Page 16 of Cracked Ice (The F*cked Up Players #1)
“Mind if I ask you a question?” I ask, genuinely smiling back for once this morning.
“Uh, sure, what’s up?” she asks, her wariness of me intensifying, but I’m about to be her new favorite person.
“Why do you work here?”
The question’s apparently funny enough she starts laughing, ending it off with an adorable snort that makes the urge to get rid of her stronger. Something so cute and precious is a threat to what I’m trying to accomplish.
“Why else?” She shrugs. “It pays the bills. Tuition isn’t cheap, you know. I didn’t make it here on scholarship like many of the athletes, so it’s just been me trying to get by, you know?”
If she wasn’t so oblivious, I’d think she was making a jab at me, but lucky for us both I have a scholarship and money.
“What if I told you I could help with that? Would you be interested?” I ask with a tilt of my head.
If I’ve learned anything, it’s that there is more than one way to get rid of a body.
SYDNEY
After several days of not being able to find Lucien, he’s finally back.
Not that I think he’s been specifically avoiding me but rather avoiding @BladeSpinner.
Of course, it’s far more likely he’s not actually trying to avoid anyone but just moving about life in a way that doesn’t happen to cross paths with my own.
I’ve been coming to this side of the arena at this exact time every night for the past week.
I need to watch him a little more closely this time if I want to study his movements.
Except every day I’d come here, was every day he wasn’t there.
I’ve gotten strangely close with Bernard, the janitor, who’s been having to come ask me to leave.
I had to play nice and talk to the old guy so he wouldn’t immediately kick me out when he caught me waiting.
Bernard and Lucien must have some sort of deal they’ve worked out.
I figured I could get the same one. I explained to him how I was preparing for my upcoming competition and he talked to me about all of his grandkids and how he still works to help them with school and other needs.
I must admit, I’ve become fond of the old man and don’t mind it so much when I have to talk to him instead of finding Lucien.
But tonight, Lucien is back on the ice, like he never left, cranking out moves I’ve never even seen before.
He’d make for a great figure skater the way he moves with such fluidity, such raw power and control.
He’s better than Shane, that’s for sure.
It’s like he was born to it, like he’s one with it.
I watch in rapt attention as he weaves between pucks and skirts the edge of the rink with top speed and precision.
Again, he’s shooting the pucks, but my eyes stay glued to his skates, as I memorize his movements.
With small alterations, I’m sure I can use the configuration to put more power behind my grand finish and achieve greater force and height.
Most of us figure skaters would never admit to needing moves from a hockey player but this one, this one has talent bleeding from his pores.
It’s no wonder everybody loves him. I should leave now to go practice, but instead I lean into the dark, shrouded in shadows, while I watch him practice.
My chewing gum grows stale as I wait, so I pluck it from my mouth, playing with it as he runs more drills and giving my hands something to do.
I shape and mold it as I try to figure out why he’s practicing by himself.
Pretty sure hockey’s a team sport. Shouldn’t he be out here with friends or teammates?
I find the thought he’s not, reassuring, that he might be like me, an outlier by nature.
Someone, who despite their best efforts, deviates from the regularly scheduled program.
If only, to have the space to be ourselves.
Bradford 8:39 PM
WYD?
Sydney 8:45 PM
At the rink. Wbu?
Bradford 8:45 PM
Thinking about you.
I roll my eyes and tuck my phone away, checking over the seat to be sure Lucien didn’t see the blue light from down there, but he’s still moving along the ice.
Assured that he’s none the wiser to my presence, I stay a little longer, appreciating our time alone together.
The next day I catch him again and follow essentially the same routine—sitting in the same chair, playing with my gum—only this time I’m surprised by a notification on my way out the door.
@BladeSpinner unblocked
@therealLucifer
Were you at the rink again yesterday?
@BladeSpinner
Maybeee.
@therealLucifer
What do you want?!
@BladeSpinner
In life?
@therealLucifer
WTF! No, with me.
@BladeSpinner
Haven’t decided yet.
@therealLucifer
You better not just be fucking with me.
@BladeSpinner
What if I am?
@therealLucifer
I’ll make you regret it.
I can’t help but giggle a little at his frustration.
This is the most entertainment I’ve had in a while.
I’m sure he’ll find all of this funny when he finds out he let a figure skater get him this riled up.
Who knows . . . I may never let him find out.
Maybe this is the extent of it. I think I’d be fine with that.
I’m leaving earlier than I want, partly afraid I’ll be caught if I stick around too much longer. I think I’ve got his movements figured out anyway, so all I’ll have to do now is practice it. I know if I can get it right, Tiffany won’t stand a chance against me at next month’s competition.
Bundling my coat, I push out the door, leaving today’s sculpted gum creation on the door bar. It looks like a little dagger with a foil hilt. I used the gum wrapper to make it look like an actual knife. It’s kinda cool looking, if I do say so myself. Maybe he’ll like it.
LUCIEN
It’s been two fucking weeks and I haven’t been able to shake the feeling that someone is following me.
At first, I ignored it because I always think someone’s following me, but this time it’s not in my head.
Someone has definitely been keeping tabs on me.
At first I thought the puck bunnies were being extra voracious this season, or maybe—because I went viral again—people were being extra weird, but outside of a few extra dap-ups and smiles, nothing has been out of the ordinary from any other time.
It doesn’t help that the paranoia coupled with the insomnia is starting to fuck with me.
I’ve had to cave twice and take those garbage pills that make my hands shake for two days.
“Name for your order?” the cashier at Bean Cup asks.
“Lucien,” I answer. “Hey, whatever happened to the other girl?”
“What other girl?”
“You know? Freshman, cute, kinda mousy, light brown hair pulled in a messy bun with glasses?” I mean, who wouldn’t remember her?
“Oh, her.” His thoughts start to register. “I’m not sure. Last week she just quit. Out of the blue.”
“Quit?” My eyebrows furrow.
“Yeah, right in the middle of a shift, too. It was super weird and inconvenient as hell, but she seemed sorry about it.” He shrugged. “She said she’d picked up new courses over at the nursing school off campus and couldn’t work here anymore.”
“Oh. Cool,” I sigh.
Well, there goes my option to get my dick wet.
I knew I wouldn’t be able to get my fill with her, but she’d at least been an option.
Since she was an acquaintance, it meant I didn’t have to bother getting to know her through traditional means.
The only reason we’d even spoken was because she made great pastry suggestions, which is more than I can say for other puck bunnies who would no doubt already have me chomping at the bit to slit my own throat rather than hold a conversation with them.
But Mary seemed harmless enough. She was quiet and kind of soft spoken and, in a weird way, those things made her feel safe, even though she would be anything but safe with me.
I admit, it may have been a little unreasonable for me to want something so innocent-looking to take my stress out on, but it had been a long time since I’d been tempted and, she’d looked appetizing enough.
Good enough to eat. But I have no desire to chase her down. Out of sight, out of mind.
I hold my card out to pay.
But the considerably less tempting cashier reads the name on it. “Oh, hey, you’re that Morningstar dude?”
I force a smile. “Yep, that’s me.”
I am not in the mood to be fawned over. I’m a chronic insomniac in need of a new plaything and whose potential prey has escaped.
“Oh. Um, don’t worry about it then.” He waves his hand over the machine, blocking access to the card reader.
I pause, the card centimeters from the machine. I slowly pull the card back, wary.
“Oh, uh, thanks, man.”
He nods before he starts prepping my order in a trained, robotic fashion. He had been smiling, but his features lacked the telltale sign of pride from a good deed or job well done.
My brows pinch. “Is this because of the win last week?” I ask, unable to squash the niggling feeling that there was something fishy about this.
“I mean, probably,” he says. “I couldn’t say for sure. I just know someone came in and created you a tab. It was kinda badass. I didn’t even know we did that, but yeah, you’re all set, Superstar. Free coffee and pastries for life, I guess.” He shrugs and turns back to making coffee.
But his statement only makes my hackles rise higher. “Did you see who it was?”
“Uh, no. I didn’t set it up,” he says, bobbing my bagged order in my face until I reach for it.
“Do you know who did ?” I push, practically snatching the food from his hands.
“No, sorry man.” He shakes his head. “From what I heard, they didn’t come in person, but you know, now that I’m thinking about it, it would have been around the time the girl was working here.”