Rocking Thin Ice

by Z. Allora

  Take a chance and put aside your misplaced ire

  Time to live and laugh a while

  Had he ever lived? He skated, competed, and practiced. When was the last time he laughed with anyone other than Luke or his dog?

  Blaze twirled to the wall, held on, and scissor kicked his legs out in back of him, smiling blindly into the crowd. He chuckled at the roar the unexpected move forced the crowd to give.

  Love me like you did back then

  Don’t lock me up

  And waste our chance again.

  The guitar amped Blaze in a major way. He used the energy and added a one-handed cartwheel at the start of his step sequence, because this was his victory lap and the quirky move seemed to be the thing to do.

  You’ve got the key to release us from our broken dreams

  And break us out of our handmade hell.

  He’d promised Anna and Luke he wouldn’t attempt the next move unless his ankles felt good and they were good enough. The crowd loved him, and he wanted to give this to them.

  Aching and needing but always left wanting….

  My heart longing with desire….

  Until there was you.

  Blaze strutted and then executed a Bonaly. He did the backflip and landed on one foot, which allowed him to skate two strides, and then he jumped into an air split. The backflip had been deemed too dangerous and illegal in competition, but in exhibitions, he had to pay homage to his role model, Surya Bonaly.

  He took a lap around the ice, enjoying the love, before he spun, snapped to a stop, and dropped to a split on the ice on the last note of the song.

  Air, air, need air. Keep smiling. Fuck, my ankle! He was used to smiling through the pain.

  Applause echoed through the arena. He drank in the appreciation, then gracefully popped out of the split.

  As he glided around the ice, stuffed dragons rained down around him. The younger skaters rushed to herd the beasts into a pile, where they would be donated to Safe Haven’s police station and the children’s hospital.

  Bowing and waving to the crowd, he meandered around the ice, and then skated to the exit. He had fulfilled his purpose and given the audience something to enjoy.

  Blaze smiled at the trembling young kid who presented a silver tray with Blaze’s skate guards on it. “Thanks.”

  “Mr. Parker, you’re the best. I mean… you’re welcome…. Eeeeeeee!” Then the kid ran off.

  Slipping on the blade protectors, Blaze morphed into his brand’s persona and swaggered over to the kiss and cry.

  No scores to worry about, just reporters who lay in wait for him. Predators lingering for him to misspeak so they could get a good sound bite that would follow him to the next round of competition. If there would be a next round.

  “This was your only scheduled exhibition. What’s next for Blaze Parker?” asked the reporter from Skating Times.

  Damn good question! For years, he hadn’t thought past taking revenge on Trent. Then he poured all his angst and energy into training for the Olympics. Once he performed at the games and got the gold, he had fucked his way through the Olympic Village, as if he had been trying to nab the gold in casual sex.

  But now what?

  Nothing came to mind. Well, he needed an answer that would work for his “bad boy with a heart of gold” brand. What could his body handle? And more to the point, what did he want?

  He gave the reporters what his brother called Blaze Parker’s million-dollar smile. “What’s next? Well, I’ve got a few endorsement spots to do, and I’m going to take a break before choreographing my routines for next season. I’ll probably teach some classes here.”

  In truth, he’d done all his spots, even filmed his YouTube channel’s influencer clips, and his possible future routines had already been mapped out except for the music. He’d hang out with his brother, skate, help the rink with teaching a class or two, and sleep. Exactly what he’d done for the last bit of forever.

  “What do you have planned for next season?”

  That was the question he didn’t know the answer to… not really. So he was vague. “More.”

  “You just brought home the gold. What does more mean?”

  The consistency of their questions should have provided stability, but it had started to feel stifling and deadened him. Not this time. “I’m going to write a list of things I’ve never done before and start checking things off my list.”

  “Sounds good.” The reporter smiled.

  It did. Maybe he would do that.

  Another reporter asked, “What is the first thing on your list?”

  Hmmm, when in doubt tell the truth. “Don’t know yet. I have to start the list first.”

  “What’s it like to be an openly gay skater?” The reporter’s recording device was poised as if Blaze would reveal some major secret.

  There’s a question he hadn’t been asked… in at least a week. Apparently where he put his dick was of great interest to the skating sphere and the world at large. Should he pretend homophobia was stamped out in a sport where international judges came from places like Russia where they had gay purges and consistently marked him lower? Or how skaters weren’t gay until they were done competing? How coaches told him to butch it up?

  No, they wanted to pretend how fixed the world was, now that LGBTQIA people had a few rights that others took for granted. And he should definitely ignore how the rights they earned were constantly under attack.

  Blaze longed to blurt out “I credit anal sex for making me a better jumper.” Or “Cum is actually a super skating potion,” but he didn’t.

  He batted his eyelashes and softened his voice. “I’ve been asked that question a lot. Officially I didn’t come out, though I guess I never needed to. People made assumptions….” Between the video and, honestly, he’d never tried to act straight, so in truth he had never been in the closet.

  That was why most of the male skaters gave him a wide berth, especially those tucked away in their own closets behind all their sparkles and sequins. “I believe we all need to be ourselves because we’re the only ones who can be. I used to be afraid of being too gay.”

  “Too gay?” a different reporter from a skating blog gasped.

  “Yes, but my expression and presentation of who Blaze Parker is… is just that. I need to be me.”

  “Some consider you a danger to skating norms.” The older reporter’s tone held anger that implied Blaze had damaged the sport.

  Blaze ignored the sting the reporter’s stab gave him, and scoffed, “You use your ice skates as nunchucks one time, and suddenly you’re a danger to society. Ha, well, I guess that’s why they say I shouldn’t be left unsupervised.”

  Funny to watch the expressions to see who got the joke and who happened to be a dipshit.

  The reporter shook his head. “That’s not what I meant. I—”

  “I know. But visibility is important.” Blaze refused to let the asshole spew hate. “Besides, God only lets the strong be as gay as me.”

  Lots of smiles and several giggles washed through the reporters.

  “Well, I think you’re great and an asset to the sport. Is there anyone special?” A vlogger asked the most dreaded question.

  No matter how he answered, people got upset. Yes, and he angered those who didn’t think gay people have the right to be happily partnered. If he said no, the ones who believed everyone should be coupled up like they were boarding the ark would be sad.

  Blaze impressed himself yet again by not laughing. He wanted to say, “Well no, though I do believe in the benefits of a satisfying fifteen- or twenty-minute relationship a few times a month.” Instead, he went with “Not yet.”

  Who the fuck is that?

  Leaning against the wall, one long, black-denim-encased leg crossed over the other, was a man who brought to mind every filthy fantasy Blaze ever had. The black leather jacket that hugged his muscles remained opened, but thumbs hooked into belt loops kept most of the light blue T-shirt hidden. His
dark brown hair tangled past his shoulders, accenting high cheekbones, and those perfect lips—with a sexy lip ring that seemed made to be glided along Blaze’s cock—twisted into a grin.

  “Um, what?” Blaze shook himself out of his lust and tried to focus on the reporters, who were still asking him questions.

  “Do you consider this your home rink?” someone asked.

  His gaze kept returning to the man, who was staring—eye fucking would have been a more appropriate description. Blaze attempted to stay aloof, though he’d settle for appearing calm. Now was not the time to throw wood.

  After a few more moments, he said, “Yes, I do. Thank you. Have a great day and enjoy watching the finale. The kids all worked really hard on the routine.”

  The reporters dispersed, leaving a gaping expanse of empty space between him and… oh my fucking God! He rushed across the carpet. “You’re Drake Keys.”

  Dropping his arms, the guy pushed off the wall. He tilted his head but didn’t pause in the eye sex. “You know me?”

  Screaming “I love your music and follow you on social media” followed by “Holy shit, Drake Keys saw me skate” would be the opposite of playing it cool. Blaze went with “You’re the guitarist for Midnight Shadow.”

  “You skated to my song.” A crooked smile made him less sex-waiting-to-happen and more endearing.

  Damn! Blaze’s insides did a flip-flop. Stop gawking and spit something out. He expected more from himself than appearing starstruck by the gorgeous rock star. Where had his dignity gone? “You mean Midnight Shadow’s—”

  “Yeah, but I wrote the lyrics to that one.” Drake blew air on his hands and shoved them into his jacket pockets.

  Oh…. Oh! The guy was even sexier and more soulful than he thought. Fuck! Blaze might die. He longed to tell Drake how the song touched his cold, dead heart. Instead he allowed himself to imagine exploring the possibilities of Drake Keys between the sheets.

  He’d work those black jeans down over Drake’s hips, unzip and push inside him. In his dreams, lube was never necessary. Turning Drake’s long hair into reins, he’d pull that lean body into his at just the right position. Drake would gratefully take everything Blaze gave him, and then they’d part ways—

  “You did a Bonaly,” Drake murmured with the appropriate amount of shock and awe.

  Full stop. Drake Keys knew what a Bonaly was? Some people into skating didn’t always know the name for the backflip. How did he tell the guy to stop being enticing? And maybe offer to tongue his lip ring so he didn’t have to….

  Blaze gave him a shrug. “My air splits will never be as good as hers.”

  “You were incredible. Though you always are,” Drake assured him a bit breathlessly.

  “How do you know about the Bonaly?” Maybe Drake was a blade bunny who thought he could bed Blaze for the—

  That sounded not only stupid, but paranoid.

  “My best friend’s little sister skated when she was younger. There aren’t many black figure skaters to identify with, and well, Surya Bonaly was hard-core back in the day.”

  “She was… is. She’s working as a coach in Minnesota.” Drake probably had a crush on his best friend’s sister. “So, do you still see your best friend’s sister?”

  Drake nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, I’m in Jasmine’s wedding in July. She met this really terrific guy. Though her parents wanted her to finish her master’s degree first, but I don’t think she’s making a mistake or marrying too young. Sometimes you know.”

  “Oh, hmmm.” You simply know. The way Drake gazed at him made Drake’s rambled words echo between them.

  Focus. Good news, Drake didn’t appear upset by her— Why do I care? This guy is getting under my skin in the space ripped open by his damned lyrics. There will be none of the “aching and needing but always left wanting” bullshit. My heart doesn’t long with desire; I simply want to fuck. Not until there was you… always. Maybe I need to bed him and move on.

  Drake shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. “So you’re really going to make a list of the things you’ve never done? Like a bucket list?”

  Blaze shrugged. He had originally been referring to a skating list, but maybe a list for outside the rink would be better.

  “I think you should. I’d love to help you cross some things off your list.”

  Like number one, fucking a rock star? Blaze bit his tongue and settled for giving him a smile.

  The pupils of Drake’s stunning blue eyes were blown, edging out the indigo. His smile deepened into a grin.

  What the fuck was with the perma-grin?

  Drake grabbed the tote bag at his feet. “Oh yeah. I’m sorry for being rude. But she told me to have one. I’ve been on the road, and I didn’t sleep or eat. So I kind of opened the tin of brownies a fan left for you.”

  “You what?” No.

  Drake swiped his tongue over his full lips and started laughing. “Dude, I’m sorry, I was starving. I only ate two. Okay, maybe three.”

  “Oh God. This fan, she wore her blonde hair in braids and had a tie-dye shirt on?” Blaze’s best-laid plans of crossing off rock star fucking from his list crumbled.

  Drake’s mouth dropped open for a moment, and then he nodded. “Yeah. How did you know?”

  Shit, there went any thought of hot sex. “Donna comes to most of my home shows and exhibitions. For some reason, even though I keep telling her I won’t eat them, she always makes me brownies with a ton of weed in them.”

  “Weed?”

  “Yeah, you’re not allergic, are you?”

  “Nah, I’ve smoked.” Drake shrugged. “I wouldn’t have thought—”

  “You’d be surprised. Now when did you start eating the brownies?”

  Drake looked around for the rink clock and started to laugh. “I don’t know. About an hour ago.”

  More than a few people in that section closest to them started to take more interest in their conversation than the little kids doing their routines on the ice.

  “So everything is starting to hit your system. Come on, we’ve got to get you out of here.”

  “I’ll go anywhere with you. I drove thirty-two hours straight, with only a few gas breaks, to see you.” Drake’s voice deepened and had a bit of a purr to it.

  Just because Drake’s lyrics, and now his voice, made Blaze want things, didn’t mean Blaze had to give in to his desire. He cleared his throat and straightened his spine.

  “I’m still pretty hungry….”

  Keep things friendly and distant. Blaze chuckled. “I’m sure you are.”

  “I’m starving for a lot of things.” His glassy eyes got a dreamy look in them. As he assessed Blaze, Drake’s expression heated to smoldering. “If you know what I mean.”

  “Yeah, I think I do. Follow me.” Blaze grabbed Drake’s guitar case and exited the rink.

  Chapter 4

  DRAKE WAS so relaxed, it felt like he wasn’t quite there, but he walked without stumbling. Drake for the win. But one slight bump—

  “Careful, Drake.” Blaze put a hand on his back and guided him into the locker room. Blaze Parker touching him—bigger win.

  “Thanks. I guess those brownies and lack of sleep made—oh, wow!” Drake spun in a sloppy circle, grinning at bright white walls. There were several rows of shiny black lockers and individual white cubbies for hanging skating outfits lining the walls, with benches in front of them.

  Blaze led him to one with Blaze Parker emblazed in gold over the top, then helped him sit down.

  “Good skill, guys. You got this,” Blaze called out to the young teens as he started untying his skates.

  The rush and excitement reminded Drake of Midnight Shadow. “This is like backstage at a concert….”

  The skaters, all except one, scurried out of the room.

  “Though a lot less sex,” Blaze grumbled for Drake’s ears alone.

  Drake pushed away, hurt slicing into his heart at being dumped by the band, then grinned. “True, but—oh, the
skaters…. My God, you are the rock stars.”

  Blaze snickered. “Your marijuana-induced epiphanies should be annoying, but you’re rather adorable stoned.”

  Shaking his head made Drake feel like he was underwater. “No! The only grown-assed man who’s cute and adorable is you.”

  Blaze turned a pretty shade of pink. His mouth had dropped open, making Drake think of— “Cookies! Oh, Blaze. Can I have one of those cookies, man? Please. Is it okay?”

  “Sure, but be warned they’re zucchini chocolate chip.”

  Drake rushed over to the cookie jar that sat on a table labeled Reward, and it had all his attention. He opened the jar and sniffed deliciousness. “They smell incredible.”

  The last skater gave them a smirk on his way out.

  “Enjoy.” Blaze sighed and might have muttered something about Drake’s enthusiasm being charming, but he couldn’t be sure.

  Drake shoved half a cookie into his mouth. He moaned, and his eyes rolled back. “This is delicious. Vegetabley. Is that a word?”

  Blaze opened his locker and grabbed a towel as he stepped into shoes. He took off the skating guards and wiped down his blades. “These need to be resharpened.”

  “This is where it begins. All the glitz and glamour of skating starts right here.” Drake tried to chew before talking, but he had so much to say.

  He finished the cookie and touched the shiny metal locker. So sleek. He slid his fingers over the surface again and again. Guitars could have this type of sheen to them.

  A woman burst into the locker room and stumbled to a halt. “What’s this? And why is he petting the lockers?”

  Oh, Drake knew the answer. He turned his head to her. “Lockers and guitars….”

  “Oh, geez.” Blaze guided Drake back to a bench. “What does it look like, Anna?”

  She tsked. “That you have a stoner in the locker room.”