4. JULES

Julian’s POV:

The next morning, the rink smelled faintly of damp ice and cleaning chemicals. 

Practice started at eight sharp, and Coach Harris was already barking at us to warm up before I’d even finished lacing my boots.

Our schedule was brutal today, six hours to drill the new routine we’d perform against Northeastern. 

It wasn’t the hardest choreography I’d ever done, not by a long shot.

The transitions were clean, the lifts of the arms felt natural, and the footwork flowed easily under my blades. For me, anyway.

The others? Not so much.

 Mind you, I’m being extremely humble.

Half an hour in, two of the guys still weren’t hitting the timing on the turns, and one of the girls kept losing balance in the synchronized sequence. 

I caught Coach Harris pinching the bridge of his nose, muttering something about “seeing high school kids doing better.”

“Julian,” he called, voice sharp. “Help Parker with his camel spin. We have to get this right before the match, people!”

I sighed but skated over. This was routine. Coach always leaned on me and our captain when others lagged behind.

Didn’t mean I liked it, but it was easier to help than to listen to him yell himself hoarse.

By the time we took our first break, most of the team collapsed onto the benches, guzzling water like they’d run a marathon. I sat off to the side after drinking some water, stretching my legs, when a too-familiar voice cut through the chatter.

“So,” Gabrielle said, plopping down next to me with a notebook in hand, “tell me everything.”

I groaned. “What the hell are you doing here again?”

“Reporting,” she said brightly, scribbling something down. 

“I’m writing a piece on the team for the newsletter. You know ‘behind the sequins’ …..Blah blah blah, I’ve told you before. You really don’t listen to anything I say.”

“Okay, so not all of us wear sequins.” I said, ignoring the part about listening to her.

“Details,” she waved me off. Then leaned closer, eyes glinting. “So, tell me, what’s the most stressful part of competition prep?”

I tilted my head at her. “Talking to you.”

She smirked, unfazed. “Cute. But seriously, Coach Harris says you’ve been working on a personal routine too. True?”

My jaw tightened. “Coach Harris talks too much.”

“I take that as a yes.” She jotted it down before I could stop her. “Sooo….interview over lunch? My treat.”

I blinked at her. “Uh…. Fuck no”

“I didn’t peg you for the kind of guy that says no to free food.” She grinned like she’d just scored a win.

“So what’s your poison? Burgers? Sushi? Something tragically bland, like a corn salad? Perhaps a boiled chicken sandwich?”

“I don’t eat raw fish,” I muttered, tying my laces tighter than necessary.

“Fine. Burgers it is.”

Before I could reply, Coach’s whistle shrieked, and the break was over. 

I skated back onto the ice, but I caught Gabrielle giving me a thumbs-up like she’d already booked the table.

The rest of practice passed in a blur of sharp edges and breathless counts. I could feel the sweat sticking under my collar, the familiar ache creeping into my calves, but it wasn’t bad. 

By one o’clock, we wrapped up, all of us groaning and dragging themselves off the ice.

And that’s when it happened.

The doors slammed open, and in they came. The hockey team. Loud. Obnoxious. Skates clattering like a herd of cattle.

“Morning, princess!” someone shouted.

Typical.

I lowered my head, focusing on unlacing my boots quickly before they started in on me. 

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Gabrielle chatting away with another skater, notebook still in hand.

And then a loud voice…..

“Hey, Ice Diva!”

I froze. Looked up.

Asher Beckett was waving like a maniac, grinning so wide you’d think I was his long-lost best friend. 

The idiots around him snickered, but he didn’t care. His whole attention was locked on me.

My face heated instantly. I grabbed my bag, muttered something about showering before lunch to Gabrielle, and practically bolted for the exit.

Her footsteps scrambled to catch up. “Wait, wait, don’t ditch me!”

Great. 

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

Later that night, I stood in front of the mirror, toothbrush dangling from my mouth, staring at my reflection.

Blonde hair. Short and easy to style, just the way I liked it. My blue eyes looked sharper than I’d like. 

I wrapped up my brushing and swallowed my pills with a swig of water, running my tongue over my teeth.

And then, like a fucking moron, my mind drifted.

Long brown hair that always looked like it needed a comb. A crooked grin that showed off too much confidence. The way Asher had waved earlier….like seeing me was the best part of his day.

I scowled at my  reflection. 

No. Absolutely not.

That man is straight, I might be gay but not delusional enough to daydream.

Shaking my head, I grabbed my gym bag and left before I could think too hard.

The rink was dark, quiet, and blissfully empty when I arrived. Just the way I liked it though it felt like it was missing something.

Ugh. Whatever…..

I stretched, laced up, and started my own routine. The music filled the space, notes echoing against the boards. 

First pass, decent. On the second pass, my spin went wide again. My lungs burned, sweat dripping down my neck.

“Fuck.”

I need to perfect my triple axel spin before the annual figure championship, maybe I’m just too in my head, maybe the song isn’t right, maybe the routine is just bad.

I reset and tried again.

Halfway through, I stumbled, landing hard on my side. My chest heaved, frustration clawing at me. 

I pushed my hair away from my forehead, panting… but then I froze,

Because he was there.

Asher Beckett, leaning casually against the boards like he’d been there all along. Stick in one hand, smirk plastered across his face.

“You’re gonna wear yourself into the ground, Ice Diva,” he drawled.

I swallowed hard. Annoyance flared hot, but… for some reason, it was drowned out by something else. 

Something lighter. Like… relief.

I skated toward him, throat tight, trying to act unaffected. “Don’t you have teammates to annoy?”

He opened his mouth, ready with some stupid retort, when my phone blared from the top of my gym bag.

I cursed under my breath, skated over, and grabbed it. “Vinny?” I said into the receiver.

My little brother’s voice came through bright and switching between French and English like always. 

“Hey, Jules! Guess what? Mom tried baking sourdough again and it exploded all over the oven.”

I couldn’t but laugh. “Again? That’s the third time this month.”

“She says she’s improving!” he laughed, then switched into French to tell me about school.

I listened, smiling faintly as he went on and on about his teachers, his friends, and then(his voice cracked with excitement)  some girl in his class.

“Ah,” I teased. “You’ve mentioned her twice now. Don’t tell me Vinny’s got a crush.”

“Jules! Shut up!” His voice went high with embarrassment. “No. She’s just….she’s smart, okay? And nice.”

“Uh-huh. Totally not a crush.”

“Stop it!” He was laughing and yelling now, half in French, half in English. “You’re the worst.”

I grinned, softly in a way I didn’t let myself be often. “When are you coming back home?” he asked finally.

My chest tightened. “Not for a while. But soon, okay?”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

We said goodbye, his voice lingering in my ear long after I hung up.

I turned…and I nearly jumped out of my skin.

Because Asher was right there.

Not leaning against the wall anymore. Not a safe distance away. But close. 

Close enough that the first thing I saw were his lips….pink, plump and curved, way too smug for their own good.

“Jesus Christ,” I muttered, stepping back. My pulse spiked.

His grin widened. “So… Jules, huh?”

My stomach dropped. “Don’t call me that.”

“Too late. Fits you perfectly.”

“It’s just what my brother calls me,” I snapped. “Everyone at home does. You can’t.”

“Oh, I can,” he said easily. “And I will.”

I glared, but he looked annoyingly satisfied. He’d won, and we both knew it.

I shoved past him, cranking my music up again, needing the routine to drown out the heat in my face. 

This time the jumps felt cleaner and lighter, not good enough but it was a start.

The frustration eased just enough for me to land with something like pride.

When I finished, chest heaving, Asher was still there, watching.

As I packed up, he stretched lazily. “Want a ride home?”

I zipped my bag, not looking at him. “What, so you can brag to your teammates that you gave the Ice Diva a ride?” Letting my voice deep slightly to insinuate something I knew he’d catch on quickly.

He blinked, “What?, no….. I just want to give you a ride…… okay that sounds…. I’m not telling my teammates anything….. wait… that’s still bad…. I’m just going to shut the fuck up.”

“Good.” I slung the bag over my shoulder and walked out, leaving him with a broad smile on my face.

But my stupid heart was still pounding.