I held my breath. Then I rolled my eyes as the pale hand on my belly made the slightest movement. “You idiot, your hands are on me right now.”
His laugh was slow and awesome, unrepentant and all Ivan.
“Or put a shirt on yourself.”
He paused. Then said, “Nah.”
I was going to kill him.
“So you just thought it would be fine for both of us to be here?”
I felt rather than saw his shoulders shrug.
“Why didn’t you get out of bed?”
He huffed. “Why would I? It’s mine.” His soft laugh curled over the back of my neck. “And it isn’t like I haven’t seen you naked—”
I groaned.
“And my job is to make sure you’re fine.”
That was one way of looking at it. If you tipped your head to the side and squinted. “Not when I don’t have a shirt on.”
“But I already did, remember?”
Did he have a point? Of course he did. Did I care? Of course I didn’t.
“You let all your partners into your bed drunk and naked, you goddamn pervert?”
He stopped breathing and laughing behind me for a moment, but the tension eased out of him just as quickly and he said, “No. You let all your partners see you naked?”
“No.” It was more like a “hell no,” but my head was hurting so bad, I couldn’t get it out.
Neither one of us said anything for a moment until Ivan decided to ask a question I didn’t expect.
“Do you miss him?” Something bluntly touched my back, and I did my best to play it off like it was no big deal it was probably his dick covered in just underwear, when it absolutely was. Friends didn’t touch other friends’ penis, did they?
Friends with benefits do, a small voice in my head whispered before I made that bitch shut up and asked instead, “Who?”
There was a pause and then, “Paul.”
That time I could get out “Hell no” real easy.
His maybe-dick was still touching me when he asked, “You’re sure?”
“I’m positive.” Then I couldn’t help but glance over my shoulder to see him literally there. Right fucking there. Morning breath be damned. “Do you miss your old partners?” I threw out the question like a complete moron, even as some part of my head warned me that was a stupid idea.
“Not even a little bit,” he echoed.
Huh.
“Do you regret that Mindy took a year off and now you’re stuck with me?” I asked another dumbass question, instantly regretting it.
He stared at me. He stared at me for so long, inches away from my face, while neither one of us had any clothes on, that I thought for sure he wouldn’t respond. But he did, and his one word answer felt like so much more. “No.”
No.
Okay.
Neither one of us said anything. Not for a minute and not for five based on the digital clock on the nightstand I could see over his shoulder.
The soft but hard organ that was more than likely poking at me seemed to move, and I swore my clit felt it. It was about time I gave it a rub, from the feel of it. I hadn’t masturbated since the morning before I’d gotten sick, and that was almost a world record for me.
“Ivan?” I asked gently.
“Hmm?” He sounded all sleepy and lazy again.
“Are you going to move your dick or is that what kind of friends we’re going to be?” I tried to joke.
His laugh was soft as he said, “That’s what kind of friends we’re going to be.”
And if that was disappointment in my belly, I told myself I was just embarrassed that I’d crawled into his bed to begin with.
Chapter 17
SUMMER/FALL
Squirt: Dinner at Margot’s at 7PM with Dad.
Seb: OK
Jojo: Works for me. Me and James will be there.
Tali: Sounds good.
Mom: Ben is coming with me.
Squirt: Okay, Mom.
Mom: I know you’re making a face, Rubella. Don’t.
Mom: I’m married. He knows it. He’s married. I know it.
Squirt: I didn’t say anything!
Mom: But I know you don’t approve.
Squirt: -_-
Mom: I’ll be on my best behavior.
Squirt: Promise? You won’t antagonize him?
Mom: I promise. Not one word.
Squirt: You promised.
Squirt: Jas, you’re coming, right?
I sighed and rubbed at my brow bone with the back of my hand. I had known my dad had arrived a few days ago. I hadn’t forgotten.
I just had chosen not to go over to Ruby’s house, where he was staying, to say hi.
I’d been tired after our two-a-day practices, ballet, Pilates, workouts, runs, and work. With only two weeks left before our first competition, it was fucking crunch time. We were running out of it, and I was stressed as fuck. I had been for the last two-plus months. Because from the moment I had gotten over being sick and Ivan had finally “allowed” me to go home, we had gone straight into learning the choreography for our short program and free skate. We’d decided not to even bother focusing on the usual exhibition program most pairs teams put together for galas that took place after major competitions. Ivan and I had decided that between the three of us—Coach Lee included—we could put something together.
We had all smirked when he had decided on the music for it.
And while learning choreography was tiresome to begin with, it had been even harder on me than Ivan. Not that I told him that or let it show. Because I’d had to do the same thing I had from the beginning. I’d had to practice it five hundred times more when I wasn’t with my coach or choreographer.
If any of them had thought it was strange that I’d brought my own camera and tripod to practices to film them, they hadn’t said anything. Coach Lee already had her camera set up to tear apart things her eyes couldn’t catch. My eyes needed that camera to track the moves and elements at night in my room or the living room. And during the week, I’d invite my mom or Tali or Jojo to come with me to the LC at damn near the middle of the night—from ten o’clock until midnight—to watch me and correct me while I did the programs so many times, my muscles were forced to memorize them.
For almost a month, I survived off three hours of sleep six days a week.
It had been hell. It had sucked. It had put me into a bad mood.
But I couldn’t complain, and I wouldn’t. Even if it meant I had to start putting on makeup before practices so that my dark circles weren’t that obvious.
But I had survived June into July.
And I had survived the intensity of July into August and then into September as our movements were picked apart, rebuilt with repetition and a lot of fucking patience. Perfection was hard. But none of us expected or wanted any less.
So…
We kept going.
I made time for my family on Saturday nights, when Ivan usually joined me unless one of his “kids” was sick. And on those rare days when one of them didn’t feel well, I’d drive out to see him on Sunday, and we’d hang out at his house and take them for a walk, or watch television on his big, comfortable couch. And twice, I’d brought Jessie and Benny along with me, and it had been just as fun, because Lacey might be a little sassy ass with a side-look that impressed the fuck out of me, but she loved kids.
I worked. I practiced. I trained. I did ballet with and without Ivan. I did Pilates without him, sometimes with my mom. I went for runs, sometimes with Jojo. I went rock climbing a few times with Tali. Ruby and Aaron came by for dinner randomly.
Every single minute of my life began to count. Measured, booked, and given away before the day had even started.
But I loved it. Valued it. All those squeezed-in moments were appreciated and necessary for me.
I was making things work. I was happy. The happiest.
So, the last thing I wanted or needed was to go see my dad.
But…
“What’s that face for?” Ivan asked from where he dropped his bag beside me at the gymnastics facility we were going to be training at that afternoon, while we tried to work on doing a quad throw—because fuck it, why not? I had asked when Coach Lee brought up how easy our triple throws had become and how she thought we could add another rotation to the mix easy, easy. Only, at the gymnastics facility, we could try them without the fear of me busting my fucking head open on the ice. Apparently, they had found out thanks to my check-up, that I’d had five concussions already in my life and had to try to avoid getting another one. I’d offered to put on a bike helmet, but all I’d gotten were two blank stares.
Ivan was the only one who had gotten a middle finger in return though.
They hadn’t appreciated my joke about us trying a Pamchenko while we were at it either.
So here we were.
I didn’t put my phone away as I glanced over at him. He had on a thin white T-shirt that must have been ancient it was so threadbare, and faded black sweatpants I had never seen before, not even at his house when he dressed down in the same sweats he practiced in. And he looked great. I didn’t know why that surprised me. “My dad is in town.”
He blinked. “I thought your dad was a deadbeat.”
The snicker that came out of me was more sad than funny. “No.” I scrunched up my nose and looked away. He wasn’t.