Ice Games (Games #3)(15)
Author: Jessica Clare

“And Jaws does that?” Chip held the microphone out to us, waiting for a response.

Ty leaned in closer to me, his breath on my neck. “It’s because I like to bite.”

And he gave my ear a friendly, playful nip.

My eyes went wide, even as the crowd roared their appreciation. Catcalls filled the air. I hadn’t expected his bite…or their reaction. Immediately, I blushed hard.

Thank god Chip didn’t see my reaction. He turned away, facing the panel of judges. “Let’s see what our panel thought of Ty and Zara’s interpretation of Jaws!”

Penelope’s mouth was thin, her arms crossed. She swiveled in her chair for a moment, and then picked up a score card. “Better than last week, but I’m still waiting to be wowed.”

It was a four.

I exchanged glances with Ty. Figure skating was full of all kinds of bullshit scoring, but this was getting ridiculous.

“Well, I loved it,” Irina said. “I thought it was playful and fun and very creative. We should see more routines like that.”

And she gave us an eight.

“I agree,” Raul said. “That was exciting and different. I’m impressed.”

He also gave us an eight.

I squeezed Ty’s hand excitedly. Our scores didn’t suck this time. It didn’t matter if we were in the middle of the pack as long as we weren’t last and we didn’t hose the popular vote.

We retreated backstage to the Crash Room. I sat down next to Ty on our bench and resisted the urge to rub my ear. It still tingled from his nip, and I was pretty sure my entire body was vibrating with intensity.

“That went well,” I said breathlessly. “I think they liked it. The audience, that is. Not the judges. They never like us. Well, at least not Penelope. But the other two gave us good marks,” I babbled.

He swiped at his face with a towel, and then nodded. “Yeah, it wasn’t bad.” He seemed so casual, as if it were every day that a guy just reached over and bit his partner’s ear on national television.

“You surprised me,” I blurted after a moment, unable to stand it any longer.

“Huh? Oh.” Ty chuckled. “Yeah. I figured it’d be good to get the audience on our side as much as possible, and it seemed like a good idea at the time. Sorry if I freaked you out. I wasn’t trying to scare you.”

“You didn’t…I wasn’t—”

But now he was looking at me curiously. “You do know I’d never hurt you, right, Zara? That shit with me…” He rubbed his chin. “That was just heat of the moment in the cage. It’s not really me.”

I knew about that sort of thing. So I nodded. “No, I get it. Don’t you worry about me.”

Just for show. Nibbling on my ear, purely for show. Was I impressed with how clever my partner was? Or incredibly disappointed that it wasn’t more personal?

The next night, we were the second couple marked as safe.

“I knew it!” I said to Ty triumphantly as we skated off the ice and into the production area. An assistant was there, holding our blade guards, and we popped them on quickly. “We’re here another week. That’s awesome. I’m so excited!”

Ty grinned at me. He wasn’t bubbling over with enthusiasm like I was, but he did seem pleased at our success. “We deserved it. You kicked ass.”

“You weren’t so bad yourself,” I said loftily. We headed to the changing area, and Ty put his hand on the small of my back to guide me through the sea of people moving around us, still moving frantically since the show was still on. At least our part was done. “I think that ear thing was inspired.”

“So was Jaws,” he told me. “We should go out and celebrate, you know.”

I felt a flutter of excitement at the thought. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Grab a bite to eat, get away from the whole gig for a few hours. Celebrate our awesomeness for a bit.” He grinned at me, so boyish and gorgeous that I couldn’t help but fall under his spell. “I think we could use some downtime.”

“That sounds good.” I glanced around the surging backstage area. “Should we invite the others?”

His brows drew together. “Why?”

So it didn’t seem like a date? “Oh. Uh, no reason. I was just curious if you wanted to hang with Annamarie or something.”

“Nah. Let’s just go the two of us. It’ll be easier to sneak out with a small party.”

“Got it. Let me change.” I headed into the girls’ locker room, feeling a little weird. The flutter had taken up permanent residence in my stomach. Ty wanted to go out with just me? Even after we’d spent the last four weeks with solely each other? Really?

That was either…really flattering, or just more team building and that I was reading too much into.

I quickly showered, scrubbed my face off, and dressed. My hair was wet, so I pulled it into another tight bun and changed into my leotard and tights. I’d worn a sloppy plaid tee over the ensemble, and now I wished I’d worn something a bit…sexier. God, why did I suck so hard at being attractive?

I’d never really had a chance to date much. As in, at all. My teenage years had been spent on the ice, practicing, even after my flameout. I’d been homeschooled and was an only child, so I’d never been around a ton of guys. Later on, the kind of guys I met didn’t understand my dedication to and drive for my ice-skating career, even though it had petered out long ago.

Plus, it was hard to meet men when you were dressed up as a pink dinosaur.

Basically, I had a lame dating track record. I could count the number of dates I’d had on one hand, and no one had ever gotten further than second base with me.

I was pretty sure Ty had a lot more experience than that.

This isn’t a date, Zara, I reminded myself. We were skating partners, busy repairing our careers. I was reading a lot more into it than I should have been.

I swung my gear bag over my shoulder and ran into Emma as I left the locker room. “Hey,” I told her. “Who got eliminated?”

“Jon Jon,” she said with a grimace. “No surprise there, but he’ll be really disappointed. But that partner of his just has no rhythm. Poor guy.”

“That sucks,” I said sympathetically. But someone had to go, and for tonight, I was glad it wasn’t me.

She gave me a shrewd look. “That routine you did. That was pretty creative. I liked it.”

I grinned at her. “Thanks. I figured if we didn’t pull out some flash, we were going home tonight.”

“You have Imelda, don’t you? I had her last year.” She grimaced. “And I requested not to have her again this year. Still, I’m surprised she came up with something so outrageous for you two.”

“Had,” I said flatly, hefting my bag. “I fired her. That routine was all me.”

Her eyes widened. “Wow. I should ask you to help with my routine next week.”

I stared at her awkwardly. If I helped her, it’d probably just assist me in getting voted off. “Uh, well…”

“I’m kidding.” She laughed, and then gave me a wave. “See you on the ice.”

“Bye.” I escaped before we could have any other weirdly awkward conversations and met Ty outside of the locker room.

He grinned at me. “You ready to go?”

“Sure.” I moved into step next to him. “So how are we going to do this? Do you have a car? Call a cab?”

“Nah.” He put a hand to the small of my back again, guiding me out of the studio. “If I call a cab, that means a cameraman’s going to follow us out, and I don’t want the show tagging along. I called in a favor.” He glanced around, and then gestured to an emergency exit. “Let’s go out that way. Come on.”

We slipped out a side door and headed out to alley behind the back lot of the studio. There was a black sedan waiting there, and as we approached, a driver got out.

So did Ty’s manager, Chuck. He pointed at Ty with the cellphone that seemed permanently attached to his jaw most days. “You owe me.”

“I do,” Ty said easily. “Thanks for calling this in.”

“If anyone at the network asks, you stopped for ice cream and took a wrong turn,” he told the driver, peeling off a couple of twenties. “Understand?”

“Yes, sir,” the driver said with a grin, and then glanced back at us. “Hop in.”

Ty took my bag from my shoulder and tossed it in the trunk along with his. Then we got into the back seat.

The car pulled out of the parking lot and I glanced over at Ty. “So where are we going?”

“Well,” he said, and patted his stomach. “I’m fuckin’ starving, so I thought we’d get something to eat. That ok?”

“Fine with me.” Like I was going to argue? I was heading out on a partner-not-a-date with Ty Randall, who was growing hotter and hotter with every day that passed. “What are we going to eat?”

“I know you’re all health conscious and crap,” he said. “What won’t you eat?”

I wrinkled my nose, thinking. “Hot dogs?”

He laughed. “I can assure you we’re not going to have hot dogs. Do you have a preference?”

“I guess not? Something healthy. We’re working out hard in the morning again, and I don’t want to mess up my system with something heavy and full of carbs.”

He eyed me from across the seat. “You don’t mind me saying, but you look like you could use a few carbs.”

I stuck my tongue out at him. “That’s right. I’m just a stick with a mouth, right?”

“And a pair of tits,” he teased.

I shot him the bird.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding. You look fine. If you were heavier, I probably wouldn’t be able to lift you—”

This time, I knuckled him in the arm.

“Hey!” He laughed, mock-backing away from me. “I’m joking, I’m joking. How about sushi?”

“I like sushi,” I agreed.

CHAPTER NINE

Usually, the more I learn about a chick, the less I like her. Strangely enough, Zara’s the opposite. She’s crazy, I mean, with the health food and the juju-mojo shit she’s constantly doing, but there’s a method to the insanity. And the more I find out about her? The more I ‘get’ her. It’s weird. — Ty Randall, Practice Interview, Ice Dancing with the Stars

When we got to the restaurant, there was a long line of people behind a cordoned rope, waiting to get in. I frowned at them through the car window. “Should we go somewhere else?”

“Nope. They know me here.” He got out and opened the car door for me, and I slid out after a moment, feeling self-conscious in my grubby clothing and makeup-free face. All the people in line were dressed in trendy, flashy clothing, and they stared at us as we walked up. I noticed Ty put his hand at the small of my back again, leading me to the front of the line and bypassing the cordoned area.

He nodded at the maître d’.

“Mr. Randall,” the man said, clearly excited. “Welcome back. Your regular table?”