Page 65 of Hate You Most

She built from there. A scratch spin, faster this time, with one foot anchoring her center and the other turning her around. The centrifugal force tugged at her spine and the back of her head, yet pain didn't bloom at the back of her skull.

Viktoriya skated a few laps to reset, then set up for a camel spin. Her free leg lifted into the air without hesitation. Her back flattening, and arms stayed tight by her core. The ice blurred beneath her. For a moment, she forgot to breathe. When she came out of it cleanly, she swallowed hard.

She knew better than to rush into any jumps or spins, but she had done nothing but sleep for the past two weeks and so far. This had been the only moment she'd been even relatively okay.

“I’m going to try a few jumps,” she called out to Dakota, and motioned for her to move away from the middle of the ice.

A single salchow followed by a single toe loop. The ice was forgiving and familiar. It had waited for her.

What followed were the same jumps, but two and a half rotations, which she also landed flawlessly.

She hesitated before the next attempt, muscles coiled with something sharper than nerves. There were no cameras and no lights, and no pressure. Just a single set of eyes that watched her across the ice.

Her posture lifted without thinking, her spins became a little tighter, a little faster—not to impress anyone, because something about Dakota watching her skate made heat curl low in her stomach and confidence settle deep in her bones.

She liked it.

She really, really liked it.

“I’m going to try a triple,” she called out to her audience of one. She locked with Dakota's green eyes.

“You are being an idiot,” she called back. “What happened to being careful and taking it easy?”

“I'm always idiot,” she laughed. “Have you met me?”

Viktoriya pushed off, building speed as she crossed the ice, the familiar movements threading itself through her body before her mind could interfere. A triple axel—three and a half rotations in the air and a landing on the opposite foot she took off from. It was a jump that could separate a good skater from a great one.

For a split second in the air, time fractured. Her mind drifted to Sanchez. To her lips and her hips and the way her naked body came to her while the world blurred into nothing. When they were completely alone they could smile at each other and flirt openly—Viktoriya had no problem with that as long as nobody else saw. When she was observed, her walls were sky high and whatever love she felt for Dakota got hidden away in her heart, only to be released in the stillness of her own twisted mind.

Then her blade hit the ice again. Clean and sharp, her knee bending to absorb the impact as she rode it out.

She let out a breath that was half laugh, half disbelief, and skated it off on pure adrenaline. Her hands were shaking as she slowed, her heart hammering so loud she could hear it in her ears.

She looked up.

Dakota hadn’t moved. She was staring at her like Viktoriya had just defied the laws of physics—and the way her eyes darkened made the air between them change into something dangerous and electric.

Viktoriya was in control when she skated. So why was she suddenly so nervous? She skated past Dakota, then backward, and moved with her as they took a lap of the rink.

“Do we still compete?” she asked, breathless. “We’re not old.”

Dakota laughed. “Twenty-six isn’t exactly ancient, but no.”

“No?” Viktoriya repeated, slowing to skate beside her.

“We’re retired,” Dakota said. “Both of us. We're just… living our lives.”

“When?”

Dakota smiled at her. “We retired after PyeongChang.”

Viktoriya’s eyebrows shot up. "I won, yes?”

“I did,” Dakota said as she tried—and failed—to sound casual. “Gold at the 2018 Olympics.”

Viktoriya stared at her for a beat, then smiled wide. “So now we are even, yes?”

Dakota snorted. “You always hated that.”