Spiral (Off the Ice Book 2)
Spiral: Chapter 12

I’M HAVING A good time. I’m having a good time. I’m having a good time.

Damn it. This whole “speaking it into existence” crap isn’t working, and it’s screwing me over right now. In the nine minutes I’ve been here, Derek has proven to be a real person, not a catfish, but unfortunately, that’s where the positives end. He took the liberty of ordering my drink, opting for a fruity blue margarita with a tiny umbrella. Presumptuous.

He talks about how he almost made it to the NBA until an ACL tear thwarted those solid aspirations. He’s currently playing for his local YMCA as a benchwarmer. No judgment here though, because as far as ballet goes, I’m a benchwarmer too. But keeping my interest focused on his what‑ if rambles is close to impossible. When he attempts to place his hand on my thigh, I instinctively recoil.

At some point during the nine minutes, I mentioned ballet. Derek seized the opportunity to duck under the table to stare at my feet—visibly beat up from yesterday’s rehearsals—for an uncomfortably long moment.

I’ve never wanted anything more than to have retractable body parts.

Somehow, I picked a date with the most touch-starved man in the downtown core.

As I take a tiny sip of my overly sweet drink, I pat my lips to keep the blue tint from clinging to them.

“You have beautiful lips,” Derek says.

I hold back from shuddering. “Thank you.”

I hate myself for saying it. But cursing his entire bloodline wouldn’t play well for me, especially because this man looks like he’d follow me home and hide in the untrimmed hedges by my apartment.

Self-preservation is a lesson every girl should learn before she ventures out of the house. However, I learned about it by getting into situations no young girl should ever endure. Self-taught self-preservation is a true badge of honor.

Attempting to drown out his voice, I scan the crowded bar, only to find Elias’s words creeping back into my mind. The Pint is a popular establishment, particularly on game days. Basketball and hockey games are broadcast on various TV screens, with the matchup between Vancouver and Los Angeles garnering the most attention from patrons. This confirms Elias’s concerns about someone recognizing me.

“Another margarita?”

My head whips back to Derek, who’s standing now. My first one is pretty much untouched. “No, thanks. I’ll just take some water.”

“Okay, I’ll order us some appetizers too,” he says, flashing me a crooked smile.

When he takes off, I deflate back into my seat, regretting my every decision. Angry Sage is not to be trusted, and vengeful Sage is apparently even worse.

Before Elias showed up at my door, I was arguing with myself in the bathroom mirror about whether to read every intrusive comment left about me on my profile or just leave the house and forget it. Seeing Elias reminded me of the shitstorm he dropped me into.

It’s something I could weather, but he rejected me, goddamn it. He can’t decide on a random Monday on live television that he wants to try out my “unbelievable” plan after all.

So, when he stood there, with rain drizzled across his tight gray shirt and that wounded puppy dog look on his face, it solidified my decision. I needed to distract myself with another man, or this one and his unsurprisingly perfect abs would stick to my brain like taffy.

Derek is back in a record amount of time. “So, ballet. How’s that going?”

He sits and drags his chair forward so his abdomen presses against the wooden table. The space between us is no longer a comfortable bubble, and instead his knees press against mine, and his face is only inches away.

I push my chair back to make up for the lack of space. “I got two rejections in one week, so not great,” I say, not bothering to impress him with a lie.

My first rejection was for that small theater that performs for nursing homes, and the second rejection was for a short summer stint with a ballet school. Nothing too disappointing, but just the cherry on top of an already miserable week. However, my daily refresh of the Nova Ballet Theatre website showed they haven’t updated the casting for the dual role of Princess Odette and Odile, which means they haven’t decided on anyone. That’s all the motivation I need to keep going until I find a way to wiggle into an audition. But I have seen the new casting for Prince Siegfried, played by Adam Culver, and Rothbart, played by Jason Levy.

The company opened their auditions for international soloists, so they’re currently traveling the globe to find their swan queen after securing most of the cast. Since this is Zimmerman’s first production of Swan Lake, he is looking for nothing short of perfection.

“I’m sure that won’t be the case for long. There’s something about you that screams dancer. Probably your legs.”

I laugh, tucking my legs under my chair because he’s eyeing them like he’s assessing them for the potential to sell on the black market.

He smirks, leaning closer, and I hate this. His overpowering scent, and the manly musk mixed in, wafts around us like a dark cloud. My throat runs dry from the uncomfortable gaze, so I reach for my water and take a long drink. Then just as I place the glass back on the table, his calloused hand engulfs mine, and I watch in horror as he brings it toward his mouth to kiss it.

“You—”

“I’d suggest you take your hands off my girlfriend.”

That voice creeps up my back and crawls into my ears like fire ants.

Derek looks up, his gaze fixed on the man behind me, his expression awestruck. I don’t have to look to know what he’s seeing. Tight T-shirt, impressively hard chest, face that is the definition of perfection. I’d have to dig up my dictionary to confirm there is a picture of him next to the word.

I take a deep breath before I turn to the stone-jawed man who just walked into a very crowded bar to announce—again—that I’m his girlfriend. Elias is wearing workout clothes, and he still looks better than anyone else I’ve encountered today. It’s unfair.

There’s no doubt he’s a catch in this disappointing litter of male specimens, and I’m not clueless about the women and men admiring him right now.

“G-girlfriend?” Derek stutters, his lips still frozen midway to my hand.

My forehead creases so deeply, a headache blooms in my temples.

“I am not his girlfriend,” I say through clenched teeth. Derek continues to stare behind me, wide-eyed. I know he’s recognized Elias in the point five seconds that he’s taken to come stand by my side.

Annoyed, I snap my fingers to get Derek to refocus on me. “What were you saying?”

He swallows, still staring at Elias as he shakily kisses my hand. “You have beautiful hands.”

The compliment is on par for him, but I giggle, smiling shyly and fluttering my lashes like a showgirl. More to annoy the man who declared me as his girlfriend.

The air is awkward when I turn to the rookie hovering over me like a fly. “Sir, you must be mistaken.”

His jaw twitches. “It was never a mistake, Sage.”

What the hell? This pretentious rich hockey player thinks he can walk into my date and expect me to fall at his feet now that he’s decided I’m his girlfriend?

Ridiculous.

It takes a lot for me not to dignify that with an answer. When I turn, expecting to find a still-awestruck Derek, he stands and carelessly drops my hand on the table.

Great, I just lost my date to a hockey player.

“Eli Westbrook, right? I saw your interview—” He pauses, his gaze bouncing back and forth. “Wait. This is your Sage?”

I drop my head in my hands in defeat. “I’m not his anything,” I mutter.

Derek’s not listening to me as he looks at Elias apologetically. “I’m sorry, man, I had no idea.” He looks back at me. “You do know Hugger is a dating app, right?”

I shoot him a glare, but it’s like he’s finally seeing us. He’s not the only one, because I start to feel the touch of invasive gazes on the back of my neck, and the whisper of Elias’s last name circulating through the bar.

I expect Elias to walk out, since he’s famously not one for attention, but he stands beside me, unperturbed.

Derek watches us dubiously before his eyes spark with renewed interest. I reach for my water to help my pounding head.

“Unless this is like your kink. Weird, but I won’t tell anyone.” He does a zipper motion on his lips.

“Yeah, this is our thing,” Elias says, putting his arm on the back of my chair. “She makes me jealous, and I punish her for it at home.”

I choke on my water and have to hit my chest to find my breath again. Heat electrifies my spine, and I try not to dwell on his words, because I’m convinced he couldn’t have said them. Confused beyond belief and fed up with this back-and-forth, I stand, pushing back my chair to grab Elias’s arm. I pull him straight down the hall and outside through the back exit, where the breeze is blowing now that the sun has disappeared below the horizon.

He looks pleased that we’re out here alone. The shock factor of his statement was executed perfectly. “I don’t know why you thought coming in was a good idea but—”

“I want to do it.”

I blink. “Do what?”

He takes a step closer to me, lowering his voice. “I’ll be your fake boyfriend.”

In all the scenarios that could have resulted from tonight, this is one I did not anticipate. I really overshot with this one.

I cock my head to the left, then to the right, assessing him. “If I recall correctly, just a week ago you told me that could never happen. If you’re doing this because you pity me, you can count me out. This was supposed to be mutually beneficial.”

“It will be—it is. This morning, they gave me a brief for questions I have to answer for an upcoming conference, and they all have to do with hockey. Not a single personal question.”

Impatience taps my foot. “Okay?”

“Haven’t you read the articles?” he presses.

There’s no part of me that cares about what random people on the internet have to say about me. You don’t get through thirteen years of ballet without developing thick skin and a filter to block out useless opinions.

“No. I don’t read that stuff.”

His lips quirk, and he watches me with a sort of wonder. “Well, I was wrong. They believed the girlfriend thing and mostly respected my wishes to keep us private.”

Us.

“And now you want to date me?” I ask slowly.

He nods.

A renewed confidence fills me. “So what you’re saying is, I was right all along.”

“Yes, Sage, you were right.”

“Wait.” I pull out my phone. “Can you say that again? I’ll make it my voicemail. And alarm. And ringtone.”

He holds my hand to stop me. “Will you be my fake girlfriend?”

I tap my chin in contemplation. “I don’t know, Elias. There is a great candidate right inside the bar.” I can’t show him all my cards.

“Better than me?”

“Believe it or not, they do exist.”

His face is serious. “What do you want me to do?”

I’m surprised at his response. He’s just given me a world of opportunities, and I can’t contain my wicked smile. “Beg.”

“Excuse me?”

“I want you to beg. Extra points if you get on your knees.”

He raises a brow. “Is this fueling some fantasy of yours?”

“My fantasies are a lot more graphic than that, Elias.”

Bemused, he shakes his head, then shifts to lower himself to his knees. Before he can really start begging on his knees, my arms shoot out to stop his descent, checking around us to see if anyone’s watching. I burst into laughter, smacking his arm as I try to catch my breath. “Oh my God. You totally called my bluff.”

He blinks in confusion, and that serious look doesn’t drop from his face. He stands, and even when I’m wearing heels, he’s so much taller than me.

“So, you’ll do it?” he asks with a smidge of hope resting between his eyebrows.

“Yes.”

His smile is bright, and I can’t help but return it. “Your uncle is going to hate me.”

“If it makes you feel any better, he already does.”

My uncle is hard on his players because he wants them to be the best. That’s what happens when the team hasn’t won a Stanley Cup in years. People get frustrated.

When Elias extends his hand, I take it, walking behind him but feeling the burn in my feet with each step. Damn Derek and his foot fetish. Somehow, he cursed my feet.

“What’s wrong?”

I shrug. “I had rehearsals yesterday. My feet are punishing me for wearing these heels now.”

Elias stops walking and stands in front of me with his back turned. I stare at the dark T-shirt stretched across his back. “Come on.”

I balk. “You want to carry me?”

“We both know it’s not the first time.”

Biting back a smile, I contemplate whether to do it, but when he crouches, I don’t hesitate. My dress is long enough that it flows around me and doesn’t give anyone a free show. Then, as he lifts me up, I feel an instant relief of pressure on my soles.

He walks back into the bar instead of around the complex like I half expected, and straight across to the front exit, where all eyes are on us.

That girl from the picture, who was laughing when he carried her through the streets of downtown, pries herself out again. Here, I feel safe, and I don’t suppress my laughter.

When we’re out of the bar and heading to his car, he turns to where I rest my chin on his shoulder. “Is this how we’re always going to end our night?”

“Me pressed against you?” I hold him a little tighter. “God, I hope so.”

He chuckles. “There she is.”