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

Anyagal is graciously prereading for me. Thank you, my friend!

Show & Tell

"Inside edges!"

"Like this?"

I try not to grin at the determined expression on the girl's heart-shaped face as she attempts to mimic my footwork. This one's tiny and young–nine or ten at most–and right now, she's little more than a mane of dark curls on top of stick-like arms and legs. But I immediately recognize what made Katya take her on. One day, Bree Tanner is going to be a champion, with or without her partner.

"Almost. Watch me," I tell her as I circle around in a slow, exaggerated arc. I swing-roll back and forth before flipping around to execute the same pattern in reverse. My blades cut deep, carving through the ice. "Do you see what I'm doing here? Can you hear the difference?"

Ponytail flying, Bree nods and elbows Riley. "Pay attention, Ri!"

"I am!" Sandy-haired Riley huffs and rolls his smoke-gray eyes. "You pay attention. You're the one that keeps screwing up!"

"Am not!"

"Are, too!"

I laugh when she sticks her tongue out at him, then shake my head and motion to the ice. "All right, get in position. Killian hold. Let's see you two do it together."

As Riley skates into position beside Bree, a soft, amused baritone comes from my left. "Should we show them how it's done?"

My heart stutters, and as Edward glides to an easy stop beside me, my grin stretches wide before I can stop it. "What are you doing here? I thought you were meeting with your choreographer."

"Finished early." Shrugging, Edward glances over to the kids, then back to me, and offers me his right. "So? Shall we?"

For a second, I stare at his hand. Camouflaged by the ink, purple-black bruises litter his knuckles. One's even split by an angry red line. But when I peer up at him, before I can ask, he just chuckles and lazily shrugs again. "Wiped out this morning on a 4T-3T combo."

My brows hit my hairline. "And you punched the ice?"

"What can I say?" he asks, all too innocently. His face cracks into a mischievous smirk. "It deserved it."

"If you say so," I say, extending my arm nonetheless. When I place my hand on top of his, he interlocks our thumbs, and like we've gone into this position a thousand times, he slides in behind me until our shoulders and hips come into perfect offset alignment. Killian's not an overtly intimate hold, but when his free hand falls to my hip in a firm yet gentle grip, my stomach flips and flutters. Heat from his chest bleeds through the thin fabric of my top, sending a tiny shiver through my limbs.

Clearing my throat, I peek back only to find him staring down at me with fathomless eyes. "You ready?"

"Whenever you are," Edward says as he peers over my shoulder at my flouncy skirt and matching leggings. "Count us off, Princess."

My stomach flutters again, but like my pint-sized protégé, I stick my tongue out, and Bree and Riley let out a peal of giggles. But I don't look away, and neither does Edward, and as we push off in unison, the rink and the handful of practicing juniors and novices blend into the background before they disappear altogether.

"Left," Edward whispers, still looking down at me instead of the ice.

I follow his lead, but I don't need the verbal cue.

It whispers through his fingertips and murmurs through the minute flexes of his hips. It's in the subtle shifts and tension of the leanly muscled shoulder pressed against my back. It's even in his breathing.

Our silent conversation flows effortlessly, like two halves to a whole, and my footwork mirrors his in perfect synchrony.

Edward flips us backward, then forward, then back again. We transition from long, arcing swing rolls to cross rolls to a Mohawk and a bracket, cutting lazy serpentine paths up and down the ice. We add in a few fan kicks, squats, and turns, following no particular pattern but the one he drums up in his head.

"Not bad," I whisper back, and without conscious direction, my arm drops to my stomach, bringing his with it until that not-so-intimate Killian hold looks more like a lovers' embrace.

As we make the turn at the top of the rink, far from the prying eyes of my young trainees, Edward's chest expands against my back. I arch against him, and his lips brush my hair, then graze the shell of my ear, sending tiny, electrical sparks through every inch of my body.

Edward's palm flattens against my abdomen and pulls me tighter into the pocket of his chest.

My muscles relax, and I can't stop myself from melting into him.

Tipping my head back–just feeling as we continue our slow glide down the ice–I close my eyes and reach behind me, sliding my hand around to his nape. My fingers wind through his hair, guiding him closer, and Edward's lips find the side of my throat. Open mouthed and slow, he kisses me over and over until I nearly combust.

"Maybe this wasn't a good idea," he whispers, tickling my throat when he speaks.

My breath comes out in a choppy pant. "Why's that?"

I feel him grin against my skin as we go into another turn. "This probably isn't the most age-appropriate demonstration."

"Probably not." A soft laugh punches out, even as I tilt my head to give him better access. "I guess we should stop."

"I guess so."

But we don't.

Instead, I pivot in his embrace until we're facing, and long, sure fingers bracket my hips. I look up at him for no more than a second before he nods. There's a subtle press of his thumbs, and then Edward lifts me. Muscle memory takes over as my knees lock tightly around his waist, and with another tiny nod, I lay back, trusting him to lower me into deep, exaggerated dip.

When I come back up, our mouths are no more than an inch apart.

Focused in a way that makes me shiver, Edward watches my face as he takes us into a wide spread eagle. I snake my arms around his neck, then angling my head, I play with him–teasing him just because I can–until a slow, almost arrogant smile curves his lips.

Yet his eyes spark with fire, burning into mine.

I arch a brow in challenge, and he accepts at once, lifting me higher, so that I'm the one looking down. My hair falls around us like a velvet curtain, and just like that, suspended in a sensual almost-kiss that leaves me breathless, we spin and spin and spin, traveling the length of the rink.

By the time Edward finally sets me down, I feel drunk, intoxicated by the heady blend of long-missed touch, attraction, and the kind of on-ice chemistry I've not experienced… maybe ever.

As we slow to a stop, I exhale an unsteady breath. But I'm not the only one affected. Edward's grip lingers on my hip like he's searching for his own bit of grounding before his hand reluctantly falls to his side.

Almost on cue, time itself restarts, and as I shake my head to clear it, the arena comes back into sharp, unrelieved focus.

Along with Katya's students.

Crap.

Bree's almond eyes might as well be saucers, but it's not me she's interested in. She gives me no more than a sparing glance before she looks over to Edward with bright, hopeful puppy dog adoration and half-way yells, "I want to do that!"

Beside her, Riley huffs, and Edward laughs and scratches his chin, rasping through two-day scruff. "Maybe one day. You guys need to wait a little while before you start lifts."

Riley huffs again. "She means with you."

"Shut up, Ri." That puppy dog adoration falters with her pout.

Edward rakes a hand through bedhead hair. When Bree crosses her arms in a Katya-like pose, I laugh and poke him in the ribs. "Way to go, Romeo. I think you've done enough damage for today."

"Me?" Edward thumbs at his chest with mock disbelief. When I roll my eyes, he lets out a dramatic sigh. "Fine, I guess I'll go since I'm not wanted." As he starts toward the boards, he looks over his shoulder and throws me a wink. "You going to be long?"

"Nah," I say, shaking my head. "We're almost done."

He motions over to the empty bleachers. "I'll wait… if you want me to."

He says that last part softly, like a caress, and my skin abruptly feels too tight. I nod. "Be there in a few minutes."

"Take your time."

As soon as I spin back around, Bree darts forward and latches on to my arm, whisper-yelling, "Is he your new partner?"

Thankfully, Edward's far enough away that I doubt he hears her. Either way, despite the cool rink air, my face might as well be on fire. "No, no. We were just messing around."

Chewing the inside of her cheek, Bree studies me with a disturbing level of shrewdness. "So, is he your boyfriend?"

"We're just friends."

It comes out too quickly. Scowling like I just ruined her day, Bree harrumphs, but then she leans over, gives me a very adult, knowing look, and whispers conspiratorially, "Well, you should probably tell him that."

A startled laugh spills out. I just shake my head, ignoring her deepening scowl. "All right. You two skate." Grinning, I stomp my blade and clap, doing my best pissy Katya impersonation. "Davai, davai!"

Twenty minutes later, I hop the wall and plop down on the bleachers. As I start happily pulling off my skates, I glance over at Edward, who's sprawled out and leaning against the bench behind him. He watches me with mild amusement.

"What?" I ask as I yank on my running shoes. My frozen toes sigh in relief.

"Nothing." His shoulders rise and fall. "Nothing at all."

I don't believe him for a second. "Nothing?"

He cracks a smile and nods toward the ice. "I didn't know you did classes."

"I don't. Not really," I say as I shove my gear into my bag. "I pick up a few hours here and there for Katya when she's busy. Mostly the young ones. Pays for my skates at least."

Because my God, they're expensive.

"Tell me about it," Edward says, reading my mind. "Just ordered new boots and blades."

"I just got mine in." I make an ugly face in commiseration. "I hate breaking them in. Blisters for freaking days."

Settling in beside him, I lean back against the bench behind us, and for a few minutes, we sit in quiet, companionable silence, just watching a few of the young ones. In the far corner, Bree skates without her partner, practicing the same drills we just went through, and I can't help but smile at the unmistakable drive.

Edward's fingertips brush the top of my shoulder, rubbing tiny, soothing circles. "You okay?"

'I'm fine." Confused by the abrupt softness in his voice, I glance over. "Why wouldn't I be?"

He frowns. Something hard and angry glints in his eyes. "You had any more problems with that jackass?"

"No." My stomach sinks in memory, although not as much as I might have expected. "I've not even seen Ty since Friday night. He's probably avoiding me."

Some of that anger bleeds away, replaced by something else I don't quite recognize. I'd almost call it a darker version of satisfaction. Edward's chin dips once, sharp and clipped. "Good."

"Is that why you stayed?" I ask, even though I already know the answer. As his fingertips continue their lazy circles, warm affection floods my chest and trickles through my veins, driving away the momentary melancholy. "In case he showed up?"

Nonchalant, Edward's shoulders rise and fall again. "Just thought I'd keep you company. But if you want me to leave…" He trails off, but a playful smirk appears on his face.

"Oh, shut up," I say, elbowing him in the ribs.

Out on the ice, a pair of intermediates attempt a throw. Spinning through the air, the blonde flies high, but she underrotates and the angle's all wrong. We wince in unison when her knees slap the ice. "Ouch."

"Ouch is right." Edward's forehead folds as he assesses the blonde's lanky, dark-haired partner with clinical detachment. "She can probably manage it, but he's not strong enough for that move yet. They shouldn't even be attempting a throw like that, at least not without a harness."

I hum my agreement, wondering if that's a lesson he learned the hard way.

His fingertips walk up my shoulder to the back of my neck, gently massaging into muscles I didn't even realize were sore. "I have a question for you."

"Are we playing twenty questions?"

"Something like that." His lips curve, but there's a certain seriousness–a gravity–to his tone that's impossible to miss. "More like tit for tat."

I grimace and sigh, already knowing what's coming. "Go ahead."

Edward chuckles, then peers up at the rafters. His eyes find my banner, and his voice drops to a soft murmur. "What happened with you and Jacob Black?"

.

.

.

Notes:

To all my friends in the US, Happy Thanksgiving! I'm certainly grateful for you.