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

Nerves are one thing, but this is another.

“How are you holding up?” Priya asks from the makeup chair beside me, her knee bouncing up and down.

“Ughh, I swear I might puke right here,” I say, gripping the armrests. “Three more shows, that’s it. I just need to make it through three more.”

“You’ve got this.” Priya smiles reassuringly at me in the mirror. “Your routine is amazing. They’re kicking me out tonight. I know it.”

I box her slightly, she still winces.

“Stop saying such nonsense. So is yours. No way they’re kicking you out today, you’re incredible.” I watch as her makeup artist dusts shimmery shadow over Priya’s lids.

Priya’s voice trembles as she speaks, “I don’t know…it just seems to get harder every week. The pressure, the constant training—” Her sentence is cut short as the artist applies a vibrant orange-red lipstick onto her lips. It looks amazing with her russet skin. The reddish brown paired with the orange dress of hers and that lipstick? She’s such a pretty babe and she doesn’t even know it.

“Derek is coming to watch today. And Mason has been acting really strange about it.”

“Sounds like someone’s jealous,” I tease. “Has he asked you out yet?”

“Who?” she asks.

I chuckle. “That’s part of what I’m wondering.” I secretly hope Derek does ask her out, though.

“Well, Derek keeps texting, but…I don’t know. What if we go on a date and I have to tell him—you know.” Her cheeks flush pink.

“If he’s that much of a jerk and he rejects you just because you’re a virgin, then—”

“Sweeties, trust me,” Nora, my stylist, pipes up from behind me, “that will only make him want you more. Men love the challenge.”

“But I’m not ready to sleep with just anyone,” Priya protests.

“Preach,” Nora agrees solemnly. We share an empathetic hum of understanding.

“Then don’t,” I say. “Tell him and watch his reaction.” I’m not a fan of Derek, but I have to admit, he’s at least better than Mason.

Just then, Riley bursts in wearing only his studded black jeans, no shirt.

My jaw drops. Holy hell, has he been doing extra training? Or is it the studio light? Those abs are—

“I can’t find my top anywhere!” he exclaims, eyes wide with panic.

I know those abs all too well. But those jeans. The way they’ve styled him. Are his lips even more—

“Liora. The shirt for our number.”

I snap out of my hormone-addled daze. Right. Focus. Shirt. “It has to be with the fitting team. Did you check there?”

“They don’t have it! I’m freaking out, we go on in like ten minutes!” He runs a hand through his styled hair and I let out a shriek.

“Don’t!” I and the stylist scream at the same time.

A wide smile stretches across my face as I glance at the stylist in the mirror. “Just don’t destroy your hair and stay calm. We’ll find it.”

The makeup application is a breeze, and I eagerly hop off the stool to check myself out in the full-length mirror. My skintight scarlet dress is a perfect match to my bold red lipstick. These stylists really deserve more recognition for their talents.

“Thank you, Nora. You’re always incredible,” I say.

“Thanks, darlin’,” Nora says. “You’re an easy canvas.”

Riley’s gaze rakes over me appreciatively before he remembers the crisis at hand. “You look…wow. Okay, wardrobe. I need a shirt. Like, now.”

Priya, Nora, and I exchange a glance before jumping into action, riffling through racks of costumes. I pray to the skating gods that we find something, and fast. This routine has to be flawless. Everything rides on it. But as the clock ticks down, my stomach only coils tighter. Where the hell is Riley’s shirt? I notice the stylists searching for it, too, and hell breaks loose.

The jittery dread surges up my throat again.

Don’t puke.

You cannot puke. You have makeup on.

Pull it together. Prove that you deserve to be here.

If only this didn’t hold so much weight.

I’m so close to success .This belongs to NôvelDrama.Org.

“Stage call, five minutes!” the director’s voice booms across backstage.

Crap.

I abandon the fruitless search and run to Riley.

Just as I reach him, a stylist I don’t recognize runs up to us with his shirt in her hands, pointing out a large rip in the back of it. We exchange worried glances. Someone sabotaged us.

“Who,” Riley starts, but then the director calls for the last two minutes.

“Go shirtless,” I pant. “You’re drop-dead gorgeous anyway.”

I basically leap into my skates.

Shit. Shit. Shit.

My fingers fumble with the laces as I yank my skates on.

“Three minutes!” someone yells.

In my haste, I notice something sharp jabbing into my heel. Then the ball of my foot. I wince but ignore it. No time. The other skate goes on, and I tug the laces tight.

“Lia!” Riley screams.

Wobbling to my feet, I barely register his words because a searing pain lances through my foot and up my leg. I suck in a breath. What the— It’s fine. Mind over matter. I just need to—

Holy shit. The moment I put all my weight on my shoes, agony explodes through my feet. Tears spring to my eyes immediately.

This cannot be happening. Not now. No.

“Hey, you okay?” Riley’s brows furrow in concern.

“Fine,” I grit out. “Go.”

I limp forward, determined to push through. I’m a pro. The show must go on.

He takes my trembling hand in his.

Hand in hand, we glide out.

Breathe. Smile. Dazzle them.

Even if it kills me.