Page 35 of Ice Princesses
A few minutes pass, then a few more. I catch up on messages from back home—pictures of a meet they had at our local rink, some excitement around the possibility of a Lutz workshop with an Uruguayan coach in August. Business as usual that doesn’t feel that way for me as much anymore.
“Hi,” Isabella says, taking a seat on the stool next to mine. She sets her glass down and turns her body towards me, her bare knee touching the outside of my thigh.
“Hello,” I answer, blinking at her a few times. I’m immediately aware of how little space there is between us, how visible we are from the rest of the room, and how easily this could be misread by anyone who cared to look closely.
Which means she knows exactly what she’s doing.
“How was your evening?” she asks.
“Quiet,” I say. “The kids went feral, and I hope they’re not terrorizing the town.”
She smiles. “Meh, it’ll be fine.”
“You’re supposed to be having dinner,” I add, glancing over my shoulder in the direction of her table. Nina is holding the other two people’s attention, and the conversation looks way more serious than just a few minutes ago.
“We just ordered,” she says easily. “They’ll survive without me for fifteen minutes.”
I take a sip of my drink, giving myself a moment to think through whether I want to ask what she’s doing or pretend it isn’t obvious.
She saves me the trouble by leaning in just slightly, closeenough that her voice drops without effort. Her long brown hair drapes around her face and the tip of a strand drags ever so lightly over my forearm, and my body reacts before I can stop it.
“I wanted to see you.”
I let out a slow breath through my nose.
“You are not being subtle.”
She laughs loudly, full body shaking and her eyes closed. “I’m not aiming for subtle at all, Cecilia.”
I turn then and look at her. At how calm she seems now, how intentional this all feels compared to the locker room and the way she’d startled and pulled back the second reality intruded.
My knee is still touching hers. She adjusts in her seat, leaning in closer and moving her knees in a way that is way too intimate for this public setting.
“You know people are watching,” I say, low and for her ears only. Her gaze drops briefly to my mouth, then back up to my eyes, and the awareness travels down my spine, sharp and immediate, settling somewhere low and incredibly difficult to ignore.
“Yes.”
“And you came over anyway.”
She exhales, something like a laugh caught halfway out. “I can sit wherever the fuck I want.”
“With federation reps behind you.”
She glances back at the table, then returns her attention to me, eyes sharp now.
“Especially with them here.”
I feel it low in my stomach, the awareness that she isn’tpretending this is neutral, that she’s choosing the risk instead of tripping into it.
“You like to be a bad girl, Isabella?”
Her reaction is immediate.
She straightens in her seat like she’s been burned, shoulders drawing back, breath hitching once before she manages to steady it, and this time, her eyes don’t just shift to my mouth but they linger there, slow and unguarded, before sliding back up to meet mine with something darkened and alert in them.
She clears her throat, but her jaw tightens and one hand shifts on the bar, fingers curling around the edge like she needs something solid to hold on to.
“Pretending I don’t want to be near you feels worse than whatever this is.”
