3. ICE DIVA

Julian's POV:

Lunch wasn’t supposed to be a social activity.

At least, not for me.

I found a quiet corner in the central dining hall and rushed towards it with my tray that held a bowl of noodles, a sandwich, and an apple I wasn’t sure I’d actually eat. 

Thankfully, the dining hall was half empty. Just the hum of other students at their own tables, chatter mixing with the clatter of trays. The kind of noise I could easily tune out.

Halfway through eating my sandwich, a familiar voice rang across the table.

“Wow, you really eat like a normal person. I don’t know why I thought figure skaters only ate salad and drank coffee.”

I froze mid bite, a piece of lettuce hanging from my mouth. 

Then I looked up and of course, Gabrielle Tanaka was sitting and sliding her tray down across from me, grinning like we were best friends.

I chewed and swallowed quickly before scowling. “What are you doing?”

“Sitting,” she said simply, stabbing her fork into her butter chicken like she’d had been waiting for this moment.

“I mean…here. With me.”

“Well,” she said with a shrug, “you didn’t look like you were with anyone. And you looked lonely. Or broody. Or both. So I thought…. Why not?”

I stared at her, unimpressed. “Did it ever occur to you that maybe, just maybe, I like being alone?”

She stared at me intently before taking a sip of her soda. “Yeah…. No, everyone wants company. You just don’t want to admit it.”

“You’ve got me all figured out huh?”

“Yes actually.” She grinned so widely, looking satisfied and smug.

I wanted to argue, but honestly? Too much effort. So I took another bite of my sandwich instead.

She leaned forward. “So, your team’s practice is canceled  for today, right?”

“Not canceled. Just… rescheduled. Hockey took the slot.”

“Ah,” she said knowingly. “The natural rivals of the rink.”

I snorted. “More like fucking parasites.”

She laughed, unbothered. “You know, you swear a lot.”

I deadpanned. “No fucking shit, Sherlock.”

She laughed again. “Wow. Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

“You’re already on it.”

She just smiled wider. Somehow, she didn’t take me seriously. “Good thing I like a challenge.”

I sighed as I began twirling my noodles like they’d wronged me. 

The worst part of this lunch was, against my will and better judgment, I felt… almost relaxed. 

Talking wasn’t so bad when she filled all the silence for me. Not that I’d ever admit it.

By the time we finished, I realized I hadn’t bolted. That was new. 

But as I walked back toward my apartment and Gabrielle cheerfully waved goodbye, I reminded myself: no need for friends. Ever.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That night, the February air bit at my skin as I sped walked to the rink with my gym bag slung over my shoulder. 

My breath puffed white in the dark, and the streets were quiet. The closer I got, the more my chest lightened.

The rink was all mine. Empty and perfect.

I slipped inside, tossed my coat aside, and stretched. Every muscle felt alive with anticipation. This was my sanctuary. 

No teammates, no interruptions, no hockey players to ruin the ice. Just me and the music.

I laced up, set the track, and pushed off. The routine was still rough, but it was mine. 

I’ve been working on it since the start of the semester. The sharp footwork of my spin and the flow into a lift of my arms. 

This routine is supposed to help me win the championship. It has to put me on top.

Except… I kept messing up the spin. Too wide, not tight enough. I know I had to take it easy, I know I bruise easily, I also know that exhaustion hits me hard. 

But none of these has ever really stopped me, I just have to get the routine right and perfect.

By the third round I crashed out of it, frustration burned hot in my chest. I reset the music, jaw clenched.

That’s when I heard it…..someone clearing their throat.

I whipped around, already on defensive mode.

And there he was. Asher Beckett, leaning on his hockey stick like he owned the place, a bottle of water dangling from his other hand.

Of all people.

Horror and disgust tangled in my throat. “What the hell are you doing here?”

He raised his free hand in mock surrender. “Relax, ballerina. I’m not here to fight.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“Right, right.” He grinned, unbothered. “I just came to get in some late practice. But I saw you here, skating like your life depended on it. Figured you could use a break.” He held out the water.

I glared. “I’m not drinking that. I don’t even know you.”

He does have sadistic vibes.

His grin softened into something else. “Then let’s fix that. I’m Asher Beckett. Junior. Center for the hockey.....”

“I know that part,” I cut in flatly.

“ You seem to have a problem with me, but I don’t even know your name.”

I crossed my arms. “Not telling you. Ask someone else.”

Asher’s brows lifted, amused. “Mystery man, huh? Fine. Keeps things interesting.”

For a second, neither of us moved. Then he rubbed the back of his neck. “Also… about the other day. Sorry for calling you a ballerina. It was a dumb joke. And almost killing you with the puck."

I shrugged, but my throat felt tight. Without thinking too hard, I reached and snatched the bottle out of his hand. Thirst won over pride.

The water was cold and satisfying in my throat. I exhaled, handing it back.

 “…Sorry for going off on you.”

His goofy smile returned instantly, lighting up his face. “See? We’re making progress.”

I rolled my eyes, turning back toward the rink. “Don’t get used to it, Beckett.”

He chuckled, leaning casually against the wall, stick resting against his shoulder. “I won’t. I’ll just chill here and… what’s the word? Admire. Yeah, admire you.”

I shot him a glare. “Shut the fuck up.”

But my cheeks burned as I reset the music. His voice faded as I skated back to position, but I could still feel his eyes on me watching in an amused way like he knew he’d gotten under my skin.

Halfway through, I messed up again and fell to the ground before moving towards him to end the music all while determined to ignore him, but of course he wouldn’t shut up.

“So… what do I call you? Mystery Skater guy? Rink Phantom? Ice Diva?” 

Asher leaned against the wall like he owned the place, tapping his hockey stick against the boards.

I didn’t even look up as I fiddled with my Bluetooth speaker. “Try ‘leave me the fuck alone.’”

He chuckled, not offended in the slightest. “Bit of a mouthful. I’ll stick with Ice Diva for now.”

I snapped my head up at him. “Call me that again and I’ll show you exactly how sharp these blades are.”

Instead of backing off, his grin just widened. “See, that’s the problem. You look graceful and precise, but you swear like a sailor and talk like you’re ready to stab somebody in an alley.”

I grabbed a short towel from my bag and began toweling off. 

“Maybe I am. Ever think of that?”

“Not buying it.” He tilted his head, studying me like I was some puzzle he wanted to solve. “You’ve got that whole brooding-artist vibe going on, but deep down? I bet you’re soft.”

I nearly choked. “Soft?”

“Yeah.” He took a sip from his water, completely casual. “Like, you probably cry at sad movies. Maybe keep a secret stash of chocolate under your bed.”

“You’re crazy, Beckett” I sat on my gym bag, brushing imaginary snow off my pants. “I don’t eat chocolate, and I don’t cry. Ever.”

I do in fact cry during movies and my chocolate stash is neatly tucked away in my bedside drawer.

Not that he needs to know that.

“Mm-hm,” he said, clearly not believing a word. “I bet Bambi ruined you”

We all agree that Bambi was traumatizing, right?

I glared at him, jaw tight. “Are you going to actually practice, or are you here just to test how long it takes before I stab you with the blades?”

“Both.” He smirked. “But watching you get all riled up is way more fun.”

I rolled my eyes, ignoring him and stood up ready to pack my stuff and leave. 

Maybe I should have taken it easy, I could feel a bruise forming at the back of my thigh as I shoved the towel into the gym bag.

Behind me, I could feel his eyes following my every move.

“You know, after watching your performance, I realized you’re not that bad,” he called out. “For a ballerina.”

I whipped around, nearly losing balance. “You did not just….”

“Kidding! Kidding.” He raised both hands like I was holding him at gunpoint. “Too soon? Yeah, too soon.”

I let out a sharp breath, trying to cool my raging temper. He was infuriating. But the weirdest part? He didn’t sound cruel. Just… teasing.

“Did you really come to practice?” I asked.

“Yup.” He tapped his stick on the ice. “But your music was too good, so I figured I’d watch instead. Free show.”

“If you need extra practice, then you should actually do the practice.”

He smirked,

“I don’t ‘need’ extra practice, Ice Diva. I’m like the Ronaldo for hockey. I’m doing this so I can brag to the coach and the boys that I put in so much work, plus the chicks dig a hardworking guy.”

I skated past him with my bag, muttering under my breath. “Idiot.”

His grin softened, a little less mocking this time. “So we’re good now, right?. Don’t fall during actual practice. I’d hate to laugh and ruin your whole mysterious vibe.”