I didn’t have to fake my gasp of surprise. Neither did anyone else. We were all genuinely shocked at the man that came out of the sedan.
Ty Randall, a.k.a. “Ty the MMA Biter.”
Oh, Jesus. That was an…interesting choice.
Michael Michaels had been lean and skinny. This guy was neither. Tall, but he seemed more muscles than anything else. His shoulders were broad, but he wasn’t bulky, and he moved like, well, a warrior. He had a big, thick neck, big thick legs, and a shaved head that held a five o’clock shadow. His face was impassive, not clearly defined, and one of his brows had a scar through it. His nose had clearly been broken more than once.
Ty Fucking Randall.
I didn’t watch Mixed Martial Arts, but I sure knew who he was. Everyone did. He’d made headlines about a month or two ago when he’d been headlining a fight in Vegas, and he’d bitten his opponent. Bitten. As in, chomp chomp. As in, tore a hunk out of his nose. People had been scandalized, and he’d been put on hiatus. No one wanted to fight him. It wasn’t exactly that you were expected to fight clean in MMA, but you didn’t tear your opponent’s face apart. I mean, Jesus. He’d made public apologies through his reps, but the incident was still too new and fresh on everyone’s minds for this to be anything besides a shock.
And I was filled with a cold ripple of dread, thinking of all the beer in the fridge. Something told me that Michael Michaels wasn’t going to be my partner. Oh no. Oh, nonono.
I didn’t want to be with Ty the Biter.
It was clear he didn’t want to be here. He leaned against the sedan and crossed his legs, and then crossed his arms over his brawny chest. He looked bored. Pissed.
He wouldn’t want to win. I had a feeling he was just here for some good PR. He sorely needed it. But my guess was that he’d also be just fine with last place. Not me. I needed to win.
If he were my partner, I was screwed. Goodbye, second chance at a career. Hello, skate monitor at the mall once more. Or skating as Hildy the Pink Dinosaur in the local production of Dino Friends on Ice. Again.
A woman with a big poof of feathered blonde hair came out from the other side of the cameras. “All right. It’s time for the team assignments! Are you ready?”
It seemed to be a rhetorical question since no one was answering. I waited, tense as hell, for the assignments.
“Tatiana will be paired with Michael Michaels.”
The two moved forward and joined hands. Tatiana did a cute little twirl and beamed at the cameras. Michael Michaels just looked kind of bored. Okay then.
“Victoria Kiss will be paired with Toby.”
She grinned and moved forward, putting both of her hands into Toby’s, and then leaned forward to kiss him, her foot popping up. Cute.
“Julia McKillip will be paired with Jon Jon.”
Julia wasn’t a showy type. She moved forward and shook his hand, and then they stood next to each other awkwardly.
“Annamarie Evans will be paired with Serge.”
Annamarie didn’t walk—she glided forward, and Serge pulled her into his arms and dipped her. Hams, every last one of them.
The only two left unclaimed were Louie Earl and Ty Randall. I looked at the two, and then had a new appreciation for Louie Earl’s stouter figure and his bushy beard. I could work with that. I knew I could. Being on a heartwarming team wouldn’t be so bad, and if the public loved us, we could do well even if we didn’t win. I could still be called back.
“Ty Randall will be paired with Zara Pritchard.”
And just like that, all my hopes and dreams shattered. Shit. Shit shit shit.
He strolled forward to me, all cocky walk. I moved forward and offered him my hand, wishing I could summon up some enthusiasm for our pairing.
I had none to offer.
CHAPTER THREE
So I met my partner today. She’s the mouthiest chick I’ve ever met in my life. Won’t shut up for five minutes. Seriously. Stick up her ass, too. Determined to win this thing. Like it’s a real contest or something? Come on. We’re going to prance around the ice in skates like a bunch of goofballs. — Ty Randall, Private Conversation with his Manager
~~ * ~~
“Hi, I’m Zara,” I told him, trying to ignore the camera two inches from my face. “Nice to meet you.”
He grabbed my hand and shook it, lips twisting into a slight smirk. “Ty.”
“I know who you are. So, you excited to be on the show?”
“Am I excited to be on the show?” he mimicked, mocking my high pitched, slightly-nervous tone. “Do I look like I’m fucking excited?”
I dropped his hand like I’d been scalded. “Then why are you here?”
“I’m here because I have to be. No more, no less.” He glanced around, his gaze lingering on the slinky Annamarie. “Parts of it might be interesting.” He glanced over at me and seemed less enthused. “I’m not wearing fucking sequins or feathers, though, so get that shit right out of your head.”
“Oh darn, I guess this means I’m not going to have a lot of opportunity to use my Bedazzler,” I said sarcastically. “Gee, and here I was so looking forward to that.”
“Ha ha.” He didn’t sound amused. If anything, he sounded more irritated. “Look, missy—”
“Zara—”
“Zara,” he echoed. “I’m just trying to lay down the law so you know what to expect out of the next few weeks. I’m here because it’s required of me. It’s not because I want to dress up in a goddamn tutu and flounce around on the ice. You understand me? So don’t expect too much.”
My jaw set, and I wanted to kick him in the nuts for his lousy attitude. “All right then. Well, let me tell you what I’m thinking, since we’re laying the law down and all. I want to win. I’m determined to win, even if I have to work around having you as a partner. Shit happens, but I’m good enough that I can make even a clown like you look light-footed. But let’s get one thing straight. I intend to win, so don’t you get in my way, understand?”
He stared at me. After a long moment, he added, “You going to fucking yap at me for the next two months?”
“Probably. And if you don’t make an effort? I’m going to make your life miserable. Understand?”
Ty looked amused. “That’s cute. You do realize you’re ninety pounds soaking wet?”
I was a hundred and two pounds, and what did it matter? “What does my size have to do with anything?”
“If you think you’re going to intimidate me, honey, it’s not working.”
“Don’t you ‘honey’ me,” I said, outraged.
A camera zoomed in next to my face, and I froze. I hadn’t even met my partner for five minutes and we were already fighting. Well, crap. This didn’t bode well for job longevity. The scathing putdown I’d been about to lay on him died in my throat. Instead, I gave him a tight smile. “We practice at 6:00 AM. Be there.”
I turned on my heel and began to walk away.
“I’ll consider it,” he called after my back.
“Six in the morning!” I yelled back.
~~ * ~~
Ty Randall, a.k.a. “Ty the MMA Biter.”
Oh, Jesus. That was an…interesting choice.
Michael Michaels had been lean and skinny. This guy was neither. Tall, but he seemed more muscles than anything else. His shoulders were broad, but he wasn’t bulky, and he moved like, well, a warrior. He had a big, thick neck, big thick legs, and a shaved head that held a five o’clock shadow. His face was impassive, not clearly defined, and one of his brows had a scar through it. His nose had clearly been broken more than once.
Ty Fucking Randall.
I didn’t watch Mixed Martial Arts, but I sure knew who he was. Everyone did. He’d made headlines about a month or two ago when he’d been headlining a fight in Vegas, and he’d bitten his opponent. Bitten. As in, chomp chomp. As in, tore a hunk out of his nose. People had been scandalized, and he’d been put on hiatus. No one wanted to fight him. It wasn’t exactly that you were expected to fight clean in MMA, but you didn’t tear your opponent’s face apart. I mean, Jesus. He’d made public apologies through his reps, but the incident was still too new and fresh on everyone’s minds for this to be anything besides a shock.
And I was filled with a cold ripple of dread, thinking of all the beer in the fridge. Something told me that Michael Michaels wasn’t going to be my partner. Oh no. Oh, nonono.
I didn’t want to be with Ty the Biter.
It was clear he didn’t want to be here. He leaned against the sedan and crossed his legs, and then crossed his arms over his brawny chest. He looked bored. Pissed.
He wouldn’t want to win. I had a feeling he was just here for some good PR. He sorely needed it. But my guess was that he’d also be just fine with last place. Not me. I needed to win.
If he were my partner, I was screwed. Goodbye, second chance at a career. Hello, skate monitor at the mall once more. Or skating as Hildy the Pink Dinosaur in the local production of Dino Friends on Ice. Again.
A woman with a big poof of feathered blonde hair came out from the other side of the cameras. “All right. It’s time for the team assignments! Are you ready?”
It seemed to be a rhetorical question since no one was answering. I waited, tense as hell, for the assignments.
“Tatiana will be paired with Michael Michaels.”
The two moved forward and joined hands. Tatiana did a cute little twirl and beamed at the cameras. Michael Michaels just looked kind of bored. Okay then.
“Victoria Kiss will be paired with Toby.”
She grinned and moved forward, putting both of her hands into Toby’s, and then leaned forward to kiss him, her foot popping up. Cute.
“Julia McKillip will be paired with Jon Jon.”
Julia wasn’t a showy type. She moved forward and shook his hand, and then they stood next to each other awkwardly.
“Annamarie Evans will be paired with Serge.”
Annamarie didn’t walk—she glided forward, and Serge pulled her into his arms and dipped her. Hams, every last one of them.
The only two left unclaimed were Louie Earl and Ty Randall. I looked at the two, and then had a new appreciation for Louie Earl’s stouter figure and his bushy beard. I could work with that. I knew I could. Being on a heartwarming team wouldn’t be so bad, and if the public loved us, we could do well even if we didn’t win. I could still be called back.
“Ty Randall will be paired with Zara Pritchard.”
And just like that, all my hopes and dreams shattered. Shit. Shit shit shit.
He strolled forward to me, all cocky walk. I moved forward and offered him my hand, wishing I could summon up some enthusiasm for our pairing.
I had none to offer.
CHAPTER THREE
So I met my partner today. She’s the mouthiest chick I’ve ever met in my life. Won’t shut up for five minutes. Seriously. Stick up her ass, too. Determined to win this thing. Like it’s a real contest or something? Come on. We’re going to prance around the ice in skates like a bunch of goofballs. — Ty Randall, Private Conversation with his Manager
~~ * ~~
“Hi, I’m Zara,” I told him, trying to ignore the camera two inches from my face. “Nice to meet you.”
He grabbed my hand and shook it, lips twisting into a slight smirk. “Ty.”
“I know who you are. So, you excited to be on the show?”
“Am I excited to be on the show?” he mimicked, mocking my high pitched, slightly-nervous tone. “Do I look like I’m fucking excited?”
I dropped his hand like I’d been scalded. “Then why are you here?”
“I’m here because I have to be. No more, no less.” He glanced around, his gaze lingering on the slinky Annamarie. “Parts of it might be interesting.” He glanced over at me and seemed less enthused. “I’m not wearing fucking sequins or feathers, though, so get that shit right out of your head.”
“Oh darn, I guess this means I’m not going to have a lot of opportunity to use my Bedazzler,” I said sarcastically. “Gee, and here I was so looking forward to that.”
“Ha ha.” He didn’t sound amused. If anything, he sounded more irritated. “Look, missy—”
“Zara—”
“Zara,” he echoed. “I’m just trying to lay down the law so you know what to expect out of the next few weeks. I’m here because it’s required of me. It’s not because I want to dress up in a goddamn tutu and flounce around on the ice. You understand me? So don’t expect too much.”
My jaw set, and I wanted to kick him in the nuts for his lousy attitude. “All right then. Well, let me tell you what I’m thinking, since we’re laying the law down and all. I want to win. I’m determined to win, even if I have to work around having you as a partner. Shit happens, but I’m good enough that I can make even a clown like you look light-footed. But let’s get one thing straight. I intend to win, so don’t you get in my way, understand?”
He stared at me. After a long moment, he added, “You going to fucking yap at me for the next two months?”
“Probably. And if you don’t make an effort? I’m going to make your life miserable. Understand?”
Ty looked amused. “That’s cute. You do realize you’re ninety pounds soaking wet?”
I was a hundred and two pounds, and what did it matter? “What does my size have to do with anything?”
“If you think you’re going to intimidate me, honey, it’s not working.”
“Don’t you ‘honey’ me,” I said, outraged.
A camera zoomed in next to my face, and I froze. I hadn’t even met my partner for five minutes and we were already fighting. Well, crap. This didn’t bode well for job longevity. The scathing putdown I’d been about to lay on him died in my throat. Instead, I gave him a tight smile. “We practice at 6:00 AM. Be there.”
I turned on my heel and began to walk away.
“I’ll consider it,” he called after my back.
“Six in the morning!” I yelled back.
~~ * ~~
