Spiral (Off the Ice Book 2)

WHAT DOES IT mean when your celibate fake boyfriend kisses you like he’d die if he didn’t? There’s no manual that can give me an answer, and Google isn’t proving as smart as it claims to be. I feel like I’ve been defeated in a game nobody told me I was playing. Elias’s celibacy has tossed me into a downward spiral almost as complicated as our fake relationship. I recall things I’ve said or done when he’s been close, and I shiver in horror. He probably laughs about all the times I’ve humiliated myself in front of him.

When I step out of the shower, I change into fresh clothes. The fabric of my sundress is flimsy and resembles cheap tissue, but it’s the only thing I own that’s not currently in the wash. Elias took my pile of dirty laundry this morning and ran a cycle. God, the man is pure evil.

When I’m running a comb through my tangled hair, I hear a hushed curse from the kitchen and rush down the hall, only to find Elias shaking out his hand.

“Are you okay?” I take his hand to inspect the burn, ignoring the current that shoots up my fingertips.

“It’s just a burn,” Elias says.

I lead him to the sink and hold his finger under the cold water. “Baking again?”

“Trying something new,” he says. “Do you like scones?”

“Never had one, but I’m sure anything you make, I’ll love.”

He’s still watching me when he turns off the tap and dries his hand on a kitchen towel.

My wet hair drips down my back, and every drop jerks me with the heavy awareness of my sizzling skin.

“You showered?” he asks.

A drop of water hits my neck, and I try not to flinch. “Mm-hmm.”

He cocks his head. “You seem a little on edge this morning. Are you feeling okay?”

Another drop. This time it slides down the side of my neck and trails down my collarbone. “Never been better.”

His gaze catches on the slow-moving droplets, and my body is electrified. The problem is, water and electricity don’t mix well. I quiver as something dark swims in his brown eyes.

“Take a picture, Elias. It’ll keep you occupied on your flight.”

“You think I’d need a picture to remember how you look right now?”

The silence is long and uncomfortable. I glance at the stove to read the time, realizing it’s only noon and he leaves in a few hours. The past few minutes already feel torturous—I’m not sure I can survive hours.

He steps right into my orbit, reaching for my dress. “What are you trying to accomplish here, Sage?”

The question makes me hot. Elias’s hand is big and strong and veiny, and I wouldn’t say a damn word if he yanked off my dress.

I tilt my head. “I’m trying to survive the heat.”

His eyes narrow. “The apartment has AC.”

Maybe I should have been more specific. I meant I needed to survive his heat.

“I run hot.”

“I’ve had your ice-cold feet on me almost every night.”

He’s goading me, but I refuse to fall into the trap. “Whatever it is you’re trying to make me say, it won’t work. I don’t have ulterior motives. Unlike you, I say what I want instead of talking in riddles.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

I straighten, trying to appear taller even though he’s towering. “That you claim to be the most honest guy on the planet, but you can’t for one second admit you’re lying to yourself. And that’s probably the worst type of dishonesty there is.”

There’s a storm brewing on his face. “I’m not lying to anyone.”

I snort, rather unattractively. “Keep telling yourself that. But you’ve been celibate for so long because you’re punishing yourself for something you did years ago. You think this eases your conscience, but you’re only hurting yourself.”

I didn’t know until this very second that it bothered me. Realistically, I’m not his girlfriend and I have no right to question his reasons, but damn does it feel like a punch in the face when he knows nearly everything about me. Sex life included.

This all feels too risky now. My feelings. His. Whatever they are. It would be enough to throw me in a white-walled room with no windows and a straitjacket. Riding his thigh the other night, then begging for him last night only brings the heat of embarrassment back to my face.

Suddenly my confidence evaporates, and I turn to get the hell out of his vicinity. Elias pushes forward, backing me right up against the fridge and causing a magnet to fall to the floor. A picture of all the guys at this year’s Frozen Four falls by my feet.

His calloused hands skim the bare skin of my thighs, then he slides upward, lifting the thin fabric of my dress. Even if I wanted to say something, I wouldn’t.

“I don’t lie,” he rasps. “And I’m not being dishonest.”

My voice comes out as a whisper. “Your nose is growing, Elias.”

He chuckles, the warm breath hitting my skin like the lash of a belt. “You wanna hear a lie, Sage?” His wandering hand moves to my hip bone, right to the string of my thong.

I trap a whimper, unwilling to embarrass myself any more than I already have.

“Seeing you walk around in this fucking dress doesn’t make me want to tear it off.”

I swallow.

“Your lips haven’t been stuck in my mind since I tasted them the first time.”

My breaths are shallow.

“And I didn’t jerk off to the thought of you last night.”

Holy shit.

Talking to him is like playing with the red and blue wires on a bomb and not knowing which one is going to knock you on your ass and burn every inch of your skin.

“Satisfied?” he asks.

“Never,” I say.

He snaps the string of my thong, and I squeak. The sting on my skin feels like he’s spanked me. “What if I think you’re the one who’s lying?” Elias says.

I’m at the mercy of his hands, but I feign offense. “I’m not.”

“No? So, you’re not frustrated because I didn’t fuck you last night?”

My throat feels heavy.

“Come on, Sage. I thought you were an open book,” he goads.

I narrow my eyes. “You don’t know me.”

“Maybe.” His hand leaves the tingling skin of my bare thigh and clasps my wrist, and he runs his thumb over my thundering pulse. “But your body is saying something different.”

“My body says a lot of things, but I don’t suppose you’d know how to read it.” I’m hoping my words slash at that cocky look on his face.

“You think because I haven’t touched you, I don’t know what will make you come?”

Reading between the lines is pretty damn easy when his eyes flash with a look that says, My thigh can get you off in under thirty seconds.

As annoying as the smirk is, he’s beautiful, and so is the hand that snakes under my dress to toy with the scrap of fabric between my ass cheeks. Then he pulls it, and the tightness almost makes me keel forward, but I lock my knees.

“Careful, Eli, that’s a lot of sex talk for your vow of celibacy.”

He tuts. He actually fucking tuts at me. “I’m not afraid to talk about sex, Sage, but I think you’re nervous just thinking about it.”

My thoughts scatter. Like rats running out of an alley at the sound of footsteps.

My laugh is unconvincing. It’s cut short when the oven timer sounds and slices through our stare-down. Elias backs away, and so do I.

I spend the next two hours sewing my pointe shoes to perfection, giving him only a small nod when he tells me he’ll be back in a few days.

THE FINAL SHOWCASE of A Midsummer Night’s Dream makes me feel like a celebrity. It even makes me forget about the earlier call from my landlord. My apartment is clean and should be ready for me to move in again. But thinking about that makes the pit in my stomach grow deeper than an abyss.

Amy Laurent, my former teacher, thanks me profusely when she spots me backstage. I don’t understand why at first, but apparently my post about tonight’s show with links to the tickets helped sell out the house.

Electric energy buzzes backstage as act two begins and the curtains draw open. You’d think performing the same dance would feel mundane, but it only makes me feel excited. Every time I perform my solo as Titania the fairy queen, I know I’ve gotten better.

The dreamy notes of the nocturne by Mendelssohn play when I’m onstage, and I don’t think. I don’t let myself get lost in my head.noveldrama

This time, I don’t search the crowd, because my uncle is away with the team, but he did make sure to hound me for the link to the live performance. When the curtains close, I’m off the stage and talking with the families up front. A woman taps my shoulder.

“My son is a huge hockey fan,” she begins. “And ever since we saw you at the Thunder games, my daughter has been ecstatic. She’s obsessed with all your performances.”

She points to her daughter, who’s wearing a tiara atop her head, her curly hair fashioned into a bun. The young girl hugs me and hands me a handwritten letter. It’s just like Elias said about being an inspiration to them. It makes me wish he was here to see it.

After a long bus ride, I finally return to the empty apartment. The urge to call Elias gnaws at me, but I know his hockey game is in full swing. So I settle in front of the TV to watch him play. Away games are the worst, and they leave me feeling a pang of loneliness. Especially tonight, with the exhilaration of my performance still coursing through my veins, I would kill to share this moment with Elias, to witness the sparkle in his eyes whenever I talk about ballet.

As the game enters its third period, I search for Elias amid the chaos of players darting back and forth. A surge of relief floods through me at the sight of him coming off the bench, but it’s short-lived because the commentators recount a brutal hit against him in the first period.

As the replay flickers across the screen, my heart seizes, captured by the bone-chilling moment of Elias’s body colliding with the unforgiving boards. The sheer intensity of the impact sends shivers down my spine, as if I can feel the reverberations echoing through my bones. The subsequent fight that erupted after the hit only adds to my distress, with Aiden retaliating against the player who targeted Elias.

It’s a given with a contact sport like hockey, but I can’t help the pang of helplessness.

As the end of the game draws near, a tentative sense of relief settles over me. But just as I begin to breathe a little easier, my worst fears materialize in front of my eyes. Elias goes hurtling into the boards again, his skates fully leaving the ice in a terrifying display of momentum. Time freezes when he crashes back to the ice and lies motionless. The stadium is engulfed in a deafening silence, and so are the commentators.

My heart hammers against my ribs like a trapped bird. I desperately strain to catch any glimpse of movement, any flicker of reassurance that Elias is okay. But then, I see his discarded helmet and the mouth guard he spit out.

I can’t tear my eyes away, even as every instinct screams for me not to look. The medical team rushes onto the ice. Then the camera abruptly cuts away. The announcer’s voice finally breaks through the scene, delivering the devastating news that Elias won’t be returning for the rest of the game.

The remote slips from my trembling fingers and clatters to the floor.