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

Anyagal is graciously prereading for me.

Lift & Fly

Parked dead in the center of the rink, I watch Eric juggle Angela across his shoulders for the fourth time.

"Slow down!" I yell through cupped hands, mimicking Katya far more than I care to admit. "Drop your left a little lower. Grip closer to the knee and rotate your wrist forward."

Nodding, Eric heaves Angela higher and adjusts his hold on her thigh.

"Better." I track them as they round the corner. "Ang, as he levers you out to the side, for now, slide your palm down his ribs to his hip. Lock your elbow and use your forearm to stabilize."

Sweat dots Angela's forehead. "Like this?"

"Good!" I push off to follow them, deftly dodging Jess and Mike as they whizz by. Head chasing me around, Jessica frowns in confusion, which, frankly, isn't that surprising. "Slowly–slowly!–kick your right leg out and up until you're vertical. Do not overcorrect."

She does exactly what I command, and a smile stretches my face.

"Yes! Perfect!"

"Jesus, this hurts!" she calls out, huffing and puffing as the blood drains to her face, turning her cheeks a bright, vibrant pink. "Can we please speed this up?"

"Suck it up, buttercup!" Weaving between a pair of twelve-year-olds practicing their jumps, I laugh when she sticks her tongue out at me. "Get it right, then go fast."

"You said you wouldn't yell!" Angela glares at me upside down. "You're worse than Ira!"

I can't decide if that's a compliment or an insult. Maybe both.

Gliding past in a slow arc, I study their lines and play out the physics in my mind. Satisfied, I finally signal Eric, whose features pinch in a rare show of strain.

"Thank God," he mutters, clamping his left around her ankle.

"Okay! Ang," I say, circling, "as soon as you feel the rotation, lock everything down. Your abs are going to scream, but you got to hold it."

"Fine, just freaking go already!"

Snorting, Eric begins the spin. On cue, Angela's body goes ramrod stiff, and as he picks up speed, they turn into a streaky blur. Her ponytail whips through the air so fast it sings.

But their lines are perfect, just like I knew they'd be, and a crazy kind of pride blossoms inside my chest.

A few seconds later, Eric flips Angela down to the ice for the next element, continuing to rotate. The second her blades touch, they transition, dropping into a tight, rapid sit spin, and then stand back up to an assisted layback, before finishing it off with a light, elegant flourish. As soon as they're done, Angela's whole face splits into a wide-eyed, blinding grin. Fist pumping, she lets out a high-pitched squeal of triumph, and then she launches herself at her partner. Eric catches her without fail and swings her around and around, laughing as they go.

Another tiny pang of envy strikes.

Because I miss that–those little wins and moments of celebration, when you and your partner skate around in your own private bubble and the whole world disappears.

"Well, that took long enough."

I flinch.

Tearing away from Ang and Eric with a quick internal shake, I side-eye the nasally blonde sliding to a stop beside me. "Seriously?"

Staring down her nose, eying me up and down, Jessica flips her braid over her shoulder and crosses her arms over her chest. Out of habit, she plumps up her cleavage and lets out a snotty, petulant harrumph. "What? What did I say?"

Inwardly, I groan.

Dealing with Jess was so not on my list of things to do today.

"Can you ever just…" I hesitate, trying not to engage in her usual nonsense, but today, irritation wins out, and I throw up my hands. "I don't know, not be bitchy and be happy for someone else? Maybe just once?"

"Huh?" Nose wrinkling, Jess looks at me like I have two heads. "Why would I do that?"

Thing is, she's serious, too. Much like Ty, Jessica's almost a caricature, a quintessential skating brat. Only unlike Ty, she doesn't have the pedigree or the backers to warrant the attitude.

Or the skill.

Burying my face in my palms, I spit out something between a laugh and a sigh. "You're really awful, you realize that, right?"

"Pfft, whatever." She flicks a dismissive hand, almost smacking one of the twelve-year-olds buzzing by. When the kid yelps, bright sapphire eyes roll, and her lips twist into a sly smile. "Anyway, what are you doing here? Are you, like, going to start coaching or some bullshit like that?"

Jesus, she's not obvious at all.

"No," I say, not about to give her, of all people, any bit of ammo. When Angela starts to approach, I smile and wave her off, signaling for her and Eric to start over again. I'm not about to let Jess rain on their parade. "Not at all. Just helping out a friend."

"That's really weird."

My shoulders shake. "No, it's really not."

"If you say so," Jessica says, shrugging with typical vanity and self-importance. "Someone told me you were working with Al–" She abruptly cuts off, and I watch with vague amusement as her features instantly rearrange into something resembling approachability. Her eyes focus on something behind me, and I don't even have to guess. She might as well be drooling. "Fuck me, he's so hot."

Slowly, I swivel, feigning nonchalance when I spy that increasingly familiar lean silhouette. "Who are you talking about?"

"Duh, Edward Cullen," Jessica says, huffing. She angles away, continuing to follow him as he streaks across the ice. At the far end, he vaults into the air in a seemingly effortless triple toe, and her teeth clamp down on her bottom lip. "Unfff."

"You okay there?" I ask, trying and failing not to snicker. Again, subtlety is not one of Jessica's talents. "You need a towel to catch some of that drool?"

"Shut up!" Her elbow jabs into my ribs, making me laugh more.

"What?"

Pivoting back, she levels me a haughty, withering glare, but then she turns calculating, and her voice drops to a cajoling purr. "So… I've seen you talking to him. What's he like?"

Still feigning nonchalance, I make a small, bored sound of acknowledgment. "I don't know, he's okay, I guess. Seems nice enough."

"He's… nice. Right." She clucks her tongue. "Well?"

"Well, what?" I ask, watching Edward pick up speed, readying for another jump. Across the ice, propped against the wall beside an oblivious Mike, Ty watches him, too, only he might as well be glaring daggers.

"Well, has he said anything about me?" Jessica jabs my ribs again, this time harder. "I think he wants to ask me out. I definitely caught him staring at my ass the other day."

It takes a real concerted effort not to choke on my own spit. "Really?"

"Yeah, really." She shimmies her hips. "It's obvious."

"What about Mike?" I ask, subtly nodding toward the wall.

Jessica frowns. "What about him?"

Still oblivious, bleach-blond Mike slugs back a neon energy drink, then laughs when Ty grumbles something under his breath. Still glaring, Tyler throws his guards and shoves off the wall, flipping Mike off as he skates away. With a curse, Mike follows, hot on his heels, and the two race across the ice, chasing each other while weaving in and out of the growing crowd.

Idiots.

If one of them steam-rolls some kid, Ira will tan both their hides.

"I don't know… It wouldn't bother him?" When Jessica doesn't take the hint, I arch a brow. "I thought you two were…"

"Together?" She throws back her head, whipping her braid, and barks out an inelegant laugh. "Eh, sort of?"

"Sort of? What does that even mean?" I ask before I can stop myself.

"We skate and… sometimes we fuck."

My cheeks puff out. "And… that's more than I ever wanted to know."

I don't know what kind of ugly face I make next, but Jess just laughs again. "Like you and Jake weren't! At least that's what he told Mike… "

For a split second, the arena spins, and something bitter and burning climbs my throat. I manage a small, tight, closed-lipped smile, hoping she's too self-absorbed to notice. "Yeah, not going there at all."

"See? Exactly. It's not a big deal." Jessica nods to herself, then pivots toward Edward right in time to catch him execute a complex step sequence that transitions into a perfect, near-horizontal cantilever. He comes back up and rides his edges in a long, smooth arc that covers the back half of the ice. "Anyway, fuck, look at him move. God, I bet he's good in bed. The absolutely filthy things I'd let him do…" Her eyes spark. "Two weeks, max, before he asks me out, just you watch."

"I'm sure you're right," I murmur, still sick and reeling inside. "It's just a matter of time."

She eyes me, squinting. "Are you being sarcastic?"

"Me?" Thumbing my chest, I shake my head, in part for emphasis, mostly just to clear it. "No, never. Of course, not."

Maybe.

Yes.

"Whatever." Jess flashes me a row of perfect white teeth. It's a friendly smile, but I know better than that. "Anyway, some of us actually have to practice. You know, those of us going to Nationals. We're so going to win this year."

They're not. I doubt they'll even be invited to more than one GP event, but I don't say that. Nor do I bother commenting on the cattiness riding her tone. What's the expression?

No point wrestling with a pig. You both get dirty and eventually, you realize the pig likes it.

And Jessica definitely does.

"I have no doubt," I say instead, shooting her my best performance smile. "I can't wait to see your program."

Thirty minutes later, sweaty, exhausted, and ecstatic, Ang and Eric collapse on one of the sideline benches. Laughing when Angela lazily sprawls and drops her head in Eric's lap to nap, I pop in my earbuds and finally get to a little of my own training.

Not that it's that exciting or anything like that.

See, when you're an ice dancer and you've spent most of your career skating and essentially living every breath with another person, skating alone is probably the most isolating, limiting, and miserable thing on earth.

Regardless, at least I have exhibitions to train for, so I launch into my usual warm-up, picking up speed with each lap as I dodge and duck between the other skaters. As I finally start in on Alice's newest bit of choreography–a fast, lyrical routine that stretches the bounds of my stamina–I glance around and take inventory, just to make sure that I'm not going to plow into any kids.

In the center, Lauren's balding coach straps her into a harness to work on her triples. A red-head with more legs than body snaps into another, while half a dozen wobbly beginners and intermediates, ranging from five to fifty, circle the perimeter, practicing their turns and spins.

At the far end, I spy Ty, right as he comes out of a deep, exaggerated spread eagle. He turns, turns again, and then throws himself into the air in a head-high split jump. As usual, Tyler's technique and lines are solid, but the arrogant smirk he's sporting when he finishes ruins the whole effect.

Tsking, I scan right and locate Jess and Mike. Now all business, they execute a quick step sequence before Mike plucks Jessica off the ice to attempt a throw triple lutz. The second he releases her, I wince. The height's all wrong, forcing her sideways, and as she hits the ice and slides to her knees, Jess lets out a wail of anger and frustration.

Ouch.

That probably hurt, and for a second, I almost feel sorry for her.

But then I don't, not when I watch her peer around like a toddler, searching for a victim for her crocodile tears. It doesn't take a rocket scientist to figure out who she's looking for either.

No, that one's casually perched on top of the wall in the corner, with his sleeves shoved up to his elbows, quietly talking with his salt and pepper coach. When Jessica stomps her blades and barks something pissy at Mike, Edward's head lifts for no more than a beat before going right back to his conversation.

Stifling a laugh, I shake my head and push off, and for the next fifteen minutes, I lose myself in the new, uncomfortable sensation of training for a solo routine that I never thought I'd need to do.

Coming out of a not-quite-sanctioned jump, I race length-wise across the rink, swing-rolling in a loose, rhythmic back-and-forth pattern before reversing, then reversing again, only to shift into a series of quick one-footed turns and edging. I glance behind me, then in front, and with no one nearby, I transition into a dramatic leg-out twizzle meant to carry me halfway down the ice.

I spin and spin and spin again, smiling at the cool wind hitting my face.

Scratching comes from somewhere behind me, and I sense movement rather than see it.

A curse tumbles out as I try to jump out of my turn. Mid-rotation, I catch a sliver of Ty's signature royal blue as he hurtles toward me in a high, uncontrolled quadruple axel. Tyler yelps when he finally registers my presence, and in that moment, when I see his eyes widen in horror, I know it's too late.

I also know that I'm going to hurt tomorrow.

My eyes squeeze shut, and my body instantly braces, readying for impact.

Only it comes from an entirely different direction.

Air punches out of my chest as two strong hands abruptly grip my shoulder and thigh. Before I can even blink, I'm literally scooped off the ice.

You'd think that I would flinch, that my muscles would lock down at the unexpected contact.

Instead, at the strength and feel of the pairs hold I know oh-so-well, my whole body instinctively relaxes. My lungs deflate, and when I feel the damp heat from Edward's chest bleeding into my side and taste the scent of soap layered with the remnants of a faint, masculine cologne, my arm automatically snakes up to find his shoulder.

Slowly, I look up, and bright emerald green stares back at me.

"You almost bit it there," Edward murmurs, not bothering to stop or put me down.

"Looks like it," I whisper back, and my heart thumps a disjointed rhythm as we speed down the ice. Despite my weight, he moves effortlessly, every bit as powerful and graceful as I knew he'd be. "Guess I'm lucky you were around."

"I guess so." Edward's lips twitch, but then he adjusts his hold, gripping me tighter, lifting me higher, and his brows climb his forehead in both surprise and challenge.

"All right." Vaguely aware of the slack-jawed faces turned our way, I grin. Releasing his shoulder, trusting him not to drop me, I lie back until I'm horizontal with the ice and extend my arms. When I look up again, his eyes dance. "Show me what you got."

Edward grins like the devil, and like that, he whips us into a lightning-fast spin, picking up speed and power with every rotation.

He puts Jake in the shade.

Cold air parts over my cheeks, and I laugh and laugh. And for just a few moments, as the arena turns into a streaky blur, I forget about everything else and simply fly.

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