Page 27 of Ice Rebel

“Does that really work with the chicks?”

He narrowed his eyes, which caused his thick, dark brows to collide together. “What do you mean?”

“Relying on your dimples and a shy boy smile? Does that cause them to rush right over to you?”

He scratched his head, thoroughly confused. “I’m not that kind of guy.”

“Sure, you’re not.” I took another step away, my body almost tottering into his.

Although being so close to him allowed me to gather a whiff of his scent.

Damn it. Sandalwood and citrus along with perspiration. A truly dangerous combination.

“Try me,” he said when I’d walked a couple of feet away.

“I’ll save you the embarrassment.”

I thought he’d suffered the loss with charm until he did the unthinkable once again. “How about going on that date with me, Clementine? I’ll tell you my name.”

Hearing the enunciated syllables of my fake name drifted a few nodes of current into every muscle. I turned, walking backward. “Thanks, but no, thanks. I don’t need to know your name. We’re not going to be friends. And dating a member isn’t allowed. It’s in the rules.”

It wasn’t, but he didn’t know that. Complications I didn’t need.

At least that stopped him from providing a comeback.

This time when I left the room, I groaned. I’d give him an A+ for effort.

CHAPTER 7

Chelsea

Once upon a time hot men had made me swoon.

Not necessarily in the same way as I’d read in one of Samantha’s books, but enough I’d fall into a fit of crazed heat and giggles when the object of my affection smiled or even looked in my direction.

That was a long time ago in a world far away. Los Angeles was certainly one million percent different than Seattle. I’d learned quickly after moving to the Northwestern city that the people were highly educated, politically progressive, and completely tech savvy. In LA, people were very… eclectic in tastes, wants, and needs. More than half were carbon copies of my parents.

Entitled.

Sadly, my quirky artistic abilities certainly fit better in the areas surrounding Hollywood than in the specialty coffee chains and health food stores. If there was something else I’d come to understand over the last couple of weeks, it was that the people of Seattle took their sports teams seriously.

Tailgating was an artform, traffic a nightmare when there was any game on the horizon, no matter the sport.

Maybe that was another reason I wasn’t enthused about any further dealings with the hockey player, not that I needed another.

Fortunately, I didn’t catch sight of the hot-swimmer-heavy-weightlifter for the duration of my workday or after changing into my leotards. By the time I made it into the dance studio, I’d all but forgotten what he looked like.

Yeah, right. As if that was possible.

When the door closed behind me, I headed to the small stereo system, selecting a piece of music. I didn’t feel like practicing the medley I’d be dancing to in a few days, instead choosing a more romantic Spanish guitar piece. I needed work on creating fluid motions, becoming one with the music as the dance instructor had conveyed.

After a slow start that including admonishing myself in the mirror, I remembered a favored exercise of keeping my eyes closed. If I didn’t want to run headfirst into a wall, I’d need to maintain spatial awareness. Feeling the music deep within my core was the only way of doing so.

I’d found it so incredibly hard to let go, the pressure of trying to be something I wasn’t and could never be like a noose around my neck. In putting my foot down, I’d added an entirely different burden, one equally as suffocating but now based on aspects of guilt.

But not today.

Today I refused to allow my anxiety or voices of the naysayers to take away what I loved the most. Dance. Simple. Pure. Felt from the heart.