Page 12 of Off the Edge

Six p.m. Gym. Mobility, core work, mostly body maintenance at this point.

Seven fifteen p.m. Dinner in the cafeteria again.

Eight thirty p.m. Free time, except it wasn’t. Laundry, media, admin, sponsors, replying to messages, calling my mom, texting or calling Saga if he was awake.

Ten thirty p.m. Sleep, then look forward to doing it all again the next day.

But over the next few days, the training would ease, and the Olympic machine would begin to turn. Opening ceremony briefing, uniform fitting, team photos, flag rehearsal, security instructions, transport briefing, and a whole lot more.

I’d spotted Ren a couple of times. Mostly during morning training, when other teams were allowed to watch, and across the cafeteria. He hadn’t seen me. Probably wasn’t looking. He’d have his whole head and heart dialed into the games. This was his wheelhouse. Routine, precision, no mistakes. He’d be loving it.

“You see Hasegawa and Ward yesterday morning?” Zoe asked. She’d found me for breakfast in the cafeteria and sat next to me with her bowl of oats, fruit, and yogurt.

“I did.” I had a stack of pancakes and a coffee to wake me up. Jet lag was a whole thing that I was still trying to shake off.

I’d seen Ren and Tamsyn at practice and had tried not to stare as though what they did on that ice mattered to me. I’d stared anyway. They made a stunning pair. Ren was always impressive, but Tamsyn had a similar fluid motion that matched him perfectly.

“You danced with Hasegawa at the Meridian,” Zoe said, digging a spoon into her bowl of oats and stirring. “Does he have any weaknesses?”

My brain went there. Oh sure, he had weaknesses. He went weak when I went down on him. But was he weak on the ice? Never.

I smiled, then laughed and stabbed at my pancake.

“What?” she chuckled. “It’s a valid question. You probably know him better than anyone here.”

I really did. I’d had my hands all over the man. “No, he doesn’t have any weaknesses.” I couldn’t hold back my smile.

Her face screwed up in doubt. “He must have something he’s not good at.”

Socializing. Knowing when not to be an asshole. Tact. I couldn’t even say humor anymore. He’d been getting funnier over text lately. I thought back to our practices in Montreal, the million times he’d had his hands on me, his relentless pursuit of perfection. There were a few times he’d messed up, but usually only to stop me from messing up worse deeper into the routine.

“He tries to over-control,” I said. “He tries to correct something that hasn’t happened yet. He sees a dozen steps ahead, not the one you’re dancing. He’s a machine.”

“Damn.” Zoe’s eyebrows lifted. “We can beat him, though?”

We were good, Zoe and me. We had some amazing practices, when it seemed like maybe we’d give Ren and Tamsyn a decent run. But could we beat them? “I think so, but it’ll come down to the ice on the day, probably.”

Nobody could predict what the ice was going to be like on competition day. If there were ridges, gouges from previous performances, or if it just plain wasn’t playing ball that day, it could throw off a program. Sometimes, you could have a technically brilliant program, but something unpredictable like a stray piece of costume or unexpected ice gouges could throw you off. Sometimes the ice got into your head, undermined your confidence. It did to me, anyway.

“It’s going to be that close, huh?” She dug into her oats and ate, then after a few minutes asked, “Don’t you have an in with him? Can’t you chat him up to see what he’s thinking?”

I laughed too loudly at that. “Chat up Ren Hasegawa? He’d see me coming a mile off.”

“Yeah, but you guys are close. You have history.” She drew out that last word, loading it with innuendo.

I gave her the look. She’d been reading too many headlines. “We danced for the Meridian. Don’t make me give you the line I give everyone else, Zoe.”

“Alright, but . . . they are just lines.” Her eyebrows lifted with her smile.

“Meaning?” I put my fork down.

“C’mon, I saw the dirty dancing video. You two were into it.”

I sighed, feeling my own smile slip. Apparently, I was going to have to say the line. “We danced together every day for nine months. That’s all it was.”

“So, you aren’t . . . like . . . into him?” She caught my look and shrugged. “Sorry, but hey, it’s a good thing. It means you guys had real chemistry on the ice for people to have carried that off ice. That’s rare.”

“One, he’s straight. Two, even if I knew him well enough to chat with him, I’m not going undercover to get info on his headspace, that’s underhanded.”