From Lukov with Love

by Mariana Zapata

  “You’re that confident?” she asked with a smirk of amusement on her face, like she loved his confidence. Ugh.

  “Yes,” Ivan answered immediately.

  She tipped her head to the side like “okay” and glanced at me. “What do you think? Is it possible?”

  Maybe normally I would have made a joke, but she had already insulted me more than I deserved. So I didn’t. “I think Ivan is one of the best competitors in this sport. I think I’ve already learned a lot from him, and I’m going to keep learning a lot from him.”

  Damn, that sounded good. Even I almost believed it.

  “But you think it’s possible to skip through a learning period?”

  “Yes.” At least I could hope. But no one ever believed someone who sounded hesitant.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Do you think you’ll be able to get over the nerves that have plagued you in the past?”

  She was back at it again with the condescending shit that fast? Goddamn.

  Be better. Be better. Be better. You can do it.

  I could do it. I just didn’t want to.

  “I think that I have a partner I can rely on, so I have less to stress out about,” I said slowly, watching her eye to eye as I said it so she knew I wasn’t going to pretend like she was being polite when she sure as fuck wasn’t.

  “So you think your issues in the past are because of—”

  Ivan’s hand sliced through the hair. “Can we focus on Jasmine and me instead?” He blinked. “Please.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “It’s my fault,” I said quickly. “I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t know if I’ll be able to get over my nerves, but I feel more confident with myself than I have in the past, and I think part of that is because of Ivan’s history and record. I’m hoping he’ll rub off on me.” Bitch.

  The woman made a face like she didn’t believe me… but glanced back at her questions. “Okay. We can change the subject and move on to something else. What about a twenty-questions-type game?” She flicked her eyes toward Ivan. “If that’s agreeable.”

  I blinked, but beside me Ivan answered, in an almost hesitant voice, “Okay.”

  “It’ll be fun,” she added, like she was trying to convince us this wouldn’t be torture.

  I probably had a different view on what she thought was fun, but okay. As long as the questions didn’t involve Paul and his bitch-ass partner, or me being a screwup, I could take it. I nodded.

  She smiled. “You haven’t been partners together very long, but since you’ve known each other for a while, it should be fun.”

  Ivan kicked me.

  And I kicked him right back.

  Because it was one thing to pretend like we could put up with each other, but it was a totally different thing for us to “know each other.”

  “Okay,” the woman went on, glancing at her laptop.

  I snuck a look at Ivan, but he was already watching me.

  What the fuck? I mouthed.

  The man I’d never even seen get flustered, shrugged. Guess, he mouthed back.

  “Okay, I’ve got a good one,” she announced, totally oblivious to us wondering how the hell we were about to get through this as she had her eyes on the screen as she typed something. “What is Ivan’s favorite color?”

  I glanced at Ivan and made a face. “Black,” I answered, but mouthed like your heart.

  He rolled his eyes.

  “Is that true?” the other woman asked, moving her gaze from the computer back to us.

  “I don’t have a favorite color,” Ivan answered.

  “What is Jasmine’s favorite?” she asked.

  He glanced at me at the same time the woman looked away, “Red.” Then added like the blood of the children you eat.

  I was not going to laugh.

  I was not going to laugh.

  Especially not when he looked so pleased with his fucking self. Idiot. Asshole.

  Then he had the nerve to wink, and I had to force myself to look back at the woman instead. I kicked him after half a second.

  “Did he get it right?” she asked me, glancing over.

  I shook my head. “Nope. It’s pink.”

  “Pink?” he croaked beside me.

  I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. “Yeah. Why is that so weird?”

  “It’s just….” He blinked, then blinked some more. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear pink.”

  Why the hell would he notice or pay attention to what I wore? I wondered. “I don’t. It’s still my favorite color though.”

  His forehead wrinkled, but all he said was “Oh.”

  Which offended me. “It’s kinda fun,” I explained, probably a little harshly.

  All he said was his “Oh” again.

  “Ivan’s favorite jump?” the woman continued on.

  That was easy. “The triple Lutz.”

  “That’s right,” the man beside me agreed.

  “Jasmine’s favorite?”

  Ivan didn’t hesitate. “Easy. The 3L.”

  “Can we expect to see some triple Lutzes in the future?” Amanda asked.

  We glanced at each other, and I said, “Yeah,” at the same time Ivan said, “Yes.”

  She nodded as she looked at her screen. “Ivan’s favorite food?”

  I mouthed butthole to him, but actually said, “Escargot” for no reason other than it sounded fancy.

  There wasn’t a moment for him to hold back a choke. What he also did was hit his leg against mine. “No.”

  “No?”

  “No,” he insisted. “Why would you think that? No.”

  I pressed my lips together and shrugged.

  “Pizza.”

  I glanced at the body beside mine. His sweater was chunky but not that chunky. There was no body fat on him. He was all elegant, rock-solid muscle on long arms and long legs. It wasn’t a body that knew pizza.

  “Don’t look at me like that,” he said, using the same tone of voice that I had probably used on him when he didn’t believe me that I liked pink.

  “What kind of pizza?” I asked, half expecting him to say it was some fat-free shit.

  He blinked at me, and I swore for one second that he could read my mind. “Plain old pepperoni.”

  It was my turn to say “Oh.”

  And he knew what it meant, because he raised his eyebrows.

  “What is Jasmine’s favorite food?”

  The idiot beside me didn’t miss a beat. “Chocolate cake.”

  How the hell did he know that?

  “Is that true?” the other woman asked.

  I was trying not to look at him like he was crazy for knowing that, and somehow I managed to nod. He had probably guessed since it was Karina’s favorite too.

  “If Ivan wasn’t a figure skater, what else would he do?”

  I had to pause. Ivan not being a figure skater? I couldn’t imagine that being a possibility in any alternate universe. From what Karina had told me when we had been teenagers, he’d been skating since he was three. His grandfather had taken him to an ice rink, and it had been love at first sight. It had become his entire life. She had told me once he’d never even had a girlfriend. There had been a couple of girls he’d gone out with back in the day but nothing serious. Not when there was something else he loved more.

  I got it. I really did.

  Not that I’d ever admit how much we had in common, but I understood. I’d had a couple of short-term boyfriends but nothing serious, and that had been years ago. One of them had been the guy I’d chosen to finally lose my virginity to in the backseat of his SUV when I was nineteen, and the other had been a baseball player that had been like me: way too focused on his career. Every other guy I’d gone out with had all been one date and one date only.

  Nothing and nobody would ever come between my dreams and me.

  And imagining Ivan not owning the ice wasn’t a reality I could picture, because he was the same as I was. Just evil. Well, annoying and evi
l.

  “I can’t see him doing anything else,” I made myself respond honestly, unfortunately.

  Beside me, even he shrugged like he had no idea what else he would do either.

  Amanda must have seen that because she then asked, “What about Jasmine?”

  There was no hesitation before his reply. “There’s nothing else.”

  “There isn’t anything else,” I confirmed, letting the reminder that there wasn’t a plan B for me, go. I freaked out about that enough. I didn’t need to think about that reality more than I already did. I glanced at Ivan to find him looking at me with a smug expression on his stupid, perfect face.

  Then the fucker mouthed the Grim Reaper.

  I didn’t even bother rolling my eyes.

  “If Ivan could meet one person living or dead, who would it be?” she asked.

  I wanted to say Jeffrey Dahmer, but Amanda was looking at me, so instead, I went with “Jesus.”

  There was a pause and a “Correct.”

  I kept my smirk to myself. He was so full of shit.

  “What about Jasmine?”

  I glanced at him, watching as he made a thoughtful expression before answering. “Stephen King.”

  I didn’t wait for the woman to ask me if it was true, and instead frowned as I asked, “Why?”

  “He wrote your favorite book.”

  I blinked.

  “Misery.”

  He wouldn’t know I didn’t really read. I borrowed audiobooks from the library, but that was as crazy as I got. But I couldn’t correct him, so all I did was nod and say, “Uh-huh.” I’d look it up later or ask my mom’s husband. He read a lot.

  Amanda had a funny look on her face, but she kept going. “What would Ivan enjoy more, books or magazines?”

  “Magazines.”

  “What about Jasmine?”

  Ivan snickered. “Picture books.”

  I blinked at him, feeling something ugly and defensive in my chest. “Why picture books?” I asked him, the ugliness growing inside of me as I prepared for the worst.

  He grinned. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you read anything. My sister usually reads everything off menus to you.”

  If I blushed, I had a feeling everything from my belly button up would have been red as fuck at his comment. Karina did always read things off for me. I didn’t even have to ask her to do it, she just always had. I didn’t feel shame in having her do it because she didn’t do it out of pity but because it was faster than me having to take my time and read it.

  But I had never noticed that someone else was paying attention, judging me and making his own assumptions for it. He wasn’t the first person, but…

  I didn’t like it. Not at all.

  I swallowed and tore my eyes back to Amanda, giving her a tight expression as I shrugged. “I like audio books,” I corrected.

  “Me too,” she agreed quickly.

  There was nothing for me to be embarrassed about, I told myself for about the millionth time since I was four. I had come a long way. There was nothing shameful about having a learning disability. Nothing at all. It had taken me a lot of work to get as good as I had at reading… but it still took me too long; that was just the only part that frustrated me. I didn’t love reading because it took me too long. I didn’t love number sequences either. I learned by listening and by doing. I wasn’t stupid.

  And I sure as hell didn’t like Ivan of all people making a joke about it.

  I didn’t like it so much that I didn’t look at him again after that. Not for the next twenty minutes, when I barely answered with only one word if I could get away with it. I let Ivan direct the conversation and answer almost everything. She stayed away from more questions about my ex and kept it easy.

  At one point, Ivan hit his leg against mine twice, but I didn’t hit him back. I didn’t feel like it.

  When the time was over and my phone beeped, telling me the hour we had set aside for the interview was over, Ivan got up, hitting his elbow against mine so I could do the same. And I did. But I didn’t glance at him as I did it. And I hated that too.

  “It was nice meeting you,” Ivan said, shaking her hand.

  I just nodded and took her hand too. “Thank you,” I muttered, sounding like an asshole, but I didn’t even care.

  I never expected Karina to ever tell anyone I had trouble with… things. Once, my mom had even suggested that I tell everyone I had a learning disability, but I had told her no. No because I didn’t want anyone to pity me. I’d gotten that enough when I was younger and they had figured out why I had such a hard time learning my alphabet, then reading and writing. I had never let my own family baby me over it. My mom used to say I would rather stay up all night than ask anyone for help.

  Ivan shuffled out of the bench, and I followed right after him, except when he stopped at the side of the table, I went completely around him and headed toward the door and out. My hand instantly went to my wrist, and I gave my bracelet a spin. There is nothing to be mad at. He didn’t call you dumb. He didn’t say you couldn’t read.

  He was just messing with you. The same way you were messing with him, and he didn’t complain or cry about it. Don’t be dumb. Don’t be all sensitive and shit. You’ve heard worse.

  And I had.

  So why was I so damn mad, and maybe the tiniest bit… hurt?

  “Meat—Jasmine,” Ivan’s familiar voice called out from somewhere behind me.

  I didn’t stop because I was on a schedule, not because I was running away from him. “I’ve got to get to work,” I replied over my shoulder, not slowing down.

  “Hold up a second.”

  Raising my right hand, taking in the big red R on it; I winced and waved it anyway. “I’ll see you this afternoon,” I said before turning down the hall leading to the changing room. I darted inside because I really had to get to work, not because I was avoiding whatever the hell was going to come out of Ivan’s mouth.

  God, I was such a weak shit.

  Why hadn’t I just talked to him?

  Luckily, there was only one other person in the changing room right then, and she and I just glanced at each other, but that was it. Opening my locker, I grabbed my bag and pulled out my clothes for work, deodorant, makeup, and baby wipes. But it was the blinking green light on my cell phone screen that made me pause. I grabbed my phone and unlocked it to find that I had two texts waiting for me.

  One was from my dad.

  Sent you a msg last week. I’m coming in September. Hope I get to see you.

  That weird feeling I’d gotten back in the break room went through my upper body again, but I shoved it all away. I typed in OK and hit send, feeling just a little guilty I hadn’t sent anything longer. But then I scrolled up and saw that my last message from him had been four months ago, and suddenly, I didn’t feel so bad.

  Then I checked my next message, and saw it was from my mom.

  Good luck with your interview. Don’t fidget, make faces, or roll your eyes if there’s a camera. Don’t cuss either.

  That brought a little smile to my face that replaced the ache, and I typed back, To late…

  Not even thirty seconds later, as I was fishing for my socks and work shoes, my phone vibrated with another message from my mom.

  Mom: I don’t know you.

  Chapter 8

  “Not that I care, but are you mad at me?”

  I had just finished doing a loop around the ice to warm-up following my hour-long stretching session when Ivan skated up beside me, asking his dumbass question.

  I didn’t even bother glancing at him when I answered. “No.”

  “No, you’re not mad?” he asked.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the outline of the white zip-up pullover he had on and the navy blue sweatpants tucked into his black skates. Why did he always have to dress like he gave a shit? Ugh. I was in my usual outfit of faded leggings and faded long-sleeved T-shirt with a couple of holes in it. The good thing about not being tall wa
s that I hadn’t grown out of clothes in more than a decade.

  “No,” I repeated myself.

  He didn’t say anything for a second as he kept up next to me as I went around to do another loop, gaining a little more speed than I had on the first lazy one. “Anymore?”

  Why the hell was he hounding me? He hadn’t seen my face the day before, and I didn’t think I had acted like something was wrong.

  Had I?

  Then I remembered his “not that I care” comment and rolled my eyes at that. “No, I was never mad at you to begin with.”

  “I didn’t do anything for you to get mad at.”

  “Okay,” I answered shortly.

  There was a pause. “You weren’t mad?”

  Had I been mad? No. Had he joked about something I was sensitive about? Yes. It would tell him that he’d caught on to one of the few things I was hung up over, but telling him that might just make him pick on me more.

  Because that’s what we did, and the only person I could blame was myself. And him. We had built this boat our… working relationship—or whatever the hell else it could be called—was based on.

  “Nope,” I said. With my eyes still focused forward, I threw his words back at him, “I’d have to care what you think to get mad.”

  He looked down at me over his shoulder, not responding as we finished another loop around the ice rink, having it completely to ourselves so early. Yesterday afternoon, we had gone straight to business for our afternoon practice. Had I ignored him more than usual? No. I just treated him like I needed to: like we only had a limited time to get our shit together and I needed to make the best out of it.

  “This is only for a year,” he reminded me suddenly, like I had forgotten.

  I didn’t even bother rolling my eyes. “I heard you the first time y’all brought it up, numbnuts.”

  “I’m only making sure you don’t forget,” he added in that aggravating tone.

  “How could I when you remind me every other day?” I snapped before I could stop myself. I needed to stop. I’d known what I was getting myself into.

  That had him glancing at me. “Someone’s touchy.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You’re bothering me by telling me something I know and haven’t forgotten. I’m not being touchy.”