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“You’re the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen in my life.”
“Okay.Bye.” She runs down the steps, racing toward the ice rink.
Amused, I watch until she disappears.
Walking to the weight room, I take out my phone and type “Tatiana Brave” into the search bar. I’ve never looked up any of Penelope’s competitors because she already tells me far more than I ever want to know. Not to mention, I don’t want to be a hypocrite since I always lecture her about focusing on herself and no one else.
I also don’t want to risk coming across any negative articles that might tempt me to pay a reporter a visit with my fists.
As I settle onto a bench, images of Tatiana appear on my screen.
Beautiful at every angle, she’s standing on various podiums—ranking first place on some, second place on others. She’s twirling at the center of a rink, holding red roses in the air, or completing spins and jumps under various headlines that say,Absolutely Breathtaking: Brave is a Marvel,Carving Her Place in Figure-Skating History, andBrave Takes First Place Over Penelope Carter in Utah: Is a New Number One Coming?
By the time I swipe through the fifth page of results, I’m convinced she’s never taken a bad picture in her life. And despite what my sister claims, she is “stunningly beautiful.”
She’s beyond that.
I turn on my workout playlist and vow to do more research once I’m finished.
* * *
Two hundred repetitions later,I return a set of dumbbells to the rack and take the elevator down to the ice rink.
Classical music is sifting through the speakers, and the tell tale sound of blades hitting the ice pulls me closer.
I move through the arena’s empty seats and watch Tatiana skate alone with her eyes shut.
Dressed in a sparkling red costume, she’s moving as if her life depends on it, and contrary to another comment my sister made, her skating isfarfrom basic.
I’ve never been captivated by a routine that belonged to someone other than Penelope, but I can’t take my eyes off this woman.
With every jump and landing, she looks as if she owns every inch of the ice. Like she’s been skating since the day she was born.
Violin strings sing an abrupt final note, and Tatiana holds her head high.
She opens her eyes and waves to an invisible crowd, until her gaze meets mine.
For a moment, she looks as if she’s about to wave to me as well, but then she throws up her middle finger.
“Fuck you, Travis Carter!”
I wink at her and laugh.
Then I head back to my motel.
I’ll call her next weekend.
ACT TWO
GIRL HATES BOY
TATIANA
Back Then
A hundred miles away from Reno
The following weekend
