Revolve (Off the Ice #3)

by Bal Khabra

“That has nothing to do with you,” she shoots back, but there’s a crack in her words. “It has everything to do with me,” I say, the frustration creeping into my voice. “I’m the one holding you up, potentially putting you in the same position where you fell, and I get it, oka...

I watch her face change, her breath catching in her throat, and the panic is instant, like a wave crashing over her. It takes everything in me not to...

I turn my focus back to Sierra, my eyes locking with hers. The tension between us is thick, too heavy to ignore. I can see her fighting it, but something’s changed, something in the way her eyes soften just a fraction, the way her lips part, like she’s trying to find the words but doesn’t know how. I want to tell her she doesn’t have to.

“Tell me what you need, and I’ll be that for you,” I whisper. She freezes. And before I can say anything else, she spins away from me, skating off the ice without a word.

“Sleeping away college? That’s one way to throw away your life,” he says. My jaw twitches. “Wouldn’t know. You’re the expert at tossing things aside,” I retort, already fed up with his presence.

After our prickly practice last week, Lidia has made it her mission to get Dylan and me on the same page. On the ice we work well together, but there’s a layer of unease that lingers in our routine, and after Dylan pointed out that it’s coming from me, the practices have been shitty.

I’m used to falling, but it’s when I’m hauled over his head that panic hits. It’s not the pain I’m worried about, because I barely felt it that night. All I could think was that I’d left a sparkling solo career to train with Justin for four years just to end up on the fucking floor.

I was furious. I used to obsess over skating fail compilations. I’d study the mistakes, practice the moves, and know it could never b...

There’s a lot of ways I imagined today going, but being stuck in the middle of nowhere with Dylan Donovan isn’t one of them. The bushes and trees surrounding the area dance in the wind, and I hug myself a little tighter. I forgot to check the weather network today. Dale Thunderman would be so disappointed.

“Maybe if you stopped acting like you’re the only one on this team we wouldn’t be here in the first place.” “Me? Are you kidding?” I shout, straining to be heard over the torrential rain that lashes down on us now. “You haven’t done a single thing to make this feel like a partnership.” “And you have?” he retorts.

“You act like you don’t want to be here, and I’m not in the business of begging people to stay.” Nothing could force me to do that again. “You’re seeing what you want to see, Sierra,” he says, releasing a frustrated breath. “If I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t be here.”

My chest heaves, and my rain-soaked lashes send droplets of water cascading down my cheeks, like tears. My words are tangled in my throat. Dylan closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and then meets my g...

“You won’t tell me how to fix this,” he says sharply. “You’re struggling, and I can feel it, yet you’re so fucking stubborn that you won’t let me help. If you’d just tell me what’s stopping you from...

There’s a pinch in my throat that tries to force the words out, but they don’t come. They stay tied up in an old knot that was created so long ago, I no longer know how to unravel it. I want to tell him I’m trying, that this isn’t easy for me anymore, but I’m stuck.

“I’m trying,” I finally say. A part of me hopes the background noise of the occasional passing cars and rustling trees will drown out my words, but when he tenses, I know he heard me.

Just as I brace myself for him to say something like try harder or that’s not good enough, he turns so I can see the side of his face illuminated by the flickering streetlights we pass. In a soft voice he says, “That’s all I need.”

My mind tries to convince me that I heard him wrong. After everything I said, how cou...

“I know where we are. Come on,” Dylan says. This time when we start walking again, my chest practically caves into itself when warm fingers, wet from the rain, intertwine with mine, pulling me along.

I slide into the booth, and when I’m about to pull away my hand, partly in annoyance, and partly because I expect him to sit across from me, he holds on tighter and squeezes his big frame right beside me in the booth. We’re close, too close.

That’s when I notice the ring of black around his iris. Where he’s all brown eyes, brown hair, and golden skin, I’m dark hair, a red lip, green eyes. Everything about me is icy and edged, like my skates. It feels obvious when we’re this close.

“I don’t think bonding means you can’t leave my side.” “What if I don’t want to?” I shoot him a bored look. “So we’re back to this? Flirting with me?” “That wasn’t flirting,” he says, leaning in close. “If I were flirting, your ass would be in my lap instead of on this cheap leather.” I bristle. “Good thing you’re not flirting, then.” “Do you want me to...

My pulse spikes. This is the first time he’s mentioned that night at the party when I drunkenly let him taste the alcohol from my lips. Now he’s so close, and his lips look so warm. Unconsciously, I feel myself leaning in because I’m sure if he pressed his wet body a...

I’m not a hugger, and even now when he embraces me tightly, I don’t hug him back. When I step back, he lets go and starts to ask me a question, but before I can hear what it is, my view is blocked. By Dylan Donovan.

The first thing that irritates me about this diner is the song playing on the jukebox. The second thing is the cook hugging my fucking partner.

“How do you know my partner?” There’s an insinuation in my words that I don’t correct. There’s something about her standing next to me, soaked, and wearing my hoodie that makes the words come out harsher. The possessive cord wrapping around my irritation feels dangerous.

Ajay looks between us. “You two practice together?” His words are slow and uncertain, like he’s contemplating whether he wants to know the answer. “Yeah, he’s my new partner.” “Is that all we are?” I’m hoping the smirk on my face suggests so much more, because the glare she sends my way is not going to play out well for me later. But I couldn’t care less. I take the chance to throw my arm around Sierra.

Ajay points to the hallway with the phone, not even looking at me. He smiles down at Sierra, and I have the urge to pull her with me, but I tamp down the weird possessiveness taking over. Why do I even care?

It also doesn’t stop him from dropping me off first, which lets Sierra switch seats when I exit the car. But before she can sit inside, I grab her wrist. Green eyes watch me curiously, and I don’t know why I do it, maybe because she’s in my hoodie, or because her words from earlier about trying fucked with my head, but I yank her forward.

“What are you doing?” she asks before she hits my chest. “I’m not a hugger.” “I know.” I pull her closer. “Dylan.” “Let it happen, Romanova.” She sighs, and it warms the center of my chest. “But, Ajay—” “He can wait. I can’t.” “But—” “Shh,” I whisper into her hair. “We’re having a quiet moment.”

I don’t even need to look at her, her head pressed against my chest, but I know she’s rolling her eyes. I run a hand over her back, tightening my hold, and feel her relax. Her shoulders drop as she burrows i...

We stay there for a while, and I forget about the running car and the cook sitting inside. I think she does too, until he calls her name, and Sierra pulls back. With one last lo...

Dylan was right. It brings me a great deal of pain to admit that. Simply thinking those words leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

I couldn’t figure out why I even rejected him, but deep, deep down, where the Mariana Trench probably is, I knew that spark of attraction that flared in my belly disappeared as soon as Dylan Donovan exited the car.

I couldn’t stop thinking about the hug, how gentle he was, his words whispered in my ear. I don’t hug people. Every time it’s happened it’s been wholly unpleasant, but with him it didn’t feel that way. Not even a little bit.

The porch lights flicker on, and I finally see Dylan’s face. It should be a crime to look this good at every hour of the day. His black T-shirt is tight, making his biceps the center of attention, and the gray sweats he’s wearing try to hypnotize me into looking down. I don’t.

“I wanted to give you this,” I say quickly, shoving the bag in his hand. “What is it?” “That would defeat the purpose of a gift bag, wouldn’t it?” He watches me in amusement. “Never going to give it to me easy, are you?” The comment isn’t intended as a jab, but it still cuts. I’ve never been easy, I was always reminded of that. Suddenly, I feel stupid for being here and barely getting the words out when I practiced them on the way here. Even when I’m trying, I come off as cold, and I don’t know how to fix it.

“You care if my hands are cold.” “Dylan—” “You care about me.” He pulls the gloves onto his hands. “It’s a little creepy that you have my hand size memorized though.” I hold back from rolling my eyes. “It’s pretty universal.” “I’m sure.”

He’s not even trying to stifle his chuckle. But I know behind that stupid smirk, he sees the gloves for what they are, an olive branch. “Do you have matching ones? We’ll be the cutest couple on the ice.” “Can’t you just say thank you and not make this weird?” I mutter. “No way. You knit me gloves and you think you’re going to get off easy?” he says.

“Miss Rot in Hell but Do It With a Pair of Gloves So Your Han...

“You staying?” he asks me, and I falter. Dylan’s expression gives away nothing. Does he want me to stay? “I should get back,” I say, lacking conviction, but Kian doesn’t push. “You sure?” Dylan asks just as a bout of laughs from inside steals my attention.

There’s a warmth that emanates from the house, and that’s the last thing I expected from a place that has frequent parties and sweaty grown men. I spot a massive bulldog head, like one of those mascot costumes, sitting on the floor by the living room.

that a bulldog costume?” I ask. Dylan rubs the back of his neck. “Long story, but I can tell you all about it if you stay.” “They’re your friends. I don’t want to impose.” “Pretty sure you know some of them. Even if you d...

I let myself imagine what it would be like to have a big group of friends like that. With Scarlett I feel fulfilled, and we’re more sisters than we are friends, but sometimes I wor...

I made an effort to go out with her this year, but I’ve never clicked with anyone the way I’ve seen Dylan and his ...

But when you let people in, you let them see all of you. All the heavy, inadequate, complicated parts of you. With that cold thought seeping into my bones, I step away from Dylan, no...

“Hell no, Romanova.” Dylan places the gift bag by his feet and holds out his hand to me. I blink at him, a confused laugh escaping. “What are you doing?” “We’re dancing.” I look around wondering if he’s lost his mind. Maybe those brawls are finally catching up with him. “On your porch?” “Yup. If this is your way of calling a truce, I need to believe it.”

“I literally made you gloves. It took me all night and this morning!” “And I appreciate them, but I want more.” My stomach dips. “Greed is a sin, Donovan.” “Then you’re my temptation, Sierra,” he says. “Come here and dance with me.” “I don’t dance.” “You dance on the ice all the time.” “I dance to win gold medals.” “Will a gold star work? I’ve got two, I’ll put them anywhere you want.”

“Dance for you this time,” he says softly. It’s a simple sentence, one that shouldn’t have my heart flipping on its side. I take a tentative step closer. “There’s no music.” Suddenly, a radio crackles, and “Wondering Why” by The Red Clay Strays plays.

The soft strum of the guitar grows steady, and this time instead of staring at his hand, I take it. His smile is unforgettable. The way his warm hand completely engulfs mine; the effortless tug that pulls me flush against the solid planes of his body; and the crisp, intoxicating scent of him wrapping around me like the lyrics.

Dylan sways, with my hands on his shoulders and his pressing into my waist. He’s so effortless in his moves, so fluid, I melt into him like butter on hot toast.