Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I'm now apparently making them ice skate.

Anyagal is kindly prereading for me.


Iron & Wine

Tonight, I beat him onto the ice.

Not that that was my intention or anything.

It's a quarter after when Edward pushes through the double doors and steps inside the empty arena. His head's buried in his phone, his expression inscrutable. The moment he clocks me, he freezes, however, and I'd be lying if I said a tiny thrill didn't bubble through my veins.

I pretend to ignore him, then lose him as I transition into the exaggerated fan spiral Alice just added to my program. But I can feel his eyes following me. It feels intimate–maybe a little too intimate–like a subtle weight pressing into my skin and squeezing the air out of my lungs.

I wonder if he feels like this when I watch him.

Maybe.

Probably not.

Either way, as soon as I circle around, the weight lifts. Dressed in his usual black fitted tee and joggers shoved up to his knees, Edward throws me a small smile and motions to the rink in question.

"I can share… if I have to," I call over, rolling my eyes with put-on irritation.

That small smile widens as he chucks his bag onto the bench and pulls off his guards. With one last glance at his screen, he tosses his phone onto the pile. Then, without a word, Edward casually vaults over the boards, not even bothering with the gate. He catches up to me almost instantly.

"Wasn't sure if I'd see you tonight," he says, automatically flipping around to watch me as we loop the rink. "Do you even sleep?"

"Do you?" I'm not the only one who shows up every day at oh-God-thirty. When he crosses over, I frown at the neoprene brace hugging his knee. "You okay?"

"Just torqued it a little this afternoon." He shrugs, and the movement pulls his shirt tighter across his chest, highlighting the sculpted lines and valleys hiding beneath. "It's what I get for getting old, I guess."

Tyler's words from the gym echo in my head.

And again, I know that, statistically, Ty's not wrong when it comes to men's singles.

Doesn't mean I have to like it. Or agree.

Peeling off in a quick slide chasse, followed by a nimble step and glide combination from one of my old routines, I just shake my head and give him my best Eric impersonation. "Old? You're not old."

"Fine. Old compared to some," Edward says, grinning as he chases me, mimicking my footwork. "How about that?"

Fluid and agile, he's not bad, but I'm not sure that's what he's asking me. Instead, I nod at his knee. "How'd it happen?"

The grin disappears, and Edward's features pinch into a sour expression. "Tried to land a quad axel–emphasis on tried."

Ouch.

He's lucky he didn't fracture something, but I don't need to tell him that. I'm sure he knows the risks and the toll on the body better than me.

"How many are you up to anyway?" I ask instead, and this time around, I parallel him as he transitions into a wide outside spread eagle.

Edward moves… effortlessly, loose and free. Yet his angles remain absolutely perfect, his edges dig deep, and his blades rip across the ice.

To me, that crunch sounds like a lullaby.

"Theoretically? Three–toe, Salchow, and Lutz," he says, lazily swiping at me when I arc back around, buzzing him and missing him by inches. "Toe loop's the only one I'm landing consistently, though. No way I'd attempt anything more in competition."

Again, I think of all those skinny teenage boys rocketing through the air, stacking up points in spite of programs utterly devoid of artistry. "You think that one's going to be enough?"

"Maybe." Edward's shoulders roll in another nonchalant shrug, but doubt rides his tone, and for whatever reason, never mind that I barely know him, I hate it. "Garrett wants me to focus more on the program components. He thinks it'll help overcome the technical deficit. We'll see."

I nudge him with my elbow and flash him a reassuring smile. "Come on, you'll be fine. I know it."

"Yeah?" His lips curve in response, just a little, then he bumps me back. "I'm glad someone thinks so."

It's a cryptic statement that I'm not about to delve into. But again, I hate the uncertainty in his voice and the way his gaze cuts away. Before I can divert, he does it for me.

"How about you? How's your new program going?"

Now, it's my turn to grimace. "It's… it's going."

"I saw you and your choreography coach this morning." Cheeks creasing, Edward snorts out a laugh. "She looks a little… intense."

Intense doesn't even touch what Alice is.

"That's one way to describe it." Nose crinkling, I sigh and wave a random hand. "Honestly, it's a mess right now, but… it'll be amazing once we iron out the kinks."

"I bet so." It's a quiet statement, without even an ounce of sarcasm.

"I hope," I say, ignoring the pang that hits me square in the chest, then scowl. "But Alice keeps adding and changing stuff. She always does that, but this year, it's worse. It's driving Katya batshit crazy."

"Why am I not surprised?" Edward chuckles softly, and it's like a tranquilizer.

As we round the corner, I turn into a lazy twizzle.

I spin and spin, and spin again. With every rotation, I catch glimpses of the massive Olympic rings hanging on the far wall, of the championship banners swinging from the rafters, some bearing my name.

Of Edward standing off to my left, studying me like I'm some kind of puzzle.

As I slow and come out of my final turn, a hand abruptly captures mine. I stiffen for a fraction of a second before instinct takes over. My fingers curl, and my thumb locks around his. On cue, his left leg tucks behind his right, planting his toe pick in a low pivot position.

It's the start of a pairs move, not a dancers', and it feels both foreign and strange.

When I glance over, our eyes meet. Edward's brows climb–asking.

"Ready?" he whispers.

My teeth clamp down on my bottom lip, but then I grin in answer.

Edward grins right back as his forearm simultaneously goes taut. Then, with strength that makes my stomach somersault and dip, he begins to pull me around him in a slow spiral. Stretching, I go on one foot and lean, letting physics do its magic. We build up speed with each revolution, and in no time, my blades slant so hard that I'm nearly horizontal with the ice. His grip and power are unreal, and as inertia whips me around him like a slingshot, all I can do is whoop and laugh.

"Holy shit!" I say, still laughing, almost breathless as he eventually slows and drags me back up to vertical. "How long can you keep that up?"

While I've done more than a few death spirals, this was different, nothing like playing around with Jake.

Even though playing around is exactly what we're doing, and my cheeks ache from the utter joy of it.

My shoulder's going to pay tomorrow, too, but I can't seem to find it in me to care.

"A while." Edward smiles as he turns me loose. Trying and failing to ignore the thump inside my chest, I roll my eyes at him, but his just twinkle and dance.

"Whatever." Shaking my head, I give his brace another pointed look as we go back to skating meandering, serpentine laps. "What are you supposed to be working on tonight anyway?" I flip around, mirroring him. "Other than slinging me around, that is."

Or jumps.

"I don't know." Edward's shoulders rise and fall, then he swipes a hand through his hair. It's messy like usual, windblown from skating, with just a touch of sweat darkening his hairline. "Just wanted to unwind. Maybe practice a little footwork since Garrett keeps telling me mine's lacking."

"Lacking? Are you serious?"

Jesus, Garrett sounds as bad as Katya.

He doesn't speak for a moment, as if debating, and glances down the rink before looking back at me. "That waltz you were practicing a couple weeks ago..."

It's not a question.

"The Golden Waltz," I say, drawing it out with a haughty, nasally British accent. I flick my pinky for emphasis.

Edward barks out a laugh before swiping through his hair again. "Yeah, that one."

Without permission, my heart flutters. "What about it?"

He hesitates once more. "I don't suppose you'd show me some of those steps."

I slide to a halt, and my forehead crumples as I watch his jaw tick in nervous agitation. It takes me a second. "Wait, you're wanting to somehow incorporate that into your singles routine?"

"Maybe some of it." He licks his lips.

"You know it's meant to be a couple's dance, right?"

"I'm aware. Does it really matter?" Edward's shoulders roll again. "You looked… incredible skating it."

Warmth climbs my neck and cheeks, flaming even hotter when I peek over and find him staring. My skin feels tight, like it's somehow too small for my body, and I swallow.

But… he's right.

It doesn't matter.

"Alright…" I say, mischievous and sly, and my face abruptly splits in two. "But you better get ready, buddy."

"Buddy?" Edward glances down at the sheer black flouncy skirt covering my tights, then at my matching, midriff-bearing top. "Bring it, Princess."

My heart flutters again.

Shooting him a feigned glare, I pluck my phone off the wall as we pass by and tap the Bluetooth to link to the overhead sound system. Instead of the quick, punchy Viennese waltz Katya always uses to torture me, I scroll down my seemingly endless playlist and tap something altogether different–something slower and a lot more modern. It's also a 6/8, but who really cares.

Two bars in, Edward squints up at the speakers. "I was a what? A quick wet boy?"

Laughing, I wave him off and motion for him to copy me. "We'll start at the beginning. Right back outside edge for the walkaround threes."

Edward skates forward and spins around until we're side by side, elbow to elbow instead of facing. When he looks over, one corner of his mouth pulls up into his signature lop-sided grin. "Eyes wide on my plastic toys? What kind of cracked out song is this?"

"Oh, shut up," I say, huffing, doing my damnedest not to break and smile. "The melody's beautiful." When he cocks a disbelieving brow, I jab his ribs with my elbow. "It's also slow, which you're going to need."

"You think I can't keep up?"

"I know you can't." I laugh again and give him a withering stare, worthy of Katya at her finest. "So… chin up, shoulders back, and let's dance."

.

.

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Notes:

Next week, I will be traveling overseas for work and likely won't be able to post. So, I'll see you all again on the 15th!

Similar to gymnastics, figure skating has a complicated scoring system. Scores are a combination of the Program Component Score (composition, presentation, etc) and the Technical Element Score, where more difficult elements have higher values. Quadruple jumps are the highest-scoring single elements. In men's singles in particular, almost all of the top-tier skaters attempt at least one quadruple jump in their programs (many do multiple). Even if they don't execute the jump(s) well, the difficulty values are high enough that it's still worth it.