On Thin Ice by Susan Andersen

“Today is the best possible day to buy yourself something you’ve been wanting to buy forever. I think your mom would get a real kick out of knowing you were treating yourself to something special in her honor.”
    And so Sasha had bought this deep red wool jacket with its camel leather sleeves. Two cities later, Connie had found an athletic supply house and bought her a thick wool letter S, arranging to have it applied to the front. For her birthday a bunch of the skaters had gone together and custom ordered a woolly silver FOLLIES ON ICE to put on the back. Jack the bus driver had bought her a skating patch for the sleeve. It was like no other coat anywhere in the world and she loved it.
    She loved the woman who over her protests had dragged her out to make the purchase. It had been possibly the worst day of her life. But warm memories, which the coat inspired every time she slipped into it, was like an ongoing healing process, so she was grateful she’d allowed herself to be coerced.
    Pulling the coat closed against the backstage chill, she joined Connie and Mick. Connie gave her a one-armed hug and whispered, “Good program.” Then Sasha turned to Mick. Thrusting out her hand she smiled up at him. “Hi again. I didn’t stop to introduce myself when I ran into you earlier,” she said. “I’m Sasha Miller.”
    Mick gripped her hand, giving it a firm shake. “Mick Vinicor.”
    His fingers were hard skinned, dry, and warm, and Sasha blinked at the jolt that went through her at their touch. “Yeah, I . . . uh . . .” She cleared her throat. “I know.” She gathered her wits. “That is, Connie told me about meeting you this afternoon.” She realized he was still holding her hand and slipped it free. Unconsciously working her fingers, she opened and closed them at her side.
    Jeez, what was this? She suddenly felt and was acting like a damn high school girl. But he was standing very close, giving her his undivided attention, and for some odd reason she couldn’t seem to draw her eyes away from his.
    She cleared her throat again. “Uh, listen, sometime before we leave Sacramento I need to sit down with you for a few minutes and go over a few things.”
    â€œSure.” Mick nodded agreeably and took a step back, giving her a little space. “What sort of things do you have in mind?”
    She drew a deep breath and quietly expelled it, feeling on safer ground with some distance between them. “Just the usual business stuff that Henry used to take care of. Like making arrangements for me to have first day access to the arenas where we perform. It’s important to me to be able to check out the ice in a new place and I’m hoping you’ll continue where he left off.”
    â€œNo problem.” Without warning he once again closed the gap between them. Standing close, eyelids developing a sudden carnal heaviness, he looked down at her. “I’m in room 415; stop by anytime. We’ll . . .” His gaze fastened on her mouth, his tongue slipped out to touch his lower lip. Then his eyes rose to meet hers. “ . . . talk.”
    Connie choked. When Mick turned his head easily in her direction and Sasha, with a little more effort, dragged her gaze from Mick’s to look at her, she coughed a few additional times and waved a hand at them. “Swallowed wrong,” she explained, pressing the tips of two fingers to the hollow of her throat. “Well, hey!” she said brightly the moment she got herself under control. “I’d better go change my costume. I’ll, uh, talk to you two later.” Without awaiting a response, she turned to go.
    â€œWait, Connie, I’ll go with you.” Sasha turned to Mick. “See you, Mick; I look forward to working together,” she said and moving as fast as her delicate blades would allow, hurried to catch up with her friend.
    Connie flashed her a sidelong