imagine she could wrap a guy around her little finger in seconds. “Isn’t dancing everything you’ve ever wanted to do?”

“Yeah, but you learn to live with disappointment.” I grabbed my eyeliner, still able to see her reflection in the mirror. I moved the tip of the pencil under one eye, realizing she was still staring at me. “What?”

“If you’re anything like what I remember, you’re amazing. You have to believe in yourself.”

At least her almost somber tone shifted into her more typical happy-go-lucky persona. She could certainly light up any dark room. I’d been told I was Debbie Downer. “It’s called living in the real world and realizing dreams might not always come true.”

“You gave yourself a year. Right?”

I’d told her very little about my plans for the future, but she had the memory of an elephant. I’d need to be very careful what I allowed to slip around her. “A promise made to myself.” My promise was simple. If I wasn’t asked to audition for a major dance company or perhaps for Broadway, fat chance in hell, then I’d buckle down and find a lucrative job that would pay the bills and provide security for my future.

Or I’d be forced to face my father and his determination to find me a husband. Just another corporate merger that would add dollar signs to his already padded bank account.

She squeezed my arm. “You mean a promise made to your father. Right?” There was something practically evil about her wink.

“Are you going to shove that in my face forever?”

“Until something juicier comes along.” Her laugh filled the small space. “Why don’t you live a little tonight. Grab a drink. Sniff a hot guy.”

I almost dropped my mascara. “Sniff?”

Even the shrug of her shoulders was playful. “You can tell everything you need to know about how insanely amazing a man will be in bed by his scent. Cedarwood and spice, a hint of citrus and even a touch of the deep, dark forest and he’ll be wild in bed, dominating exactly as all women love. But…” She pointed her finger into the air. “If he smells like he just stepped out of a polo match, you know his dick will barely get hard.”

How could I not break into a fit of giggles?

“How about basic body odor?” I pinched my nose and turned around to face her.

“Well,” she said with even more suggestive drama. If that was possible with her. “It’s going to depend on what he was doing. From swinging an ax, hot. From putting out a raging fire. Sizzling. From hard-bodied construction work. I’d said on fire, baby.”

“What about playing sports?”