Rinkmates: A steamy Hockey Romance (The Mates series Book 1)

Everything comes down to the next three minutes.

Relaxing? Not a chance.

“Quiet on set!” The command blasts out, jolting me upright as I step onto the ice. Seriously, these TV people and their constant shouting. While I was waiting, they yelled at everyone and everything.

“Just skate to the middle, right where the white X is and wait,” a woman dressed in all black tells me and rushes to the back.

I glide across the ice, my worn skates leaving precise cuts in its smooth surface, and I do as she says.

The rink I’m standing on is oval shaped and behind me is a backdrop of large, high-definition LED screens showing some vibrant graphics in blue and yellow. Surrounding it all are the audience seats. Hundreds of them.

Who would have thought that I’d land here one day?

Reality shows were not part of my plan—ever. But here I am, trying to snag a spot in one. Talk about a plot twist.

I’m not entirely sure what I’m waiting for. But the sound of my music has always been my cue to start. I just try to maintain my posture and wait for the crew to start the song I chose.

I look confident. At least I hope I do.

But deep inside, I am so jittery that I’m questioning my choice of drinking four cups of coffee on the way here. No one should drink this much coffee in an hour.

My heart pounds like a runaway train, thudding against my chest as I take in the figure skaters standing behind the rink, waiting for their shot. The arena is filled with top-level skaters, all dressed in colorful and attention-grabbing outfits.

I stare back, practically hearing them gossiping and nodding at me like I’m some kind of spectacle. It’s like they’re not even here to perform. They’re here for the drama—to find out about all the thousands of mistakes that landed me here.

“One minute, we need to get the cameras right,” a booming voice rears up again.

“Okay!” I say to wherever that voice came from.

Fidgeting with the thin, see-through fabric of my cheap Craigslist dress, my heart sinks as I notice missing pearls on the neckline and fraying edges along the hem. Oh for crying out loud. Everyone else in the room seems to be dripping in designer gowns and sparkling jewelry, making me feel so out of place.

What if they know that I lived in a trailer for the past few years? What if it shows that I ate nothing but cheap food, what if— No. I shake the thoughts off and remind myself why I’m here.

It’s my shot at a fresh start. He needs me to be strong for the both of us, and I am.

I try not to think about how I’ve scrimped and saved these last few months, scraping together enough to get some practice time in. Rink fees aren’t kind to the wallet of a waitress who used to compete on the world stage.

I lift my arm over my head and stretch. I’ve got this under control.

I’m no stranger to skating. This shouldn’t be difficult for me. Yet, this audition feels like the most challenging thing in the world. I take a deep breath and force a smile onto my face, straining to see the judges through the bright lights on the stage across from me.

“Music starts in three,” another faceless voice behind the glare of several studio lights calls out.NôvelDrama.Org content.

My eyes adjust to the lights and land on Grace Holland, the mastermind behind this TV show that bears her name: Grace on Ice. She was a former US pairs figure skating champion. She and her partner, Maxwell, were the figure skaters in the United States. No one has won as many medals as them to this day. She was my idol and now she holds my fate in her hands. If she says no, I can’t take part in her show. And it’s my only chance at a normal life again.

“Sixty seconds!”

Letting go of the hem of my skirt, I force myself to get into my starting position, flashing an even bigger smile for Grace as her cold eyes follow my every step. Her once fiery red hair is now tucked into a sleek, gray bun. Her piercing blue eyes hold an intense stare. The chairs on either side of her are empty, leaving me alone to face her judgment. My heart races as I try to maintain my composure, but her presence alone makes me feel small and insignificant. Memories flood my mind—she was a judge at the US Figure Skating Championships where I won in my category. But that was five years ago, and when it comes to skating, five years is a lifetime.

I raise my hands over my head.

When another voice counts down from ten, I close my eyes and take a deep breath.

I feel the hot light on me.

Five. Four. Three.

I open my eyes.

Two.

I position my foot to push me off.

One.

The music starts and muscle memory kicks in.

Gliding onto the ice, I carve deep arcs with each stroke of my blades, the cold surface whispering beneath me. As I build speed, my body tenses with anticipation, ready to execute the intricate dance of jumps and spins that have defined my life. With a powerful push, I take off from a backward edge, jump, and rotate in the air before landing it perfectly. When the music amps up, I kick it into high gear, riding the wave, and when it calms down, I gracefully move my hands in fluid motions, allowing them to follow the beat as if they have a mind of their own while I swirl and jump.

The melody switches, getting more desperate, and I lose myself in the choreography.

Spin, leap, glide—each element a testament to a resilience borne of necessity.

The final note of the music echoes through the rink, and I come to a stop. My chest heaves from both exertion and nerves as I hold my ending position. I raise my arms up toward the sky, feeling my spine curve as I attempt to force another smile on my face, desperately searching for any hint of approval from Grace.

I squint, trying to see through the blinding spotlight shining into my eyes.

It feels like being attacked by a pack of aggressive fireflies.

But was it enough? Was I enough?

Silence stretches out and my thoughts start to spiral once more.

My technique wasn’t exactly flawless.

With limited time and funds for proper rehearsal, or well-fitting skates, it’s been hard. I didn’t skate for five years. Yet, the familiar burn in my muscles reminded me that I still had it in me. Should be enough, right? It’s just a dance show, after all. Yet, this wasn’t your ordinary skate by any means.

If they pick me, it means I’ll have to skate two more times just to get onto the TV show, and then I’ll be paired with a famous celebrity. They haven’t announced who’s joining yet, but once we’re paired up, we’ll compete for a million dollars. And that’s exactly why I’m here. The fast money. My one-way ticket out of hell.

And boy, did I need it.

I quickly glance at Grace, who’s jotting something down in her notebook.

I pray that the blue dress I had chosen would be enough. I spent extra time doing my makeup and curling my long blonde hair—because, in figure skating, looks are just as important as talent, no matter what anyone says. The pressure on your body in this sport is unreal.

I hope the curves I got over the years are a good thing.

“Thank you, Miss James.” Grace’s voice finally breaks the silence. “We’ll take a moment and then give our feedback.”

“Thank you.” I skate off slowly, my breath catching up to me.

I am gently escorted out by a crew member, my blade guards sinking into the plush foam boards that cover the whole floor as I make my way toward the backstage area.

I’m greeted by a makeshift room in no time with plain white walls and a cardboard floor. Along the sides, benches full of white ice skates and bags belonging to other professionals line the walls. A simple buffet is set up on one wall, while my huge suitcase waits for me on the opposite side, serving as a reminder of my living situation.

I’m practically homeless.

Plan B was a bust too. I was running like hell after that horrific encounter with Nina and Riley, frantically calling plan B landlord, only to find out that room was gone faster than a bag of chips at a party. But well that room wasn’t my favorite anyway because it had the toilet outside of the apartment. Imagine having to pee at night and leave the apartment. I’d die.

I find a spot on the bench to sit down, untying my skates. As I look around, I notice the girl sitting next to me staring in my direction. I’m well known in the world of figure skating, so I’m used to attracting attention, but her intense gaze catches me a bit off guard. In response, I lock eyes with her and find myself captivated by her beautiful features—her sun-kissed skin and that shining black hair.

We share a smile and continue removing our skates side by side.

“How’d it go?” she asks at some point, thankfully skipping the whole why are you back nonsense.

“Okay. I think,” I reply. I’ve never been one for grand displays. “How about you?”

“Oh, I have no idea. I hope I did well. Grace is so intimidating. She looked like I was pissing her off.” She rolls her eyes and a warm smile lights up her face, revealing a set of perfectly straight white teeth. “I’m Priya Patel, by the way.” She greets me with a firm handshake, her perfectly manicured nails matching a bold red lipstick.

Memories rush in of seeing her before I took the stage. My nerves had me all jumbled up then, but her routine on the ice was something else. With her red dress and the black hair swaying in the wind, she looked like a fire bolt.

“Your routine was beautiful,” I tell her, and she beams. “And don’t worry. Grace has a resting bitch face.”

“Thank you. Coming from you, that means a lot. I’m surprised they didn’t let you in automatically, to be honest.”

I fake another smile. “Grace isn’t one to play favorites. I think it’s good we all have to prove ourselves first.” I slip my feet into the worn, gray sneakers that used to be white. They are scuffed and frayed at the edges but still comfortable. I hurriedly stuff my skates in my bag and drape my white cardigan over my shoulders, trying to hide my shabby dress from curious looks around me. From the glances I get, I think word has spread that I’m back.

But instead of constantly wishing I could disappear, I gotta toughen up. I signed on the dotted line for this TV gig, after all. If they pick me, they’re bound to grill me about it. There will be interviews, media coverage…it’s time to buckle down and get ready for the interrogation.

I sigh. Oh, if only things were that simple.

“I heard she’s tough, that’s all I needed to know to make me stand there like a deer in headlights,” Priya says.

“She is,” I admit. “But she appreciates hard work. Um…are you hungry too?” I ask, making my way to the buffet, wishing she’ll join me. I haven’t eaten in a while.

I hope she won’t judge me for rushing to the buffet as soon as I have the chance. I don’t want to admit that I’m desperate for any free food. But I am.

She bobs her head up and down, hopping off the bench. “Oh, thank you for asking! I’m, like, super famished right now. Where are you crashing? Oops, never mind, I can be a little busybody,” she apologizes with a nervous giggle.

I can’t help but break into a real smile. I think she’s the first figure skater I actually like.

I was taught to see everyone as a rival—basically, anyone who’s in my way of winning medals. My coach was all about that mindset. He always said there are no friends in competitions, just distractions. But I don’t want to buy into that anymore. Nope, I’m done listening to his dumb advice.

I need to open up and I will.

It’s time to change patterns.

“Don’t worry, it’s fine. And to answer your question, I’m still figuring that out,” I say as we make our way toward the array of muffins, cakes, and chips.

When I submitted my application for the show, it stated in the fine print that we’re responsible for covering our own expenses. And that’s what’s nearly breaking me—having no money, only debts, and my mom unable to help. We’re both just trying to get by in our little trailer in Orlando.

My stomach grumbles in protest and I eagerly grab a large muffin with blue icing that matches the show’s theme. Oh my, it’s good. Each bite is like a mini party in my mouth, a buttery disco ball of blueberry flavor.

“What do you mean you’re not sure where you are staying?” Priya goes for the chocolate cake as more skaters filter into the room, each one feeling like a member of a shy troupe.

We all know that even if I make friends today, our time together will be brief since only twelve figure skaters will be chosen. The daunting reality sinks in as I realize there are three initial casting groups with thirty contestants each. Only a select few will move on to the next round…but I saw her skating. They’d be stupid to not cast her.

“I had a loose promise and it turned out it wasn’t for me, so I’m back to looking for a place to stay.” I pick up the lost thread between bites. “But I’m checking out some more apartments later. How about you?”

Priya reaches for the bowl of chips, her long, slender fingers delicately picking up a few before dropping them into her mouth. “I live in this tiny apartment around the corner,” she says between bites. “My parents wanted me to live as close to the studio as possible, since I’m alone here. They’re very angsty people. But it’s filled with models and influenzas, can you believe it? I’ve been here since last week and I already feel so out of place next to them. I can’t even.”

She shakes her head with such disgust that I can’t help but laugh at how she pronounces influencers.

Priya stops mid-bite, gazing at the chips as if they’ve suddenly sprouted heads. “Oh no. Maybe they put out these tempting snacks to test our willpower and weed out the weak!”

She drops the chip, sending it on a downward spiral toward the bowl. I chuckle, unable to contain myself as her eyes balloon to cartoonish proportions.

I offer her the bowl of chips. “Come on. Eat. Don’t worry, I bet they’ll replace these with celery sticks soon enough. Plus, you look amazing. These chips won’t do any harm.”

She sighs heavily but takes more from the bowl. “Thanks, but I swear, if I gain an ounce, my room will declare war on me. It’s so tiny. New York’s price tags are off the charts—like, seriously.”

I nod.

Yep, Grace chose one of the most expensive cities to produce her show. I wasn’t joking when I said I was considering renting a cheap car and sleeping in it.

“Oh hey there, Liora James.”

The sudden voice startles both of us. Priya’s chip crumbles in her hand like a sandcastle, leaving her sparkly dress covered in crumbs.

We turn to see a girl in a glitzy dress adorned with pearls. Shiny brown curls cascade down her perfectly made-up face, framing her sharp features.

I notice the initials of Vera Wang on her hip and almost gasp. I remember Wang designing figure skating dresses for Michelle Kwan, but now it seems she dresses Stacey Saab too. I know her from the US figure skating nationals; she was so mean to all the other girls that it was my mission to beat her, and when I did, she bawled her eyes out—didn’t even manage a congrats.

I heard she got injured and had to retire from competing in major competitions.

“Long time no see. What brings you back?” Stacey’s question makes my stomach drop and I suddenly feel sick, but I force myself to breathe through it. Of course people would ask why I returned after disappearing for so long. I’m a gold medalist, and was on my way to win gold for the second time in Beijing.

It’s natural for people to want to know the whys.

And it’s foolish to believe the TV producers won’t exploit my story.

Like, what did I even think?

A small voice inside me insists they’ll only cast me for ratings and publicity anyway. Liora James. The mystery of Team USA. I sigh, reminding myself that I’m more than just that. More than a question mark. I can do this, because I deserve it. My talent is not defined by what happened to me years ago. But just thinking about the Olympics makes me want to cry, run, vomit.

But I won’t, because I’m here to fix things.

I can fix it. I will. I have some white lies ready.

And that’s why I resist the urge to snap at her and channel my inner fake smile again. Oh, I’m so good at it it’s actually sad.

“Stacey, it’s great to see you again,” I reply smoothly. “I got curious and just wanted to check out what Grace has planned for this event. What about you? You look lovely!” She does.

“Well, it’s interesting to see you again for sure. You look…nice.”

Stacey takes a long sip of her water bottle, her eyes narrowing as she notices the half-eaten blueberry muffin in my hand. She then casts a disapproving glance at the overflowing buffet table.

And just like that, Priya steps away from the buffet and there’s a knot tightening in my stomach. It feels like a flashback, and I’m thrown back to the dark side of figure skating, where every tiny bit of fat is scrutinized under tight-fitting dresses. We are all beautiful in our own way, but body dysmorphia is a constant struggle. How do you tell the girl who is constantly judged for having curves—boobs and an ass—that less is considered more in this line of work?

Of course being back in these dresses triggers old habits within me and, apparently, Priya too. The pressure to be thin never truly leaves you in this business. But I’m disappointed in myself for reacting this way, rather than being upset with Stacey. She’s consumed by the unrealistic standards portrayed by the media, while I thought I had moved on from that mindset. I told myself not to worry about it anymore, but one off-hand comment and I’m back to criticizing myself. It’s ridiculous, yet so easy for our minds to get caught up in. Why oh why do women tend to tear each other down?

We should be supporting and lifting up one another instead.

Smiling at Stacey, I reach for a chocolate heart, stuffing it into my mouth and trying to convince myself that I am fine. That we are all fine the way we are, because we fucking are.

“You know,” Stacey’s high-pitched voice fills the silence, staring at my mouth, “we’ve all been wondering why you, well, dropped out of the Olympics. Everyone fought so hard and you just…gave it all away.”

I grip the desk next to me, my nails digging into the flimsy paper tablecloth, creating small tears.

I gave everything away?

I never willingly gave up anything.

If I could, I’d still compete.

And then another thought creeps up. Shit.

What if my return was actually too early?

If she of all people can get under my skin so easily, how will I handle the pressure if I get chosen? How will I speak to my followers or make a statement? Give interviews? The uncertainty of it all churns in my stomach like acid and I struggle to answer. What should I say? The truth?

No. I can’t.

I just can’t—

“Oh, Liora.” Priya’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “I think your phone is buzzing! I bet it’s your aunt finally calling back!”

I blink. I don’t have an aunt.

Priya’s hand grabs mine and she pulls me away from Stacey.

My head spins as I try to say goodbye, but all I can muster up is a feeble wave. Look at me, getting jostled around like a human punching bag and still attempting to cling to the etiquette rule book. Priya positions herself in front of me, creating a barrier between me and Stacey’s curious stare as we walk toward our bags. I quickly sit on the bench, burying my head in my lap.

I take a deep breath and just don’t care if Priya sees me like this. I need a moment. Or two. Or three.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

I thought I’d prepared for this. The minute I filled out the email application I tried to mentally prepare myself for any kind of interrogation. I played it through over and over again but yeah, I guess it’s time to admit that it’s just more complex in real life.

It’s so hard to speak about the most challenging period of one’s life, and those who have never experienced true pain will never comprehend its depths.

But there’s no way around it.

I need to stick to my script.

I can’t turn to ice every time someone speaks of my past.

“You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to,” Priya says softly, her hand gently rubbing my back.

I look up at her, and her warm brown eyes give such a softness that I actually relax. She smiles at me, and damn, it’s surprising, but I feel like I’ve known her for much longer than just twenty minutes.

“She’s horrible. When I arrived, she was already making another girl cry. She told her she wasn’t good enough to compete,” Priya says.

I swallow hard against the lump forming in my throat and manage to breathe freely again.

“Thank you,” I say, squeezing her hand. “I’m so grateful to have met you.”

She returns my smile with a warm one of her own. “It’s okay. I just saw you needed some help and couldn’t resist lending a hand.”

Her eyes flick to my hand, then back down to Stacey. As she glances away, I feel a sharp sting in my palm. I slowly open my fist to see a small drop of blood pooling on my skin. The pressure of my nails digging into my palm must have caused it.

My heart races.

I didn’t feel a thing.

With a soft smile, Priya reaches into her jacket pocket and pulls out a tissue, offering it to me like a lifeline. I take it.

“Thank you. Again. I’m a mess, sorry.”

“No. Please. Don’t worry about it even for a second,” Priya says. “I’ve always had a sense that something big must’ve happened to you. But, look. I’m sure you’ll make it onto the show, and you know how they are…” She hesitates, and her glance turns from kind to worried. “They’ll pry. And I hate to say this, but I bet they’re itching to use your story for clickbait.” She pauses, as if debating whether to say more, and I jerk a little when I see my sad reflection in her dark eyes. “You gotta be prepared for when they come sniffing around, Liora.”

I swallow. “Yeah, I know.”

“I know we just met, but I’m here for you,” she offers, and I just have this feeling that she means it.

Something must have happened.

Oh yes. It fucking did.

“Thank you, it means a lot to me,” I say.

And just when Priya opens her mouth to say something else, the door bursts open and a crew member comes in. The tall, middle-aged man with a shiny bald head grips a wooden board in his hands and scans each of us. Priya takes my hand and all the skaters stare at him as if he’s going to tell us right away if we’ve won the million dollars. But we are just the contestants from the first round of skaters auditioning. They’ll select up to twelve contestants across three rounds.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the following contestants to the next round…Patricia, Priya, Liora, Molly, Tony, Stacey, and Rhett! Congrats to our lucky seven. And to the rest of you, better luck next time.”

Priya’s joy is infectious as she jumps up and down in front of me, but I feel like I’m watching from a distance. I’ve made it into round two!

I’m doing this.

I can do this.

And now I have all the power in the world to hunt down a cheap-ass apartment!