Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 93699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 468(@200wpm)___ 375(@250wpm)___ 312(@300wpm)
I changed the subject before I could call off the deal.
It’s only ninety days, Tati. Only ninety days.
ACT SIX
BACK THEN
TATIANA
Reno, Nevada
“Where the hell did you misplace your brain?” Miss Price pushes my leg off the barre. “Why haven’t you brought it in with you today?”
I catch my balance seconds before face-planting on the wood floor.
“You promised me no distractions this season.” She fumes. “Yet, here you are, looking like a bumbling beginner.”
Standing, I position my leg on the barre again and bite my tongue.
My coach has done nothing except point out mistakes today, critiquing the very way that I breathe. At this rate, I’ll never leave the ballet studio and get to the ice.
“I’m not distracted at all, Miss Price,” I say. “I promise I’m focused.”
“Then why are you applying to overseas fashion and business programs behind my back?”
“What?” I feign confusion, but I’ve long hoped she’d never find out about this.
“The director from some Russian school called me for a recommendation this morning.” Her face is redder than ever. “At what point were you planning to tell me about that, Miss Brave?”
Never.
“I have dreams outside of skating,” is all I can say.
“Are these ‘dreams’ the same reason why you’ve shown up late to practice six days in a row?”
“No, I…” I let my sentence die.
I’ve only been late by a few minutes each time, all thanks to talking to Travis on the phone until sunrise, but I don’t dare to mention that. The last time I answered one of her rhetorical questions, she made me run laps until five in the morning.
“I wouldn’t mind a little tardiness here and there,” she says, “but I have to draw the line at having a boyfriend, especially when he decides to randomly show up here like some teenage lover boy.”
“Wait, what?” I shake my head. “What are you talking about?”
“Take the rest of this wasted rehearsal off and come back as the ‘Tatiana Brave’ that I came out of retirement to coach.”
“Miss Price—”
“Out.” She shooed me away. “Now.”
I sigh and grab my bag on the way out of the room.
I head downstairs and make my way to the parking lot, stopping when I see Travis leaning against the hood of his car.
Wearing a black muscle shirt and dark blue jeans, he’s flexing his hands.
He smiles at me as I approach, and my brain instantly short-circuits into fantasies about the way his lips feel against mine.
“Why did you tell the receptionist that you were my boyfriend?” I ask.
“I didn’t.” He sits up. “Is that what I am now?”
“My coach just put me out and doesn’t want to see me until tomorrow. She yelled at me for being unfocused.”
“She’s been yelling at you about that long before we started talking,” he says. “You complain about it every night.”
“Speaking of which…” I adjust my leotard’s shoulder strap. “I didn’t plan on having a boyfriend this season.”
“So, I am your boyfriend?”
“You were,” I say, shrugging. “Today will be our last day together, because I’m officially breaking up with you. I wish you nothing but the best.”
“Okay, Tatiana.”
“Thanks for taking this so well. I didn’t think it would be so easy.”
“It won’t be.” His lips land against mine, making me forget whatever I was about to say.
Rubbing his hands against my sides, he whispers, “Get in the car.”
“Wait.” I catch my breath. “I thought you were doing a showcase for the UFC in Vegas this weekend.”
“I am,” he says. “I wanted to come see you first, though.”
I look up at the ballet studio windows, spotting Miss Price. She’s shaking her head as she sips from a coffee mug.
I’m starting to wonder if this is all a test, if I’m supposed to rush back inside and throw myself at her mercy.
She shuts the blinds seconds later.
Before I can react, Travis kisses my neck and gently pushes me onto the passenger seat. Then he moves behind the wheel and drives onto the road.
“How many ‘You’re unfocused’ lectures did she give you today?” he asks.
“I stopped counting at five.” I hold back a sigh. “Does your coach yell at you a lot, too?”
“Mr. Ralph is more of a manager than a coach, but he isn’t the yelling type,” he says. “He gets to me by being sarcastic and giving me blank stares whenever I fuck up.”
“Lucky you. I’m feeling a lot of anxiety lately, so as soon as I take the edge off, I’m sure I’ll perform better.”
“Why are you having anxiety at all?”
“Because—” I bite my tongue. I can’t tell him that his sister and me are now neck and neck in the international standings, and I’m only a few competitions away from knocking her down to where she belongs.
It’s a bit of an unspoken boundary I’ve drawn over the past several weeks: Pretend Penelope doesn’t exist whenever we’re together, no matter how badly I wish I could talk to him about my biggest rival.