Revolve (Off the Ice #3)

by Bal Khabra

Dylan’s hand covers my entire torso, and he lifts me like I weigh nothing. I hadn’t expected it to feel this different, but it does. He doesn’t strain or need to adjust his hold, he just does it, like it’s easy. Like I’m easy.

The intensity of his eyes bore into mine like beams of sunlight, and even the burning sensation can’t make me look away.

Lidia shouts out a series of moves—hip, cradle, hand to hand. We do them, all of them. Dylan’s hands are firm on my waist, sliding all over my body when he lifts me on his hip and we spin.

His rhythm is perfect; he moves like water. There’s a kindling somewhere low in my stomach that I ignore when he lifts me just slightly over his head. I expect my heart to race, or stop, or my br...

“Eyes on me, Sierra,” he reprimands. Everything feels hot and dangerous. Having to look into Dylan’s eyes only makes it all the more intense. Each of his long fingers presses over the fabric of my half-zip down to my waist, where the hem rises, exposing a sliver of skin on my back, and lower, until he rests his palm on my hip.

There’s a hot flush that travels with the touch, and I can’t seem to look away from his gaze pinning me right there, unwavering.

All I hear, all I feel, is my heart thrumming below the surface of my electrified skin. The room is stuffy as Lidia corrects our stance, forcing us closer tha...

“Are you sure?” he asks, feigning concern as he presses the back of his hand to my forehead. “Looks like you’re burning up.” I swat it away. “That’s just my body rejecting your touch.” A smug grin spreads across his face, and his thumb traces the curve of my jaw. A jolt of heat zips through me at the contact. “I wouldn’t call that a rejection. Looks more like a reaction.” “Yeah, an allergic one.” “Wasn’t aware you felt so strongly about me, Sierra.”

I scoff, trying to keep my composure. “I feel nothing for you.” “Nothing?” He smirks, his eyes holding mine captive. That is when I make my first mistake. I shove Dylan instinctively, throwing him off-balance. He stumbles when I lean forward, sending him crashing backward. He lets out a low “oof” when I land on top of him.

“You okay?” he asks, gazing so gently that something cracks inside of me. My hair comes loose from my hair clip, falling forward to frame my face. My hands are still pressed into his shoulders, now clutching the fabric of his tank top. Dylan’s expression smooths when his gaze drops to see me straddling him. T...

His cool hand rises, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers grazing my jaw. I lick my lips, the motion dr...

So this is what it feels like to have a man’s attention so focused on you it’s borderline predatory. Somehow, I know without a doubt that it wouldn’t feel like this with anyone else. So completely flammable and stupidly rec...

I crash my mouth to his, and unlike what I’d expect, Dylan hesitates. I almost pull back entirely, but then as though clearing his head, he grips the back of my neck and ...

I can feel Dylan’s gaze stuck to the side of my face, but I don’t dare look back. A rash of embarrassment makes my skin itch. I don’t know what he was going to say before Lidia came in, but it sounded and looked a lot like rejection.

I think I need my brain checked. Because I must be insane to pull away from a girl who kisses better than most people fuck—and trust me, that’s saying a lot. After Sierra sprinted out of the room, I didn’t know what to do with myself. Lidia just squinted at me until I grabbed my stuff and left.

But when Sierra pulled away and those green eyes settled on mine, I realized this wasn’t just some girl I could sleep with and never talk to again. It’s Sierra. My partner.

I can’t mess this up, not even if her lips were pink and plump and parted with moans I’d hear in my dreams. I’ve never felt like this before. I’ve never wanted someone t...

How did I end up at the hardware store with Kian picking out a bookshelf? I have no clue. All I know is that I can still feel the phantom movements of Sierra’s hips against mine. She felt so right wrapped around me, straddling me, rocking against me. I swear I could feel the scattered pulse between her legs.

She had that look on her face. The look I’ve gotten from women more times than I care to admit. It’s all heat and impulsive decisions, the kind of unspoken desperation that makes you do reckless things. Anyone else, and I’d have dragged her mouth right back to mine and let the sweet wet heat of her mouth consume me until we didn’t care where we ended up—my car, hers, against the wall.

But nothing about Sierra Romanova is like anyone else. She’s the most determined, hardworking, and impressive girl I know, and I’d never take this chance away from her. I wouldn’t fuck...

Girls on campus greet me with sugary smiles, whisper my name to their friends, or flirt with me at parties with bright, eager eyes. It’s flattering, I guess. It’s also meaningless.

It’s made my college experience what it is, but after four years, I look back and realize none of it was real. Not one girl I’ve been with twice, none have stayed the night—not that I wanted them to—and none I’ve had a single conversation with sober.

Even when I see my friends in happy, loving relationships, I don’t feel envy. I see the effort, the balancing act, and it seems exhausting. Love is messy—I’ve seen enough of that with my pa...

Lust, though? Lust is simple. Unattached. It doesn’t ask for anything beyond the moment. It doesn’t cling or linger. It’s exactl...

All I can think about is how I can still taste Sierra. My mind keeps looping back to that look in her eyes just before it happened—the hesitation, the heat, the way her breath faltered. Did she see me at that moment? Or the charming, cocky guy who can get a girl into his bed without trying?

There’s a boulder pressing into my chest that tells me it’s the latter. She can only want the Dylan I’ve shown her and everyone else. The other one doesn’t even exist.

“Where’s Dad?” I ask. She tenses as she plates the helva. “Work. But he’ll come as soon as he’s free.” I want to believe her, but our reality hangs in the air like a thick fog. We both know that at seven p.m. on Friday there can’t be anything productive he’s doing at the office, but I let the words go unsaid. Every time I’ve brought it up, it’s only hurt her.

Then he gasps. “It’s a girl, isn’t it?” “I thought we were over this nursery thing.” “No, you’re into a girl. Holy shit, how did I miss that? No hookups, no partying, but you’re always finding an excuse to leave the house. Something is definitely up.”

“We kissed.” I don’t look at Summer as I say it. It just comes out. “Then I pulled away to tell her we probably shouldn’t, but her coach walked in and…I don’t fucking know.”

Summer’s quiet for a while. The only sound is the paint dripping from her brush onto the plastic-covered floor. “Sierra kissed you and you pulled away? Because you didn’t want to mess up your reinstatement or…?” I can hear the smile in her voice, but she hides it when I look at her.

She knows I don’t do this. Confiding in someone is like wiping the protective layer of varnish from a painting people admire, only to find that the glossy finis...

“Everyone trusted me enough to do this, and I won’t ruin it. I’m not the guy she deserves.” I’ve never been that for anyone. And I prefer it that way. “Maybe it’...

Talking only leads to more complicated shit, but considering I’m partners with the girl, it’ll have to do.

How do you look your skating partner in the eye when you know what he tastes like? I haven’t figured it out yet, but so far running off to my parents’ house has worked. Poorly.

The thoughts of Dylan Donovan heated my skin so rapidly that I threw the covers off my body. Even as Scarlett asked me about my first day back with Lidia, I couldn’t admit I’d been stupid enough to pounce on him.

Dylan handled my body like he’d know exactly what to do with it, where he’d want it, how he’d want it. Each touch was certain, and ready, boiling over with a neediness that can only be created by constant daydreams. Like he’s thought about me.

I can still feel the phantom movements of his tongue against mine. Hear the gasp that left me when he pulled away. Then the rejection. But regardless of the dumb decisions I make, skating always comes first.

I haven’t told my parents Dylan’s my partner and that we’re skating again. Not because I’m dreading the inevitable check-in calls after practice, but because they’ll know no one wants to be my partner and the only reason I have Dylan is that he had no choice. I’m no one’s first choice; I’m not even anyone’s last choice.

Scarlett: Did you get my surprise? Sierra: What surprise? Scarlett: 6’4”, brown hair, cocky as hell and way too persuasive for his own good. Sierra: You gave him my address? What the hell, Scar? Scarlett: He’s your partner now! And he said my hair is pretty before he offered to talk to someone at the DU hospital to get me more hours. It was only right I gave him what he needed. Sierra: You are a weak, weak woman. Scarlett: Or I’m a perfectly sane woman, and you’re just in denial.

“So, why does your mom think you’re some sweet angel?” His fingers graze my thigh, and I flinch, quickly clearing my throat. “Because I am.” “The only sweet thing about you is the alcohol I tasted from your lips, Sierra,” he says, his tone too casual. “Everything else is hot and scorching.” “Like the sun?” “Like hell.” My gaze cuts into his. “You would know.”

“No one likes an angry girl.” “I do.” “Coming from Dalton’s most physical hockey player, that’s not exactly a compliment,” I try to joke, but he doesn’t even crack a smile. “If you must know, you can’t be loud and opinionated when you’re trying to get judges to like you. My partner also wasn’t a fan of my attitude.”

“Having an attitude versus an opinion about something you do professionally are two different things. I think you’ve been around weak people who can’t listen to a smart woman without making it a dick-measuring contest.”

“When you’re with me, Sierra, I don’t want you to be who everyone thinks you are. I want you to be the girl who calls me out on my shit and speaks her mind. Can you do that?” I nod. “Good.” He grins, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Now let’s go before Lidia thinks you’ve killed me in my sleep. And take these.” He places a bottle of ibuprofen on my desk.

“Why did you kiss me?” he asks. There’s something about the question that feels heavier than it should. “Y-you kissed me too,” I say defensively, though he just gives me a sidelong glance. I sigh. “I wasn’t thinking, and it’s been a while. But don’t worry, I know we’re partners, and we shouldn’t do that.”

The rest of the ride to the rink is quiet, and this time when we get to the arena, Lidia leads us to an actual training room. But it’s nothing like yesterday. Dylan barely even looks at me.

Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to. It’s pretty fucking clear how Sierra sees me. I knew I should have kept my mouth shut, maybe let the memory of the kiss just linger between us until it got so unbearably tense that she would do it again. This time I wouldn’t pull back; I wouldn’t care what she thought of me, and I’d give her exactly what I would anyone else.

She knows my reputation, and I’m glad she has no expectations. The only idea of a relationship I’ve had is my parents. And I’m pretty sure cheating on your wife isn’t one of the requirements. It irritates me more that with every one of my mom’s calls that I ignore, they get less frequent, and I end up feeling guiltier.

Things with us have been awkward. Tension thrums off her, and I can feel it when I touch her. She’s more guarded than usual, and we barely talk during the first four hours of practice and the last four when we come back after classes.

“Go ahead,” Sierra says, her voice sharp, daring, but there’s something raw under it. She doesn’t meet my eyes, like she’s bracing herself for whatever’s coming next. “What?” “Say what you want to say,” she snaps, but keeps her arms crossed over her chest like a shield. Something about the way she stands there, so closed off, pulls at me. I can feel the distance between us.

I watch her carefully. “You’re scared.” Her eyes flash. “I’ve been doing this my whole life. I’m not scared.” But I feel it—just in the way her body stiffens when I reach for her, the way she holds herself a little too rigid. “Yes, Sierra, you are,” I press. “I can feel it in the way you tremble when I lift you. And we haven’t even done any real lifts yet.”