“You’re dreaming!” I said quickly, and stormed out of there, feeling flustered as hell.
“I am,” he called after me.
~~ * ~~
I was still flustered by our conversation even after I retreated to my room and took a shower in my own small private bathroom. After I was clean, I opted to avoid the living room and kitchen a while longer and flopped down on my bed, my smartphone in hand, and began to Google him on the internet.
“Ty Randall bite” immediately pulled up dozens of search terms and videos. I clicked on the first video and began to watch.
Ty’s rugged face filled my screen, his upper lip jutting. A moment later, he bared his teeth, revealing a bright blue mouth-guard. Oh, that was why his lip stuck out. He closed in on his opponent, dripping sweat, and began to fling punches at the guy while the other shielded his face. A moment later, the action reversed, and Ty was on the defensive. I watched every fist flung with brutal precision, wincing each time Ty took a smack to the face. That had to hurt, but Ty showed no emotion even as blood streamed down from his forehead. His opponent knocked his feet out from under him and then Ty was on the ground. A moment later, the opponent raised his foot and slammed Ty’s thigh. Ouch. That looked like it hurt. And it seemed to enrage Ty, because he struggled his way back up a moment later and started to lay into his opponent. Right, left, right again, an uppercut, and then the guy went to the ground, and Ty locked him into a submission hold. The guy tapped out, and Ty was declared the winner.
But instead of taking his win and running with it, Ty attacked his opponent again, furious. He slammed the guy in the face with another round, and when the ref stepped in, Ty punched him. The audience roared in outrage, and Ty attacked his opponent again. Then, I saw it. Ty leaned in and bit the hell out of the guy’s nose. When he pulled away, blood gushed from the other man’s face and his opponent screamed, clawing his face. Ty spit out a wad of…something onto the mat, and the video cut away.
Dear lord.
I tried to rationalize what I’d just seen with the man I knew. Ty was a big, surly lug at times, but he was a hard worker and had never even come close to losing his cool with me. I knew he had the name of “Ty the MMA Biter” but I hadn’t really registered what that meant until I’d seen the brutality for myself.
This was the man that was my partner? Me? With my fragile figure skater’s form, five-foot-three height and hundred-and-two pound weight? No wonder they’d all freaked when they’d seen my swollen face. Of course, if they expected Ty not to play well with others, why cast him on the show?
Either he had friends at the network, or they wanted him to cause drama. I wondered if that was why they’d cast him with me, too.
~~ * ~~
The next day was the last full practice day before the live show the next evening. I intended to spend the entire day on the ice with Ty, working on foot sequences. We had most of the routine down flat, but there was quick-stepping footwork in the chorus of the song, and Ty sometimes missed the beats. I couldn’t blame him. It was like the routine went from childishly easy to moderate in the space of an instant, and my partner, who didn’t have years of training, was struggling to keep up. He never complained though, just tried and tried again.
I was frustrated, but I think Ty was twice as frustrated as I was.
Sure enough, he was on the ice before me that morning. I did my usual luck routine, kissed the ice, and then stepped on, skating to warm up. It was clear Ty had already been there for some time, judging by the sweat on his brow.
“Hey,” I told him, skating past.
“Hey,” he said, barely glancing at me. His gaze was on his feet, and as I watched, he tried another shuffle step that still wasn’t quite quick enough.
I winced. “You’ll get it by tomorrow.”
“Yeah,” he said flatly.
I continued to skate, thinking of what I’d seen in the YouTube video last night. And what I’d seen as he’d stepped into the shower, too, as I skated past. A girl couldn’t help but check a guy’s ass out after she’d seen it naked. But my mind kept circling back to the fight and the vicious bite I’d seen.
“So,” I started as I skated close.
He automatically took my hand, pulling me close into dancing position. “What’s up?”
I put my hand in his, hesitating a moment. “I was just…you know, wondering.”
“About?” He raised his scarred eyebrow at me, and I stared at it, momentarily fascinated. Was the scar from fighting?
“Um, your fight. What made you do it?”
“My fight?” He looked confused for a moment, still setting his hands in position.
“You know.” I made a chomping motion with my teeth. “Your fight.”
He snorted, the look on his face going shuttered. “Do we really need to talk about this right now?”
“I guess not,” I said, though I was nosy and incredibly curious. And a little disappointed. We were friends, weren’t we? Didn’t friends talk with friends about this sort of thing? It must have been bad if they were making him come on the show when he was so vehemently opposed to it. Had the guy slept with Ty’s girlfriend or something? Called his mom names? What? The curiosity was bothering me, but I tried to steer the conversation into safer subjects. “So, more dancing?”
“More dancing,” he told me, sounding resigned. “For now.”
“Oh?” I glanced around, but Imelda wasn’t here, only our cameraman. “Where’s our choreographer? For that matter, where’s our costumes? Today was supposed to be dress rehearsal.”
“Apparently there was an issue with the costume department because another team’s costumes changed mid-week and had to be redone from scratch. That meant ours got delayed. Imelda ran off to go talk with the studio about it.” He shrugged. “You really want her hanging around, criticizing our footwork?”
“Nah,” I told him. “I just wanted to see what monstrosity she’d cooked up for us to wear. Most figure-skating costumes tend to be a bit on the flamboyant side, if you haven’t noticed.”
“Oh, I noticed,” he said with a grin. “Which is why I always say—”
“—No sequins,” I finished for him, laughing.
His eyes warmed and the grin spread wider. “Exactly. I’m telling you right now, though, if it looks Liberace-inspired, I’m not wearing it.”
His smiles made me feel good. I placed my hand on his shoulder and told him, “If it’s Liberace-inspired, I won’t blame you.”
Ty clicked a remote in his pocket, and the music began to play. We started the routine, and I began to count steps aloud to try and help him move along fast enough to keep up with the music. By the time the chorus rolled around, we were a step behind. He cursed. “This fucking footwork is killing me.”
“It’s okay,” I told him comfortingly. “You’re doing awesome. And look on the bright side. Next week will be an entirely different challenge, but at least it won’t be footwork again.”
“Bright side.” He snorted, hit the button to turn off the music, and then looked over at me. “So what are you wearing tonight?”
I gave him a little frown. “Tonight? What’s tonight?”
“The network’s having a kickoff party. I was told all the regulars were invited and the celebrities. Didn’t you get an invite?”
Embarrassment swept through me. I stepped backward, pulling out of his arms. “I guess not. I’m not really a regular, you know. I’m just a fill in for Svetlana.” And what a way to remind me. Ouch. This one was going to leave a mark for a long, long time. I tried not to let it bother me, even though I couldn’t help but get depressed.
A kickoff party for the show, and I hadn’t even been invited. Man. That was cold. It did teach me something important, though—that I didn’t count to the network.
“Aw, hell. I didn’t know. I’m sorry, Zara. I thought everyone was invited.”
I forced a bright smile to my face. “Hey, it’s okay. Not your fault. I’ll just stay here and practice.
”
“Hell, no.” Ty set his jaw. “You’re going to go as my date.”
Well, if there was one thing I was learning about Ty, it was that he was loyal…and constantly full of surprises. “You want me to go as your date? Really?”
“Really.”
I had a funny little flutter in my stomach. Anxiousness? Something else? “They’re letting people bring dates to the party?”
He gave me a wicked look, and put his hand on my waist again, drawing me in for more dancing. “I’m not going to ask.”
Oh no. That was not good. Being a party crasher wasn’t smart if I wanted to be hired permanently by the network. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea, Ty.”
“They want me on their show? They’ll let me bring a date.” His hand clasped mine firmly. “Now. Shall we try this again?”
~~ * ~~
A few hours later, we were still a step behind the music, but making progress. We’d left practice early to prepare for the shindig, and I’d showered and toyed with my hair nervously for the past hour. I hadn’t packed anything super fancy, but I did have a little black dress. Years of last-minute tweaking on costumes had made me handy with a needle and thread and last minute alterations. I managed to tear the back and sleeves off and changed it to a slip-dress with an open back and no sleeves. I had hair ribbons (what good ice skater didn’t carry a batch of hair ribbons?) and used a few of those to add a splash of pink to my neck as a decorative choker. It wasn’t super dressy, but it’d do. I had a pair of black sling-backs that I always packed and slipped those on, focusing my attention on my hair and makeup. If I did them well enough, no one would notice that my dress was a little on the casual side.
I fixed my hair into loose waves that spread over my shoulders and back. It was so dark brown that it was almost black, and it was layered so that it hung in sexy waves when I decided to let it out of my uptight bun. I lined my eyes and put on smoky eye shadow and mascara, and I curled my lashes to make my eyes bigger. Satisfied, I finished the look with a slick of nude lip gloss. The woman that stared back at me in the mirror was still tiny, but she had a hint of sultriness to her. My eyes—and naked back—looked sexy. At least no one would think I was fourteen tonight.
Ready, I left my room and headed into the living room of the cottage where Ty was waiting for me. I was surprised to see him in a gray suit—and a little dismayed. “How formal is this party?”
“Does it matter? It’s too late to change anyhow.” He gave me an up and down look, as if appraising my outfit.
I gave a small twirl in my modified dress. “Will I pass muster?”
“Absolutely.” Ty rubbed his mouth, studying me, and then shook his head.
“What?”
“Was just wondering how come this girl doesn’t show up to rehearsals every day. She’s fucking hot.”
I batted him on the shoulder. “I’m the same girl, doofus.”
“Yes, but this one has, like, hair and stuff.” He touched it in wonder.
“You’re one to talk,” I said, reaching out and rubbing his shaved scalp. “And if you saw this hair at five in the morning, I’d like to see what you could do with it.”
He gave one of my locks a tug, and then rubbed it between his fingers. “If I saw this hair at five in the morning, it’d be because it was spread all over my pillow.”
I sucked in a breath at the mental image. Ty leaning over me, me under him, my hair spread in a halo on the pillow. Just like that, I felt my nipples stiffen. Okay, wow. Thanks for the visual. Now I was all turned on.
He winked at me, as if to nullify any flirty implications. “Come on, Zara. Time to go party.” And he offered me his arm.
I took it, smoothing my hand over his jacket sleeve. He looked hot tonight, too. The jacket hung just loosely enough to emphasize his big, meaty shoulders, but it cut in to hug his trim waist. He didn’t wear a tie—no surprise there, because I doubted his thick neck would squeeze into one. Instead, his collar was open at the throat, showing darkly tanned skin against the pale blue of his shirt. He was freshly shaven and smelled fantastic.
I sniffed him. “Wow. Why doesn’t this great-smelling guy show up to practice?”
“Oh, he can if you want him to.” And Ty winked at me again.
I snorted. “Let’s just go already. I’m freaked enough as it is.”
“Don’t be nervous,” he told me, and his expression was grim, firm. “You have every right to be there, just as much as anyone else.”
And that kind of made me feel warm inside. If nothing else, I had the support of Ty the MMA Biter.
CHAPTER SIX
So…Okay, so that comment I made about Zara being hot? It was true, but I also didn’t mention that I find her hot all the time. Like 24/7. Even in her leotards. There’s just something about a girl that can pull her ankle over her head. — Ty Randall, Preliminary Practice Rounds, Ice Dancing with the Stars
~~ * ~~
The party was an intimidating affair. There were suits everywhere, clearly network aficionados. A few of the stars from last season had shown up, along with the heavily pregnant Svetlana, Ty’s manager, Chuck, and a few other VIPs.
I wasn’t good at working a crowd, so I stuck to Ty’s side like glue. He turned out to be incredibly charming, much to my surprise. Everyone knew his name and had a friendly word for him. Annamarie Evans had flirted heavily with him, giving me meaningful looks that indicated that she thought I should leave. I even tried to, but Ty’s arm remained tight around my waist.
The female executive from that first meeting had showed up, too.
“Gloria,” Ty said, holding his hand out for her to shake. “You look lovely tonight. You remember Zara, my partner?”
I held my hand out. “Hi again,” I said awkwardly.
“How are things going?” Gloria asked politely, her gaze moving back to Ty. “Ready for the premiere tomorrow?”
“As ready as we’ll ever be,” Ty said, looking over at me. “Right?”
“Absolutely,” I said, and began to gush nervous words. “Ty’s footwork is just a bit of a step behind during the main chorus sequence, but I’m sure that we’ll have it down by tomorrow once we get our costumes. I mean, we can take the day to practice and make sure we nail it in time. All it takes—”
Ty gave my waist a bit of a squeeze, cutting me off. “We’ll be ready,” he told her. “Don’t you worry.”
She gave us a patient smile. “I’m sure you will be. Enjoy the party, will you?”
“We will,” Ty said. “Next time, though, do me a favor and make sure that Zara’s invite gets to her? I think it got lost, and I’d hate for one of the assistants to get fired over something so small.”
One eyebrow rose. She looked at me, and then gave Ty a curt nod. “I’ll speak with the staff.”
“See that you do,” Ty said, and walked away, dragging me along with him.
My eyes felt like they were the size of saucers as we left her behind and stepped down onto a lovely garden terrace. “You just told her to invite me to the next one.”
“I did. They have these fairly regularly. It’s a good networking opportunity. You should go to all of them.”
I didn’t tell him that I probably wouldn’t have the chance to go to another. I was just the fill in for Svetlana, after all. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
He gave me a long look. “Maybe don’t talk too much, though.”
I grimaced. “Yeah, I’m a nervous talker.”
“You’re a talker, full stop,” he said, but he gave me another comfortable squeeze at my waist, his thumb grazing my bare back by accident.
A waiter passed by with glasses of champagne, and I snagged one. God, I needed a drink. I was nervous as hell.
Ty just as quickly took it back out of my hand again, and set it down on a nearby table. “You haven’t exactly shown me that you can hold your alcohol,” he murmured into my ear.
I started to get annoyed…and then realized he had a point. Drinking
was probably bad the night before a performance, too. “You’re right. It might mess up my juju.”
He laughed, shaking his head at me. “Heaven forbid we mess up the juju.”
“You laugh, but the juju’s important,” I chastised him.
“I’m sure it is,” he said, giving me a warm look. His thumb stroked the small of my back again, and I was pretty sure that time it wasn’t an accident. “I’m thinking a lot of things are important that I didn’t notice before.”
“Oh? Like what?” I tilted my head, regarding him. A curl of my hair slid over my shoulder, and I noticed Ty’s gaze follow it.
An electric current ran through my skin, tingling with awareness.
“Ty! Ty, honey, come over here!” A female voice cooed, interrupting our intimate conversation. I looked over, and Annamarie was waving at Ty, trying to beckon him over to a group of her friends. All dressed in long, slinky gowns, all clearly models. Ugh.
And here I was, skinny Zara Pritchard, thinking I was having a moment with sexy, brawny Ty Randall. I was clearly dreaming.
I stepped out of his protective embrace and gestured. “You should go see what they want.”
He glanced at them, and then at me. “I’ll be right back.”
“I’ll be here,” I said with a twirl of my finger. I crossed my arms over my chest and sat down on a stool at the nearby bar, waiting. I tried not to focus too much on how lovely Annamarie’s group was, but it was impossible not to notice. She and her friends immediately pulled Ty in to their group, and the conversation flew at a lively pace. Annamarie would throw her head back and laugh and lean a little closer to Ty, nudging him with her arm.
Ugh. Wasn’t she supposed to be sleeping with her own partner already? Why go after mine? I crossed my legs, and my foot swung over and over again in a nervous flick.
“Hello again,” said a voice, and a big body slid into the stool next to mine.
I looked over in surprise. Serge. Speaking of Annamarie’s partner… “Hi Serge. Long time no see.”
“It has been quite a long time. Two weeks, perhaps?” He gave me a smile that was supposed to be sexy, I guessed, but his shaggy, too-long blond hair screamed 70s Eurotrash—as did his beaky nose—and it was hard to take him seriously.
Ice Games Page 6
