Page 57 of Ice Dance

“You’re probably a red person. I’m not sure of the difference, honestly.”

“One is made with red grapes, the other with green ones.”

His lips moved again. “I know that much.”

I couldn’t leave him in the hallway, it made my insides tighten with guilt, and I already had enough of that. I stepped back and left the door open for him. A few seconds later, I heard the door clunk closed, then heard the bottle land on the shelf for the towels.

“Nice. You’ve been staying here.”

I dropped into the chair and sighed. “Say what you have to say then go.”

He tucked his hands into his pockets, hitching up the hooded top. His smile clung on, but fell sideways. He looked around the room, not really seeing anything. Then his gaze landed on the half-empty wine bottle and the single plastic cup by the bed. “I see you already started.”

I winced, and rubbed a hand down my face. “We’re not friends. We’re dance partners.” I wasn’t sure if I was telling him or myself.

But it landed hard on him. I hated that too.

“Look.” He came forward a few steps, and leaned his ass against the desk, then folded his arms and looked down at me in the chair. “It doesn’t mean anything. It’ll all blow over in a few days.”

For him, maybe. His whole life was like this. That video was now out there forever, and our dancing in the gender open would cement it in everyone’s mind. I’d always be the Hasegawa who slow-danced with ice dance’s bad boy instead of being my own person, standing on my own merit. I’d been so careful to keep things clean. Year after year. Hold everything in check, no mistakes. No personal messes. Keep it all shut down.

I rubbed my forehead. “This was a mistake. You need to leave.”

I stood, but he didn’t move, just followed my gaze, so now he looked up at my face. “I’ll go. I just need to say something. You’re better than all my drama. Alright? This will all just roll off you. It’s who you are. The video can’t touch you, because you’re you.”

Because I was me? He had no idea who I was. “You need to go.”

He straightened, and now we stood close. Not as close as when we danced, not as close as last night, but too close. My skin prickled, body heating, sensing him. I had no idea how I was going to dance through this, but I would, even if it killed me.

“Look, the simple fact is, you’re straight, so it doesn’t matter what they say about us. All the rumors and bullshit, it’s just noise. You’re better than that.”

Straight.

Right.

I gritted my teeth.

My father had said the same thing. “But you’re not a homosexual, Ren. That’s not something Hasegawa’s do.”

I hated Navarro in that moment. I hated that he could stand there, at ease, like this was just another day. He’d brush it off and go back to his life of laughter and chaos. And what did I get to go back to? Why was I even doing this? He’d dance, and he go back to that bar, and he’d slow-grind with Saga and nobody would care, nobody would even look twice. But when I dared to be free, for just a few minutes, someone filmed it, and now it was all over ice dance, and figure skating. It was a scandal, and why?

“I’m sorry my shit touched your perfection, yeah?” he said.

Sorry? None of this was his fault. “It’s not you,” I snapped, sounding too cold, too hard. I caught his arm, ignored the way my blood sang to be close to him again, and shoved him toward the door. “It’s not about you.”

“Hey, man . . .” He yanked his arm free and the heat flared in his eyes. “You’re a real asshole, you know that?”

“Yes, I know. It’s easier that way. Get out.”

He stood firm, hands clenched at his sides, jaw set, body trembling, like he was about to swing for me again. Maybe he should. Perhaps it would knock some sense into both of us. Because whatever happened next, we would have to dance through it, dance through all of the messiness and its fallout. We didn’t have a choice.

I grabbed him again, intent on muscling him to the door and forcing him out. But the video was still in my head, the burn still in my body. It had been there since last night, since the grinding dance, and nothing I’d done in the shower had dulled it. Nothing had made it go away. Not the wine, not hiding in my hotel room. It had built, grown, become a thing under my skin that I couldn’t control, and now it had hold of me.

My mouth collided with his. Brutal, fast. No thought behind it, just reaction. Tension bolted through him. I felt it in the hold on his arm. There were a few seconds where my thoughts abandoned me, gone, leaving nothing but sensation, desire, and need. A need so fierce it overrode any and all rational thought. A suspended moment in time, before everything changed.

Regret spiked. I remembered who I was and what I was doing.

My heart dropped through the floor.