The Girl With Coffee

Three weeks in, and this forced training crap still felt like punishment.

Every morning at five, Mason and I dragged ourselves onto the ice half-awake and irritated. He was improving — slowly — but he still skated like a hockey player trying to survive a natural disaster.

Too stiff, rough and just too much force where there should’ve been control. And somehow he still managed to take up the entire rink.

I hated that I noticed things about him now. The sound of his blades cutting too hard into the ice, the way he rolled his shoulders when he was frustrated.

And the stupid clean smell of his cologne lingering behind after he skated past me.

It was annoying and that was all.

This morning, though, something felt off.

Mason showed up late again, shoving through the rink doors at almost five-thirty. His hair was damp like he’d showered in a hurry, and there were shadows under his eyes dark enough to bruise.

He didn’t say anything when he dropped his bag onto the bench.

I didn’t say anything either.

That had become normal for us. We talked on the ice and nowhere else.

He sat down to lace his skates, jaw tight.

“You planning to actually train today,” I asked, “or just stare at your skates for an hour?”

“Depends,” he muttered. “You planning to yell at me the whole time again?”

“I only yell when you suck.”

He snorted softly under his breath, and for some reason that tiny sound tugged at something warm in my chest.

I ignored it immediately. And we stepped onto the ice.

Practice started rough. Mason nearly ate shit during a backward transition and grabbed my sleeve on instinct to steady himself.

My hand shot to his waist before I could stop it. Firm and warm. For half a second we froze. Then I let go too fast.

“Bend your knees more,” I said sharply, skating away before he could look at me properly. “You’re too rigid.”

“Maybe because figure skating is insane.”

“It’s balance,” I shot back. “Not football.”

“Hockey.”

“Same thing.”

He muttered something under his breath that sounded like asshole. A few minutes later, he missed another turn and nearly crashed into the barrier.

This time he caught himself before I could help.

“Jesus,” he hissed, breathing hard.

“You’re fighting the ice,” I said.

“I’m trying not to break my neck.”

I rolled my eyes and skated closer before grabbing his wrist.

“Here.”

His muscles tensed automatically under my hand but I ignored that.

“Stop forcing it,” I said quieter this time. “Feel where your weight is.”

Mason looked at me, distracted for a second.

Then his attention dropped briefly to my hand still wrapped around his wrist.

Something strange flickered across his face before he looked away.

“Okay,” he said softly.

I stepped back quickly. “Try again.”

This time he landed the turn cleaner. Not perfect but better.

A slow grin spread across his face immediately after, cocky and stupid and unfairly attractive.

“There,” he said. “I’m basically a professional now.”

“You almost died twice.”

“Only twice?”

Before I could answer, the rink doors opened.

A girl stepped inside holding two coffee cups, cold air rushing in behind her.

Lila Harper.

She spotted me immediately and smiled nervously before walking closer.

“Hey,” she said. “Sorry if I’m interrupting.”

“You are,” Mason said under his breath.

Lila ignored him beautifully.

“I saw your car outside,” she told me, holding out one of the coffees. “And I remembered you ordering black coffee at Regionals last year.”

I blinked. “You remember that?”

She shrugged, suddenly looking embarrassed. “You kinda stood out.”

That caught me off guard more than the coffee itself. Nobody usually remembered things about me like that.

I took the cup carefully. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” She smiled a little easier after that. “Your skate program last season was insane, by the way. The blue costume one?”

I groaned immediately. “Oh my god, not that one.”

She laughed. Behind me, Mason had gone weirdly quiet.

“The routine was good,” she defended. “You looked terrifyingly calm the entire time.”

“I was internally dying.”

“Couldn’t tell.”

For some reason, hearing her laugh made the rink feel warmer, normal, and easy.

I understood immediately why people liked Lila.

She glanced toward Mason politely. “Hey, Reid.”

“Hey.”

Short. Flat.

Lila looked between us, probably sensing the weird energy filling the rink.

“Well,” she said awkwardly, “I should leave you guys to your angry little sunrise training thing.”

“Best decision you’ve made all morning,” Mason muttered.

I shot him a look.

Lila laughed again before backing toward the doors. “Anyway… maybe we could grab lunch sometime?”

The invitation hung there gently. Not pushy but hopeful. Before I could answer, Mason skated past us toward the other side of the rink hard enough that ice sprayed behind him.

Lila blinked. “Did I interrupt a murder scene?”

I snorted despite myself. “Something like that.”

She smiled once more before leaving.

The second the doors shut behind her, silence settled over the rink again.

Mason kept skating fast, sharp turns and tooaggressively. I watched him for a second before skating after him.

“You’re gonna wipe out if you keep leaning like that.”

“I’m fine.”

“Its obvious you're not.”

He stopped abruptly near the barrier, breathing harder now.

For a moment neither of us spoke.

Then finally: “She seems nice.”

I blinked slightly at the quietness in his voice.

“Yeah,” I said carefully. “She is.”

Mason nodded once. Then looked away.

“You should go out with her.”

The words landed strangely in my chest.

“What?”

He shrugged, not looking at me. “Why not?”

“You serious right now?”

“She likes you.” His jaw flexed once before he added, “You’d probably have fun.”

Something about the way he said it irritated me instantly. Like he was trying to sound casual and failing at it.

“I’m good,” I said flatly.

Mason gave a dry laugh. “What, too good for cheerleaders?”

“I’m too busy fixing your terrible skating.”

That finally pulled a real grin out of him. Small and quick.

Gone almost immediatey. We went back to training after that, but something had changed.

Mason stopped complaining as much. Stopped mouthing off after every correction.

If I adjusted his shoulders or repositioned his arms, he just let me. And every now and then I’d catch him staring before he looked away first.

By the end of practice, both of us were exhausted. We were stepping off the ice when the rink doors opened again.

A guy around our age walked in carrying skates over one shoulder.

Tall. Light brown hair. Easy confidence. The kind that looked natural instead of forced.

“Morning,” he called. “Coach said the early ice was free before six-thirty.”

His eyes landed on me first,  to Mason then back to me again.

“I’m Kai,” he said. “New transfer.”

“Ezra.”

“Mason.”

Kai smiled easily. “Nice to meet you both.”

There was something relaxed about him that made the rink feel less tense immediately.

“I’ve heard about you, by the way,” he told me while dropping his bag onto the bench.

“That bad already?”

“Nah.” He smirked slightly. “Apparently you’re terrifying on the ice.”

“Only when people annoy me.”

“Good to know.”

Behind me, Mason made a quiet sound that almost sounded like annoyance.

Kai either didn’t notice or pretended not to.

“If you ever wanna train together sometime,” Kai said while lacing up his skates, “I’m always looking for people who push me.”

I nodded once. “Maybe.”

Mason grabbed his bag immediately after that.

“See you tomorrow,” he muttered.

I frowned slightly. “You leaving already?”

“Got practice.”

His answer came too fast and before I could even say anything else, he shoved through the doors and disappeared.

Kai watched him leave before looking back at me.

“He always like that?”

I stared at the closed rink doors for a second longer than necessary.

“Pretty much.”

But even after I left the rink twenty minutes later, my chest still felt weirdly tight.

And I hated that part of me knew exactly why.