Kvrat.
I sucked in a breath. “You should concern yourself with your own training.”
“I am.” Dean folded his arms across his chest. “That doesn’t stop me noticing yours.”
Every instinct I possessed urged me to retreat.
I remained where I was.
“That is a mistake.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Dean moved closer.
The shift was small. Anyone watching from the boards would have missed it.
The sounds of the rink seemed suddenly sharper: the scrape of blades across the ice, music pulsing through distant speakers, growing dimmer, a coach calling corrections somewhere behind us.
“You don’t look convinced,” he said in a low voice.
I should have stepped back.
I didn’t. I couldn’t.
Dean’s smile disappeared. I could smell cold air on his jacket, detergent, the faint trace of whatever soap he used after practice.
I swallowed. “This does not concern you.” The words came out rough.
Dean tilted his head. “Looks like it concerns you plenty.”
Do kvrata.
I speared him with a look. “That is where you are wrong.” The words didn’t come out as steady as I’d hoped.
Mila’s voice carried across the rink. A skater landed hard somewhere behind us. Music restarted over the speakers.
Neither of us looked away.
“Step back.” My voice sounded strained to my own ears.
Dean held my gaze. “No.”
He didn’t raise his voice. He said it as though the answer had never been in doubt.
That refusal hit hard, and I couldn’t explain why.
He wasn’t angry. There was no trace of mockery in his tone. He wasn’t trying to win.
He simply stayed exactly where he was.
My pulse hammered against my ribs. Every instinct I possessed told me to leave.
The problem was that none of them seemed interested in obeying.
I looked away first.
