“That sounds good.” I glanced around the surging backstage area. “Should we invite the others?”
His brows drew together. “Why?”
So it didn’t seem like a date? “Oh. Uh, no reason. I was just curious if you wanted to hang with Annamarie or something.”
“Nah. Let’s just go the two of us. It’ll be easier to sneak out with a small party.”
“Got it. Let me change.” I headed into the girls’ locker room, feeling a little weird. The flutter had taken up permanent residence in my stomach. Ty wanted to go out with just me? Even after we’d spent the last four weeks with solely each other? Really?
That was either…really flattering, or just more team building and that I was reading too much into.
I quickly showered, scrubbed my face off, and dressed. My hair was wet, so I pulled it into another tight bun and changed into my leotard and tights. I’d worn a sloppy plaid tee over the ensemble, and now I wished I’d worn something a bit…sexier. God, why did I suck so hard at being attractive?
I’d never really had a chance to date much. As in, at all. My teenage years had been spent on the ice, practicing, even after my flameout. I’d been homeschooled and was an only child, so I’d never been around a ton of guys. Later on, the kind of guys I met didn’t understand my dedication to and drive for my ice-skating career, even though it had petered out long ago.
Plus, it was hard to meet men when you were dressed up as a pink dinosaur.
Basically, I had a lame dating track record. I could count the number of dates I’d had on one hand, and no one had ever gotten further than second base with me.
I was pretty sure Ty had a lot more experience than that.
This isn’t a date, Zara, I reminded myself. We were skating partners, busy repairing our careers. I was reading a lot more into it than I should have been.
I swung my gear bag over my shoulder and ran into Emma as I left the locker room. “Hey,” I told her. “Who got eliminated?”
“Jon Jon,” she said with a grimace. “No surprise there, but he’ll be really disappointed. But that partner of his just has no rhythm. Poor guy.”
“That sucks,” I said sympathetically. But someone had to go, and for tonight, I was glad it wasn’t me.
She gave me a shrewd look. “That routine you did. That was pretty creative. I liked it.”
I grinned at her. “Thanks. I figured if we didn’t pull out some flash, we were going home tonight.”
“You have Imelda, don’t you? I had her last year.” She grimaced. “And I requested not to have her again this year. Still, I’m surprised she came up with something so outrageous for you two.”
“Had,” I said flatly, hefting my bag. “I fired her. That routine was all me.”
Her eyes widened. “Wow. I should ask you to help with my routine next week.”
I stared at her awkwardly. If I helped her, it’d probably just assist me in getting voted off. “Uh, well…”
“I’m kidding.” She laughed, and then gave me a wave. “See you on the ice.”
“Bye.” I escaped before we could have any other weirdly awkward conversations and met Ty outside of the locker room.
He grinned at me. “You ready to go?”
“Sure.” I moved into step next to him. “So how are we going to do this? Do you have a car? Call a cab?”
“Nah.” He put a hand to the small of my back again, guiding me out of the studio. “If I call a cab, that means a cameraman’s going to follow us out, and I don’t want the show tagging along. I called in a favor.” He glanced around, and then gestured to an emergency exit. “Let’s go out that way. Come on.”
We slipped out a side door and headed out to alley behind the back lot of the studio. There was a black sedan waiting there, and as we approached, a driver got out.
So did Ty’s manager, Chuck. He pointed at Ty with the cellphone that seemed permanently attached to his jaw most days. “You owe me.”
“I do,” Ty said easily. “Thanks for calling this in.”
“If anyone at the network asks, you stopped for ice cream and took a wrong turn,” he told the driver, peeling off a couple of twenties. “Understand?”
“Yes, sir,” the driver said with a grin, and then glanced back at us. “Hop in.”
Ty took my bag from my shoulder and tossed it in the trunk along with his. Then we got into the back seat.
The car pulled out of the parking lot and I glanced over at Ty. “So where are we going?”
“Well,” he said, and patted his stomach. “I’m fuckin’ starving, so I thought we’d get something to eat. That ok?”
“Fine with me.” Like I was going to argue? I was heading out on a partner-not-a-date with Ty Randall, who was growing hotter and hotter with every day that passed. “What are we going to eat?”
“I know you’re all health conscious and crap,” he said. “What won’t you eat?”
I wrinkled my nose, thinking. “Hot dogs?”
He laughed. “I can assure you we’re not going to have hot dogs. Do you have a preference?”
“I guess not? Something healthy. We’re working out hard in the morning again, and I don’t want to mess up my system with something heavy and full of carbs.”
He eyed me from across the seat. “You don’t mind me saying, but you look like you could use a few carbs.”
I stuck my tongue out at him. “That’s right. I’m just a stick with a mouth, right?”
“And a pair of tits,” he teased.
I shot him the bird.
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding. You look fine. If you were heavier, I probably wouldn’t be able to lift you—”
This time, I knuckled him in the arm.
“Hey!” He laughed, mock-backing away from me. “I’m joking, I’m joking. How about sushi?”
“I like sushi,” I agreed.
CHAPTER NINE
Usually, the more I learn about a chick, the less I like her. Strangely enough, Zara’s the opposite. She’s crazy, I mean, with the health food and the juju-mojo shit she’s constantly doing, but there’s a method to the insanity. And the more I find out about her? The more I ‘get’ her. It’s weird. — Ty Randall, Practice Interview, Ice Dancing with the Stars
~~ * ~~
When we got to the restaurant, there was a long line of people behind a cordoned rope, waiting to get in. I frowned at them through the car window. “Should we go somewhere else?”
“Nope. They know me here.” He got out and opened the car door for me, and I slid out after a moment, feeling self-conscious in my grubby clothing and makeup-free face. All the people in line were dressed in trendy, flashy clothing, and they stared at us as we walked up. I noticed Ty put his hand at the small of my back again, leading me to the front of the line and bypassing the cordoned area.
He nodded at the maître d’.
“Mr. Randall,” the man said, clearly excited. “Welcome back. Your regular table?”
“Anywhere you’ve got,” he said easily and nudged me inside.
His brows drew together. “Why?”
So it didn’t seem like a date? “Oh. Uh, no reason. I was just curious if you wanted to hang with Annamarie or something.”
“Nah. Let’s just go the two of us. It’ll be easier to sneak out with a small party.”
“Got it. Let me change.” I headed into the girls’ locker room, feeling a little weird. The flutter had taken up permanent residence in my stomach. Ty wanted to go out with just me? Even after we’d spent the last four weeks with solely each other? Really?
That was either…really flattering, or just more team building and that I was reading too much into.
I quickly showered, scrubbed my face off, and dressed. My hair was wet, so I pulled it into another tight bun and changed into my leotard and tights. I’d worn a sloppy plaid tee over the ensemble, and now I wished I’d worn something a bit…sexier. God, why did I suck so hard at being attractive?
I’d never really had a chance to date much. As in, at all. My teenage years had been spent on the ice, practicing, even after my flameout. I’d been homeschooled and was an only child, so I’d never been around a ton of guys. Later on, the kind of guys I met didn’t understand my dedication to and drive for my ice-skating career, even though it had petered out long ago.
Plus, it was hard to meet men when you were dressed up as a pink dinosaur.
Basically, I had a lame dating track record. I could count the number of dates I’d had on one hand, and no one had ever gotten further than second base with me.
I was pretty sure Ty had a lot more experience than that.
This isn’t a date, Zara, I reminded myself. We were skating partners, busy repairing our careers. I was reading a lot more into it than I should have been.
I swung my gear bag over my shoulder and ran into Emma as I left the locker room. “Hey,” I told her. “Who got eliminated?”
“Jon Jon,” she said with a grimace. “No surprise there, but he’ll be really disappointed. But that partner of his just has no rhythm. Poor guy.”
“That sucks,” I said sympathetically. But someone had to go, and for tonight, I was glad it wasn’t me.
She gave me a shrewd look. “That routine you did. That was pretty creative. I liked it.”
I grinned at her. “Thanks. I figured if we didn’t pull out some flash, we were going home tonight.”
“You have Imelda, don’t you? I had her last year.” She grimaced. “And I requested not to have her again this year. Still, I’m surprised she came up with something so outrageous for you two.”
“Had,” I said flatly, hefting my bag. “I fired her. That routine was all me.”
Her eyes widened. “Wow. I should ask you to help with my routine next week.”
I stared at her awkwardly. If I helped her, it’d probably just assist me in getting voted off. “Uh, well…”
“I’m kidding.” She laughed, and then gave me a wave. “See you on the ice.”
“Bye.” I escaped before we could have any other weirdly awkward conversations and met Ty outside of the locker room.
He grinned at me. “You ready to go?”
“Sure.” I moved into step next to him. “So how are we going to do this? Do you have a car? Call a cab?”
“Nah.” He put a hand to the small of my back again, guiding me out of the studio. “If I call a cab, that means a cameraman’s going to follow us out, and I don’t want the show tagging along. I called in a favor.” He glanced around, and then gestured to an emergency exit. “Let’s go out that way. Come on.”
We slipped out a side door and headed out to alley behind the back lot of the studio. There was a black sedan waiting there, and as we approached, a driver got out.
So did Ty’s manager, Chuck. He pointed at Ty with the cellphone that seemed permanently attached to his jaw most days. “You owe me.”
“I do,” Ty said easily. “Thanks for calling this in.”
“If anyone at the network asks, you stopped for ice cream and took a wrong turn,” he told the driver, peeling off a couple of twenties. “Understand?”
“Yes, sir,” the driver said with a grin, and then glanced back at us. “Hop in.”
Ty took my bag from my shoulder and tossed it in the trunk along with his. Then we got into the back seat.
The car pulled out of the parking lot and I glanced over at Ty. “So where are we going?”
“Well,” he said, and patted his stomach. “I’m fuckin’ starving, so I thought we’d get something to eat. That ok?”
“Fine with me.” Like I was going to argue? I was heading out on a partner-not-a-date with Ty Randall, who was growing hotter and hotter with every day that passed. “What are we going to eat?”
“I know you’re all health conscious and crap,” he said. “What won’t you eat?”
I wrinkled my nose, thinking. “Hot dogs?”
He laughed. “I can assure you we’re not going to have hot dogs. Do you have a preference?”
“I guess not? Something healthy. We’re working out hard in the morning again, and I don’t want to mess up my system with something heavy and full of carbs.”
He eyed me from across the seat. “You don’t mind me saying, but you look like you could use a few carbs.”
I stuck my tongue out at him. “That’s right. I’m just a stick with a mouth, right?”
“And a pair of tits,” he teased.
I shot him the bird.
“I’m kidding, I’m kidding. You look fine. If you were heavier, I probably wouldn’t be able to lift you—”
This time, I knuckled him in the arm.
“Hey!” He laughed, mock-backing away from me. “I’m joking, I’m joking. How about sushi?”
“I like sushi,” I agreed.
CHAPTER NINE
Usually, the more I learn about a chick, the less I like her. Strangely enough, Zara’s the opposite. She’s crazy, I mean, with the health food and the juju-mojo shit she’s constantly doing, but there’s a method to the insanity. And the more I find out about her? The more I ‘get’ her. It’s weird. — Ty Randall, Practice Interview, Ice Dancing with the Stars
~~ * ~~
When we got to the restaurant, there was a long line of people behind a cordoned rope, waiting to get in. I frowned at them through the car window. “Should we go somewhere else?”
“Nope. They know me here.” He got out and opened the car door for me, and I slid out after a moment, feeling self-conscious in my grubby clothing and makeup-free face. All the people in line were dressed in trendy, flashy clothing, and they stared at us as we walked up. I noticed Ty put his hand at the small of my back again, leading me to the front of the line and bypassing the cordoned area.
He nodded at the maître d’.
“Mr. Randall,” the man said, clearly excited. “Welcome back. Your regular table?”
“Anywhere you’ve got,” he said easily and nudged me inside.
