Page 72 of Ice Dance

“Lower,” I said.

He obeyed, but the lower he went, the more I saw him fight with himself. And then it didn’t feel fun anymore, maybe even a little cruel. I tucked my dick away, and watched as he rose off the couch and headed to the kitchen. He ran the faucet, washing his hands, then tried to tidy his hair again.

I sighed, feeling looser than I had since before coming to London. Probably since the basketball court dance that was still doing the viral rounds on social media.

I’d come in Hasegawa’s hand and sucked him off. Okay then. That had definitely happened.

Was this going to change things?

I peered over at him at the island sink, his forehead gathering more lines, eyes getting harder, face becoming more guarded with every second. Alright, so, for me this was a fun way to spend twenty minutes. For him, his world had probably just imploded. I couldn’t forget that. And my lying sprawled on the couch with everything hanging out probably wasn’t helping him come to terms with what we’d just done, especially if people in his life had told him it was wrong.

“Hey, you okay?” I asked.

“Yes.” He dried his hands on a dishcloth. “I’ll get your towels.”

I watched him stride to the door, yank it open, and collect the towels housekeeping had left stacked in a neat pile outside. With anyone else, if they were this cool and distant after getting so hot and heavy, I’d have said they were going through something. But this was Hasegawa. He’d closed himself off, shut both ends of the book that was him, and nobody was looking inside. Not even me. I didn’t think it was personal. Maybe. He had kissed me after the Hans Zimmer performance the other day. I knew that had touched him. “Magnificent,” he’d said. He just got tangled up in his own head so much that sometimes he couldn’t untangle himself without some help.

“Do you mind if I . . . go?” he asked.

I sat up. He stood by the door, looking indecisive. He’d found his shirt and had thrown it on but kept it unbuttoned. He looked no less wild for being half dressed.

“Uh, no, I guess?”

“Right.”

“Okay.” I ruffled my hair, feeling a little odd in my chest. Was he ditching me now, after that? “We have debrief at⁠—”

He left.

The door swung shut.

I huffed, alone in my apartment.

Was that just his way, or was he about to spiral because he’d made another man come? Or because he’d enjoyed it? Had he been with a man before? I should probably have asked that, but he’d been so confident it hadn’t seemed relevant at the time.

Should I go after him?

Probably not. He liked his space.

I stood, and winced at the flash of heat in my shoulder. I’d gone down hard during the lift. But it wasn’t anything a few painkillers wouldn’t fix. I ran the faucet in the sink, popped a few pills, collected my tossed clothes, then went for a second shower. We had to be back at it in half an hour, whether he was ready or not. The dance demanded it. And we were both slaves to that.

He was able to compartmentalize better than me. By the time we saw each other that evening, he’d put himself back together and was all business. His gaze didn’t linger. He was Hasegawa, the professional. It almost made me ashamed that I couldn’t copy him and switch off. I looked too long, got lost in the sweep of his dark lashes, and my mind wandered back to my kitchen, to when he’d had his hands on me from behind. I was going to have to get my head in the game. We were three days from the Montreal preview, where shit was about to get real.

The argument section had to shine. It had to be flawless. We had everything to prove.

Not a gimmick, not some silly pairing, we needed to show that we were serious. Or I did. Hasegawa had no trouble appearing serious.

I could not let us down.

We flew back to Montreal, and after landing, everything seemed as it had been before we’d left. For most of the skaters, that meant they’d be deep into their training for the winter. But for us, and a handful of others who had switched partners . . . we had to perform in front of the selection panel again.

So we had to get on the ice at Montreal International Rink, to get used to its surface and environment before the preview. Which meant we’d be performing in front of other skaters in the competition for the first time. Everyone knew we were partnered up for the gender open, but nobody had seen us outside of the provocative grinding video.

At least the bar was low for me. I didn’t have to do much to prove I belonged here. For Hasegawa, the bar was always high.

A few people from the press met me outside the rink on our first morning back. Media training said to smile, be polite, never throw phones or tell reporters to fuck off. If anything got heated, I was to repeat the questions in a different way, making it sound like an answer while remaining vague. As it happened, the woman was polite and had good questions. I spoke with her longer than I should have, answering questions about working with Hasegawa—how honored I was. She didn’t say the word underdog, or mention my reputation, but we both thought it.

The unease began as soon as I turned up at the rink, and didn’t go away when I entered the rinkside.