Roller Girl

by Vanessa North

  “Nice to meet you, Tina.” She holds out her hand and I shake it—did I pass some kind of test? “Are you skating today?”

  “Tina’s a personal trainer. She’s helping Joe with the coaching today.” Stella throws an arm around my waist. “She’ll be skating next time.”

  “Oh. Fresh meat. Welcome to derby.” Paula smiles at me. Even her teeth are perfect.

  “Thanks.”

  She greets some of the other girls and then skates away, locs swinging.

  Joe’s face is inscrutable as Paula goes.

  “So, that was the ex?” I nudge her with an elbow, and she glances up at me.

  “Yeah. Chloe—aka Paula Fast One. She’s skating in the first bout. I want you and Stella and Bex to watch her carefully—how she breaks through the pack, where she finds her openings. She’s one of the best jammers in our league.”

  Once the bout begins, Paula’s dominance on the track is obvious. I hate that Joe’s right, that it isn’t rose-colored glasses when she looks at her ex—her ex who she’s obviously on friendly terms with. Paula Fast One is exactly that—fast, with an eye for strategy, unerringly finding the line through the tangle of skaters.

  “See what I mean? I hate her.” Stella says after one particularly brutal jam where Paula took a hard hit, wobbled close to out of bounds, but recovered and managed to lap the entire pack.

  “Will we have to skate against her?” Lauren asks.

  “Not today. Maybe during the regular season.” Stella glares down at the track, then smiles sweetly. “Who knows, maybe she’ll break a leg.”

  “Hey.” Joe scowls at Stella. “Don’t even joke about shit like that. Not even her. She’s my ex; that doesn’t mean she’s evil, okay?”

  Stella rolls her eyes and opens her mouth like she’s about to argue, but then backs down. “Yes, Wifey.”

  Stella’s acquiescence doesn’t lighten the sudden tension between them; if anything, it ramps it up more. She glares at Joe for a long minute, and then shakes her head.

  “Why did you call her that?” I ask.

  “She’s my derby wife. That’s like—the person on the team who you meet and you instantly get each other, right from the start. The best friend you’ve got out there: that’s your derby wife.”

  Chloe’s team easily wins their bout. The next bout isn’t as dramatic, but Joe brings my attention to different techniques and strategies as it goes on, her voice a low constant in my ear. It’s hard to concentrate with her so close—my mouth goes dry and my palms grow sweaty—but I want to please her, want to show her that I’m paying attention, so I force my attention back to the track and watch.

  And then it’s our turn. As the announcer calls out the name of our team, the skaters pour onto the track and start working the crowd. Then all but the starting five sit on the bench. Joe sits down next to me and leans in to speak.

  “The team we’re skating against is pretty good, but they’ve got a few of their best girls down with injury. Their jammer isn’t as experienced as Stella.”

  Stella breaks through the pack first, leading the jam. The other jammer takes off after her, and the race is on. When they reach the pack again, our blockers are ready. Lauren surprises me by landing a brutal hit and knocking their jammer down.

  I shout out my surprise, cheering her on, and Joe whistles right alongside me. She glances over, grinning. “And her reign of terror begins.”

  It strikes me then that Joe has seen this in Lauren all along. She might not be the fastest or the smoothest skater, but she’s a fierce and aggressive blocker who isn’t afraid to use the full force of her body weight just now in the bout.

  During the next jam, their jammer and one of their blockers end up in the penalty box and Stella scores easily against the remaining three on their team.

  As the bout goes on, Lauren is replaced by another blocker, and Bex switches places with Stella. Katie comes out a little later, and Lauren goes back in. When a penalty is called on her and she’s sent to the box, she grins like it’s the greatest moment of her life.

  And best of all—we win.

  Joe jumps up on the bench and raises her arms. Then she jumps down and hugs me, and we all rush out onto the track to hug our girls.

  We watch the final bout, giddy with the thrill of our win, and then we linger, gossiping and chatting with the other teams, but eventually we have to go home. We gather our bags, and we make our way back to the cars. In the hallway, I hear a voice behind me.

  “Tina Durham?”

  It takes me a minute to place the auburn-haired young woman smiling at me. The last time I saw her, she’d been wearing false eyelashes and a sequin-covered bikini.

  “Miss Lake Lovelace.”

  She laughs with obvious delight. “Amber, please. And I’ve passed on my crown; I’m not Miss Lake Lovelace anymore. Are you doing this now? Roller derby?”

  “Yeah, yeah I am.”

  “That’s amazing. I’m actually working on a story on the resurgence of the sport here in Florida. Maybe you could give me an interview? Former pro wakeboarder finds a second chance with a new sport.”

  “A story?”

  “For the local TV station. Someday, I’m going to be an anchor, but for now I’m working with the sports desk. I’ve got to run. Here’s my card, call me, we can catch up. Congrats on your win today!” She presses a business card into my hand, a kiss to my cheek, and then she disappears.

  An interview. I haven’t spoken publicly about my retirement or my transition. Ben and I have always laughed at the idea of sports “human interest stories.” Isn’t it what we do while playing the sport that’s really interesting? Then again, I never saw the appeal of a press conference either, and I did plenty of those. But it would be nice to catch up with Amber. I tuck the card into my pocket and rush to catch up with the rest of the team.

  “I’m so freaking beat, can someone else drive?” Joe is asking as I approach the van.

  “I’ve got it.” Katie takes the key. “It’s my van anyway.”

  “Shotgun!” Lauren calls, and everyone stares at her. “What, I have kids. We do that.”

  We all laugh.

  “Joe, you and T sit in the back; you can stretch out and get a nap.” Stella takes one of the captain’s chairs in the middle, and Bex takes the other. I squeeze between them to get into the backseat, and Joe joins me.

  “So, your first bout. What did you think?”

  “It was amazing. I could see your whole strategy play out—who you put where and why. My God, Joe, it was . . .” I shake my head. “It was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen. And I was there when Ridley Romeo landed a nine hundred in the double-up contest, so that’s saying something.”

  She laughs and stretches. “I’m glad.” Then she shivers. “The AC is super cold back here.”

  “There’s a blanket.” Bex calls. “It’s behind the seat.”

  Joe finds it and scoots closer to me. “We can share.”

  She wraps the blanket around us. Cocooned in the backseat, we talk about the bout, comparing notes on what we saw, until she falls asleep with her head in my lap.

  My heart pounds in my ears. My hands clench at my sides—where do I put them? I slide one to the soft curve of her waist, above the blanket. After the van hits a big bump, she startles a bit, but settles down when I smooth her hair away from her forehead. It’s exquisite, beautiful agony, the hour I spend with her sleeping in my arms.

  When she finally wakes, she blinks up at me and smiles, then touches the side of my face. She pushes herself to a sitting position, lays her head on my shoulder, and we ride the rest of the way home like lovers.

  That night, we meet up at Blue’s for celebrating and drinking. The beer is delicious and cold, and the company friendly and warm. When someone starts dumping quarters into the old jukebox, tables get shoved aside and the dancing begins.

  Dancing always makes me feel self-conscious, but I love watching the others. Lauren is a fantastic dancer, hamming it up as sh
e moves, laughing and swaying with easy grace.

  Joe grabs her around the waist and pulls her into an embrace, and a flash of jealousy works through me when they both laugh. It’s ridiculous, of course. Lauren is married, and I straight-up told Joe I wasn’t looking to get involved. I did that, and I don’t get to take it back.

  So why am I frowning into my beer at the sight of my two friends sharing a hug?

  “Tina, you should dance, come on.” Stella grabs my hand and starts towing me toward the makeshift dance floor.

  “No, I’m too . . .”

  “Too what? Anxious? Shy? Oh, honey, nobody here is judging you. We don’t care whether you got all the moves.” She squeezes my hand. “We won our bout! We’re celebrating. Celebrate!”

  I take a final swig of my beer and set it on a table, then follow Stella’s lead onto the floor. She puts her arms above her head and swings her hips with a sensual fluidity I can only imitate, but I do, gamely, and I grin like I mean it.

  “Like this.” Joe’s voice rasps behind me, and, like always, it sends a shock of craving through my body. Her hands settle onto my hips, and she spins me to face her.

  “Hey.” She smiles at me, wide and guileless and lovely.

  “Hi.”

  “Bend your knees a little, scoot closer.” She hooks her fingers through my belt loops and tugs me close until my leg is between hers and our hips are grinding together. “Yeah. Put your hands on my waist.”

  Her tank top is damp with sweat, and I fight the urge to push the soft cotton up and away so I can run my hands over sleek skin.

  She releases my belt loops and drapes her arms over my shoulders, leaning back to smirk up at me.

  “Just like that.” Biting her lip, she closes her eyes, and I lose myself in the sensuality of dancing with her, of the warmth from her body and the rhythm of our hips pressing closer and then swaying away. She’s everything, in that moment. The rest of the world ceases to exist. I want to hold on and never, ever let go.

  “What are you doing to me?” I murmur, and her eyes pop open in surprise.

  “Nothing you aren’t doing to me,” she whispers. “Come home with me, Tina. No one has to know.”

  I peek around the room, but nobody pays attention to us, and the music covers our whispers.

  “The team.” I try one last time.

  “I think they’ve got enough to gossip about with those two, don’t you?” She gestures with her chin and I glance around. Stella is making out with Rebecca in the hallway leading to the bathroom, their bodies pressed close, her hand on Rebecca’s ass. They’re sexy as hell together, and I can’t help the little sound that escapes me.

  “You knew about them before today?”

  “I suspected. Stella’s always had a thing for goth girls, and Rebecca . . .” She shakes her head. “Rebecca is hard to resist.”

  “Are you speaking from experience?”

  “Nah. Not with Rebecca. But look at her.”

  I can see her point. Rebecca is one of those girls who exude confidence and a certain naughty sex-kitten appeal. The Bexecutioner is a favorite with our derby crowd, winning them over with equal parts sass and skill.

  “Yeah, I get it. Confidence is sexy.” I duck my head, faltering in my rhythm.

  “Hey. You know what else is sexy?” Her hand cups my face, draws my gaze down to hers.

  I shake my head.

  “Being vulnerable and trusting. The way you look at me sometimes . . . shit, Tina. You should come with a warning label.”

  My cheeks flush hot at the praise. “You know what I really want?” I whisper, changing the subject to safer territory.

  “What?”

  “I want to skate. I watched you guys today, and that was awesome, but it made me hungry.”

  “Well. That’s a hunger I can do something about.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. I have the keys to the rink. It’s closed, but Katie won’t care if I take you there after hours. You can get it all out of your system. Come on, I’ll drive.”

  We say our good-byes to the rest of the team, and I follow her out to her van. She grabs my hand, threading our fingers together, and grins at me.

  “Skating. I never quite know what to make of you.”

  I look down at our joined hands, a smile spreading across my face. “You do okay.”

  The drive is short—only a few minutes later, we’re unlocking the back door of the rink, Joe’s skates dangling from their laces in one of her hands, the other clutching mine.

  “You can use rental skates.” She nods toward the shelves with their neat rows of sturdy brown skates with orange wheels.

  I grab a pair and lace them up, struggling with the short laces on the right boot.

  “Hold on a sec,” Joe says. “I’m gonna see if I can get the sound system going.”

  She disappears, and then the lights come up over the rink and the speakers throb to life. Some ten-year-old Rob Thomas song starts pounding through them, and Joe’s laugh fills the empty rink.

  “Sorry, I can’t do anything about the music selection. I don’t think Katie’s been able to afford to update for a while.”

  I shrug, stepping out onto the smooth floor and sliding over to her. “I like pop music.”

  “So, what do you want to do? See how fast you can go? Practice jumping?”

  I turn around so I’m skating backward, and grab her hands. “Like dancing, but . . .”

  “Hmmm. I like that.” She takes the lead, and I fall into step, letting her turn us and guide me around in a big, lazy circle. “It’s good for your footwork too. You’re a really talented technical skater.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I should test you again at the next practice.”

  “Yeah?”

  She nods. “I think you’ll pass.”

  “No one will cry favoritism? After I left the party with you?”

  “Oh, they might.” She spins me around so fast I almost fall, and the thrill of it makes me giddy and giggly. “But they’ll see you skate, and they’ll know you earned it.”

  “I work hard.”

  “I know you do. And sometimes, I think you’re better at this coaching stuff than I am.”

  “It’s my job.” But then I think of Jeremy and his shaking legs, and think maybe I have a ways to go there too. “But let’s not talk about that. Let’s just skate.”

  I drop her hand and swing around so we’re facing the same direction, and I pick up my pace. She laughs and follows my lead, and the race is on.

  She’s fast and fearless, and by the time the songs have changed twice, we’re both sweating and laughing, and that achy, wanting feeling in my chest has finally disappeared.

  “I needed this,” I mumble breathlessly.

  “We should go. It’s getting late.”

  “Okay, I’ll meet you over by the rental skates. I really gotta pee.”

  In the restroom, I splash cold water on my face. What the hell am I doing? Joe is the coach. And no matter how friendly she seemed with Chloe, there was obviously some painful history from the way Stella acted. I don’t need to be getting in the middle of any drama.

  But this is Joe. Exuberant, sweet, sexy Joe. And God help me, I want her.

  “Tina? Where are you?” Joe’s voice is full of laughter as she rounds the corner and spots me struggling with my laces. “Are you stuck?” She doubles over with another round of giggles.

  It’s contagious, apparently.

  “Shut up.” I laugh in spite of myself. I can’t help it: the music, the skating, the rush of being here, in the dark, after hours. Permission or not, it feels like we’re getting away with something, which speaks to that dark little part of my soul that always wanted to rebel, even when I still thought fitting in was the greatest victory. “There’s a knot in my laces. Stupid rental skates.”

  “Here, let me.” She kneels at my feet. “I’m good with knots.”

  She pulls my skate onto her knees and starts working on it,
her face side-lit by the neon over the concession stand. There’s a softness, an innocence even, to the curve of her cheek that stings my heart. How many people get to see this side of Joe Mama? Suddenly I’m very conscious of the fact that my foot is in her lap, and my breath catches. Her gaze flickers up to mine, her silver-and-black lined eyes sparkling.

  “Got it,” she whispers. Pulling the laces from the eyelets, she slides her hand up the back of my leg; a burning trail of awareness follows her palm along my skin to where it rests behind my knee.

  The side of her mouth twitches up in that half smile, the one she must have practiced in a mirror. How else could she have nailed that casual sexiness so perfectly? Her other palm cups my heel, and with a quick tug, the skate slips free.

  The smile falls away, but she doesn’t break my gaze.

  My foot in her lap. Her hand behind my knee. A dawning appreciation crackles between us in a continuous circuit.

  Her eyes close, and she makes a sound low in her throat—a pained, lusty noise like sex and deprivation together. Leaning forward, she kisses the inside of my knee. The press of her lips is dry and warm, and gone too soon, as she turns her head to the side and lays it on my lap, trusting as a kitten with her affection.

  “Tina,” she whispers.

  My hand settles onto her hair, my chest is heaving like I’ve run for miles, and the silly, giddy rush of a moment ago has given way to a body-tightening arousal.

  “Joe, we need to—”

  “Shhh.” She sits up and touches a finger to my lips, her eyes wide and solemn in the semidarkness.

  All the reasons not to get involved—holy shit, what would the team say?—spark around us like electricity in the air before a storm, but I don’t care. I catch that finger with my teeth.

  We both go still and silent, frozen. Did I go too far? My heart gallops in my chest, exultant and terrified at once.

  The next moment, she’s in my lap, straddling one of my legs, and I’ve got an armful of sweet, sexy Joe as she presses her lips to mine.

  The kiss is raw and hungry. One of her hands tilts my face up; the other tangles in my hair, not tugging, but holding me close. She moans and her hips roll against me.