Ice Cold

𝐀𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐥

I inhale, exhale, then exhale again, slating backwards whilst picking up as much speed and courage as I can muster. I'm about to attempt a Triple Axel, or at least two-and a half spins, which I haven't practiced in a few months. I reach the speed I need and lift my leg, prepared to dig the toe of my skate into the ice in order to propel myself into the air. However, a big male body speeds right in front of me, and I'm forced to skate to a stop. However, the momentum is much too fast, and I slip and fall backwards, landing hard on my ass. I groan, but the pain is quickly replaced by pure anger.

"What the FUCK?"

He skids to a stop, his blades narrowly close to my fingers. I scowl. He smirks, tilting his head, standing above me.

"Falling for me, Jones?"

"Remember, this is my ice, jackass."

I snap as I move to push myself up, rising to full height. He still has a solid foot on me, and it pisses me off. I wish I was taller than him, just to show him what it's like to be looked down upon. Maybe then, his ego will shrink a few sizes. Then again, it would still be much too big.

"Your ice, huh? That's funny, because I don't remember seeing your name on it."

I skate back a few feet to put space between us, liking that now I can properly level my gaze with his. The smartass has a response to everything, and it's the most infuriating thing in the world.

"Whatever. Just back off when I'm practicing."

I roll my eyes, done with his bullshit. I'm the one who has been coming here mornings for months, and he thinks he can just show up and take over. Well, I'm not going to let that happen. I turn and move to skate off, but firm fingers wrap around my wrist, halting me in place.

"April."

"What?"

Irritated, I look over my shoulder at him, surprised by how soft his gaze is. His expression is..hold on, is he nervous? He looks down at his hand and blinks, as though he hadn't even realised he was touching me. He immediately lets go.

"Nothing. Just- can't we share the ice?"

"...Translate, please."

"You know- I have half, you have half?"

I stare at him blankly, and he stares back, giving me what I think is an attempt at puppy eyes. He looks stupid, but I know that the ice is technically not even mine. At the end of the day, if Lorri said he could be here, there's nothing I can do to stop him. So, reluctantly, I turn and skate off to the edge of the rink, reaching for one of the red markers coaches use for sessions. Popping the lid off, I move to the middle of the rink, bend low, and skate from one side to the other, drawing the line so that the ice is divided into two halves. I straighten, toss the pen aside, and plant my hands on my hips.

"There. Left is yours, right is mine."

"Your left, or mine?"

"Don't be stupid."

I step over the line onto my half, and he steps onto his, offering me a lopsided grin.

"And what happens if I cross the line?"

"You leave, and never come here mornings again."

"Fine. Only if the rule also applies to you."

I nod, not wanting to waste any more breath or time on him. We both seem to clock that we have less than an hour left, and move into action simultaneously- me with my spins, and him with his technique. We share no other words throughout the practice, but there are times I catch him looking at me, or vice versa. It's not as though I want to be looking at him, yet sometimes he ends up in my line of sight post-spin, and I grow distracted by the pure speed he generates on the ice. Whenever he catches me, he smirks, and I frown, looking back to whatever I'm doing. I am surprised by how fast the hour flies by, and how well my system works. He doesn't get in my way once, and I don't have to listen to him waffle- it's perfect.

We eventually make our way off the ice, and still not a word passes between us. Instead, we remain silent as we slide back into our normal shoes, zipping our skates tight into our bags. It isn't until we're both walking out of the rink, when one of us speaks. To my own surprise, it's me.

"See you tomorrow, then."

"Oh- yeah."

We split ways and walk towards our cars, and I can't resist glancing over my shoulder at him. I swear, he's smiling, but I suppose he was just..smirking. Blake Beckett doesn't smile, he just smirks. Maybe I've got dirt on my leggings? Confused, I get into my car, waiting for his truck to pull out of the parking lot before I open my phone, expecting a text from Jay. Our date last night was super spontaneous, especially for me, but I ended up really enjoying myself. Jay was respectful, and we just went to catch a movie. I tap on our messages, and the last one was sent by me last night. I frown, but remind myself that it's still early in the morning, and he might not even be up yet. Either that, or he has another early shift at Starbucks, and can't be on his phone. Still, just to check, I send him another text.

Me: Morning- you have a shift?

I stare at the words for a few moments, lips pursed. A beat later, the message is marked as 'Read', and I smile, waiting for the three dots to pop up to signify he's typing a response. However...nothing. I blink. I'm well aware I'm an over-thinker, but in my experience, this has never been good. Sighing, I put my phone aside and start my car up.

Perhaps I'll see him at school.