Page 100 of Ice Princesses
“It’s not, babe.”
I drop my gaze quickly, busying myself with straightening a stack of papers that absolutely does not need straightening, and take a second to look around the lobby without making it obvious that I’m looking to confirm that no one is paying us any real attention.
“You brought me coffee?”
“Duh.”
“Princess, are you obsessed with me?”
Isabella winks.
“I’m exactly like the other girls, Ceci,” she replies, setting the cups down on the table like this is a perfectly normal exchange. “You should know that by now.”
I huff out a laugh, shaking my head as I reach for the cup she slid in my direction. “Right. Classic.”
“Textbook behavior,” she adds, already sliding into the chair across from me like this is part of our routine and not something that has developed over the span of a few weeks and we’ve avoided naming.
“I’m a little terrified, to be honest,” I say, lifting the cup to my lips.
“You should be, Coach,” she replies, watching me too closely as I take a sip. “I’ve been studying.”
“What, exactly?”
She shrugs, one shoulder lifting lazily. “You.”
I roll my eyes, but I can feel that fucking smile threatening again, pulling at the corners of my mouth in a completely-out-of-control way at this point.
Three days ago, we were lying on towels in the middle of an empty rink while she called it a date like it was the most natural thing in the world, and now she’s in front of me with coffee she knows I’ll like, looking at me like she already knows what I’m going to say before I say it.
I don’t know what to do with that.
Isabella reaches across the table and taps one of my notes with a manicured finger. “He’s still strugglingwith this?”
“Sometimes.”
“Not as much as last week, though.”
“You’re right.” I look at the page, grateful for the safer topic. “He’s correcting faster, more naturally.”
She nods, and a smile immediately blooms on her face. It reaches her icy blue eyes, crinkling them at the corners, and I can see the pride there. Quiet and careful, maybe a little restrained, but there nonetheless. I don’t know when I started noticing those small shifts in her expressions, the difference between her public persona and the private one, but now that I do, I can’t seem to stop.
Rodrigo is on the far side of the lobby with two other skaters, laughing too loudly over something on his phone. He looks lighter this week, even though we leave for Internationals in just over ten days. He’s more settled since his conversation with Nina and Isabella, and even though he hasn’t shared his decision with me, it feels as if something in him has organized itself.
I hate it as much as I love it. I’m proud of him, and I’m scared. Both things are true at the same time. My brain keeps telling me they shouldn’t coexist, yet they totally do.
“He looks so good,” Isabella says, following my gaze. “Stop trying to correct his posture with your mind.”
Her foot brushes mine under the table. Maybe accidental. Probably not.
I look back at her. She’s trying to appear innocent, which is one of her worst skills.
“Behave,” I murmur.
Her eyes brighten. “I’m just having coffee with my girlf?—”
I go still.
“Fireblade.” Rodrigo appears out of nowhere, drops the word and keeps walking without breaking stride.
