Icebreaker: A Novel (The Maple Hills Series Book 1)

“WHAT’S TAKING SO LONG?”

I can hear him stomping around on the other side of the locker room door, but he hasn’t materialized yet. It’s our first session, and we’re going to be getting on the ice late, which doesn’t bode well for the next two months, or for Nathan retaining his life.

“Nathan!” I yell, banging on the door.

“I can’t come out.”

I’m scowling at the door, knowing I look ridiculous, but I can’t scowl at him since he won’t come out. “Why?”

“The leggings. They’re too tight. You can see everything.”

“If you don’t come out, I’m coming in!”

His head pops out, body shielded by the door. “I’m being serious. They’re, uh…You can see everything.”

“Yes, we all get it. You’ve got a big dick. Blahblahblah, ego fed? We’re late. Come on, let’s get started.” Brady approaches as Nate pulls back the door, wearing what are quite possibly the most revealing leggings I’ve ever seen. They look like they’ve been painted on, and you can see outlines. Very, very detailed outlines. “Oh my God.”

Brady surveys him head to toe, then once more for good measure. Her hand lands on her hips and she shakes her head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Hawkins, but I cannot let you wear those.” Nate looks like a rabbit in headlights, hiding behind the door again. “Do you have anything else with you?”

“I have shorts in my locker I could put on over the top?”

“I think that would be a wise choice.” Nate disappears back into the locker room and I feel Coach hovering behind me. Turning to face her, she shakes her head. “It’s a slippery slope, Anastasia.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.” Lie. Big lie. Huge lie. “Should I get warmed up?”

“Use protection. Ask Prishi. Your bladder is never the same.”

“We aren’t d—”

She interrupts me with a flippant wave of her hand. “We’re both adults. Don’t insult my intelligence; I see how that man looks at you. I want to see my best skater on a podium, not a birthing ball. Clear?”

“Couldn’t be clearer, Coach.”

What she didn’t consider with her little speech is the probability of her best skater dying of embarrassment.

And why does she only call me her best skater when I don’t have witnesses?

Finally emerging from the locker room, Nate lightly nudges me in the ribs. “You ready to do this, Allen?”

“Nope, don’t crash into me.”

“No crashing into you, no birthing balls…So many rules, Anastasia.”

My eyes widen as I look up to meet his, his smug grin smiling down at me. His happiness is a comfort and it’s proof he isn’t feeling nervous like I am. Proof that he doesn’t realize that if this little experiment fails, I might finally break.

I’m lost in my thoughts when fingers weave through mine. “It’s going to be okay,” he whispers as we approach the warm-up area. “It might even be fun.”

I tut loudly. “If it’s fun, you’re not working hard enough.”

He laughs, earning a hiss from Brady. “Spoken like a true tyrant.”

After warming up, it’s finally time to find out if this was a horrible idea.

“If this is going to work, I need you to remember the routine, Nathan.” Coach tightens her faux fur, wrapping her arms around herself tightly. It never occurred to me that it might not be me that Nate can’t cope with. “I’m not sure what shenanigans Coach Faulkner lets you get away with, but you do what I tell you in my arena.”

He nods, his smug grin from earlier is a distant memory. “Got it.”

“Both of you give me a lap.” She concentrates on Nate. “Concentrate on being graceful, not fast, but keep up with Stassie.”

“Graceful. Slow. Got it…Ow! Why do you always pinch me?” He groans, rubbing his stomach.

“I am not slow! I’ve already proven I’m faster than you are once. Do I need to do it again?”

Nate’s mouth opens, but before he can fire back, Brady claps her hands. “What part of graceful made you two think I want to watch a race? Do as I ask, now!”

Setting off, Nate manages to keep pace. When we’re far enough away to feel safe, he moves closer. “What’s with the clapping?”

It’s fun having other people experience Brady’s antics for the first time. After over two years of working with her, I don’t even notice anymore. “I like to imagine she was a dog trainer in a past life.”

We make it back to where we started, and I recognize Coach’s distaste immediately. It’s very easy to recognize something you see six days a week. Poor Nate looks pleased with himself, and to his credit, he did match my pace.

“How was that?” He grins.

She kisses her teeth. “Like a drunk deer, misguidedly stepping onto a frozen lake.”

“Do they have a lot of drunk deer in Montana, Coach?” I ask, remembering to say Montana and not Russia at the last second.

“Do not sass me, Anastasia. The pair of you do it again. Gracefully.” I’ve done more laps than leaps before Brady is finally satisfied with Nate’s version of graceful. “Much better, Nathan. You’re not playing hockey now. Nobody is going to attack you on the ice.”

“Respectfully, Coach.” His eyes flick to me quickly. “I don’t think you can promise me that.”

Once we get into the swing of things, I’m thoroughly enjoying my training session for the first time in forever, and I think Brady might be too.

Moving to the center of the ice, I move to Nate’s side to introduce the simpler jumps. He doesn’t need to do anything complex to help me but ensuring he’s in the right spot and facing the right direction is essential when I do the real technical part.

More than anything, I need him to recognize the names of things so he knows what I’m doing, and doesn’t accidentally get in my way.

“I’m going to make it easy for you. Just pay attention to my feet.”

“Stassie,” he drawls. “I’m pretty sure I skated before I walked. You don’t need to make it easy for me. I probably know far more than you expect me to.”

Arrogance. My favorite thing to deal with.

“Okay, brainiac. What edge do you take off from when you’re doing a Lutz?” He moves in front of me, and I can see on his face that he hasn’t got a clue. “Jokes on you, you’ve proved you need to shut up and listen to me.”

“Jokes on you.” He scoffs. “I don’t even know what a Lutz is.”

“You are the most annoying man I’ve ever met.”

“I don’t care what you call me as long as I’m top of the list.”

How the hell am I supposed to get through this six days a week?

Even when he’s annoying, I still want to jump his bones. The long-sleeved T-shirt we bought earlier is clinging to every muscle, his cheeks are flushed, and every time he looks at me, and the corner of his mouth tugs up, I forget every thought.

I’ve been totally and utterly unhinged by a man. I’m disgusted with myself, for being distracted, for knowingly letting every slither of feminism shrivel up and die over dimples and thick thighs.

“Why do you look like you’re having a crisis?”

Because I am? “Pay attention. I’m not explaining this again.”

“Hey, I’m not the one daydreaming.”

“There are six types of jumps in figure skating: toe loop, flip, Lutz, Salchow, loop, and Axel. They fall under two categories, which are toe jumps and edge jumps. Can you guess what toe jumps are?”

“Is it jumps that use this useless fucking pick thing?”

The only thing Nate’s been unhappy about is his new skates. Unlike his hockey skates, the skates we use have toe picks. We did a quick practice skate at Simone’s after we finished at the mall, and I lost track of how many times he went flying. Not to mention that breaking in new skates can fucking suck.

“It isn’t useless; you’re going to need it. But yeah, you take off by hitting the ice with the ‘useless fucking pick thing.’ Edge jumps take off from the inner or outer edge. Simple, right?”

He grunts something that roughly resembles yes, closely watching my feet as I turn, stretching my left leg back and striking the pick against the ice. “Single toe loop.”

Replicating my movements and, to his credit, getting it reasonably accurate, with the exception of his wobbly landing, we move on.

“What move were you doing when you bowling balled a couple of weeks ago?” he asks, standing and brushing the ice from his ass.

“I was trying to do a quadruple Lutz.” Trying being the operative word. “Lutz is a toe jump.”

“It looked hard.”

“It is hard.”

“I sense you don’t want to talk about this.”

“There’s nothing to say.” I sigh. “Brady made us take it out after I hit my head. It’s not common in women’s figure skating and virtually unheard of in pairs. She felt it was an unnecessary risk.”

“So why do it?” He isn’t being rude; I think he’s genuinely interested. “I’m only trying to understand your mentality, Stas. Not make you feel bad.”

I don’t know how to explain it. It feels like a topic for therapy, not part of an impromptu chat in the middle of a training session. But I owe him honesty.

“I wasted years skating with someone who couldn’t match my skill because he was my boyfriend.” Classic. “Don’t get me wrong, we were very good, we just weren’t great. With a different partner, I might have achieved more. I don’t want to be that for Aaron.”

“And Aaron can do it, right?”

“Of course, he can.” I snort. “He’s spent hours and hours trying to help me nail it, even though he never thought I’d be able to. There’s a reason it’s not common, but I’m stubborn. I’ll keep trying, but it’s not going to be this season.”

“I like how determined you are,” he says softly.

“If you two want to look lovingly at each other, do it on your own time!” Coach shouts across the rink, reminding us both we’re supposed to be skating, not sharing.

He sighs heavily, putting his hands on his hips. “She scares the shit out of me. What’s with the coat? Does she know we’re in California?”

“Her aesthetic is Cruella de Vil. You’ll get used to it.”

NATHAN GROANS and winces loudly as we climb into his car.

“You’re so dramatic.” I laugh, throwing my bag at my feet. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“I’m not built for ballet and yoga, Stas,” he mumbles, putting the car into reverse. “My legs are on fire.”

“You’re not bendy at all, are you? It was like watching a tree trunk.”

Looking over from the driver’s seat, his eyebrow quirks. “I don’t need to be bendy because you’re bendy, which makes us perfectly matched.”

“You did good, Nathan. Seriously, I’m grateful. Thank you.”

“I spent half the time on my knees or face-planting. I’ve never concentrated as hard as I did doing those fucking laps. I was terrified I was going to trip. Are you sure I can’t wear my own skates?”

“I promise you’ll get used to them.”

“Or you’ll get used to seeing me on my knees.” He frowns. “Not like that. Or like that, if you want. That way is my preference.”

“A day.” I huff. “You lasted a day.”

Nate keeps me laughing all the way back to my apartment, mainly at his expense, but it still counts. Climbing out of the car and grabbing my bag, I lean in. “See you in the morning.”

“Bring coffee!” he yells as I close the door.

I’ve secretly been dreading coming home, and now that I’m watching the elevator numbers rise, I wish I were anywhere but here. I haven’t told Nathan, but Aaron has been ignoring me since I told him about my new skating arrangement when I got home last night.

If that wasn’t enough, what Nathan said about my meal plan has been playing on my mind since this afternoon. Blame where it’s due, I’ve never shown any interest in learning about nutrition. When I lived at home, my mom dealt with it, and at college, I let Aaron deal with it and trusted he knew what he was doing.

I know Sabrina is at rehearsals, which means Aaron should be alone, hopefully giving me the perfect opportunity to talk to him. Emphasis on the hopefully.

Letting myself into the apartment, I immediately spot him on the living room couch, watching a movie.

“Hey.” He turns his head, looking at me, but doesn’t respond. I swallow the lump forming and wipe my sweating palms against my stomach as I approach him. “Can we talk?”

Again, he doesn’t respond, but he pauses his movie and looks at me when I sit on the couch, dropping my gym bag at my feet.

“Uh, I was just wondering…Do you think my meal plan has enough calories? And is, like, I dunno, varied enough and stuff for me to be healthy?”

“Why the fuck are you asking me that?” he snaps.

Taking a deep breath, I shrug. “It just came up today, and it was sorta suggested that I’m undereating. I wanted to run it by you, so we cou—”

“Suggested by who? Hawkins?” The way he says Nathan’s name is borderline poisonous. “You suck his dick a couple of times and suddenly he knows what you need better than I do?”

His words knock the wind out of me. I splutter and choke on what I want to say, surprised. Astounded is a better word for what I’m feeling right now. As that feeling dissipates, the hurt sets in.

“What? No? Why are you being so mean? I only wanted to check with you, so we cou—”

Interrupting me again, he stands from the couch, dragging a hand down his face. “You know what, Anastasia? Fuck off. If Nate Hawkins is so fucking smart, go rely on him for everything.” His hands are shaking, eyes burning into me. “But when he gets bored of you, don’t come crying to me because you’re the one who drops your panties for anyone in a jersey!”

My heart bangs in my chest as he storms toward his room, slamming the door so harshly it’s like the whole building shakes. Sinking to the couch, I reach into my bag, pulling out my phone.

“Miss me already?” He laughs when the call connects.

Wiping the tears away with the back of my hand, I clear my throat. “Can you pick me up?”