"Remember me?" The voice sounded cheerful and insistent, the way it had always sounded.
She nodded, pulled her sleeve over her palm and dabbed away the frustrated tears. "Hi, Pavel. Believe it or not, I thought of you recently. I ran across some of your mixes. They are pretty good."
"Oh, cool." His posture was perfect, but he hinged his blond head forward a little, making the thick curls bounce with every step. "Have a few minutes to talk? I'd buy you lunch, but I'm fasting till breakfast tomorrow. Life's a bitch that way."
"That's okay, I'm not hungry." That was an honest truth. Her stomach clenched so badly, she doubted even her mother armed with a pot full of biryani could have made her eat a single bite.
"Oh, sure, rub it in." A grin lit up his face, full of easy if superficial charm. "Let's sit in the lobby."
Walking next to Pavel, Daya couldn't help but notice how much he'd grown in the past few years. She tried to remember how old he was. Eighteen? While he did not sport bear-like proportions, his Germano-Slavonic frame telescoped out enough for him to stand out among other skaters. It surprised her that he had to fast—she'd have expected him to burn through calories like a jet engine.
"How have you been?" she asked once they found a couch out of the way and sat down.
"Just had my big birthday," Pavel said. "Twenty-one. Can't skate juniors no more, I'm in seniors now."
Technically, in singles, he'd aged out a couple of years ago, but maybe he was trying ice dance. Who knows... she didn't pay attention to anyone but her direct competitors by the end.
"You don't look a day over seventeen." Actually, he did. When his cheeks flushed pink from exertion at the arena, it imparted something boyish on his face. Now, after his complexion returned to pale, it had moved past the manhood threshold.
She felt sorry for him. This was an unpleasant milepost where you were forced to ask yourself what now? and who pays the bills? Coaches, skates, ice time, costumes... it all added up to a hefty bill, and the government grants depended on the results.
Daya herself powered through it, thanks to her parents' and Shanti's generosity, but it caught up to her too.
He must have guessed at her thoughts. His lips quirked with amusement. "I'll live."
Even though he had a low brow common among the Russians, his eyes lit up when he was happy. They made her think about the video game posters at Mike's place, where half of the characters had unrealistic jewel-like eyes.
Pavel's came as close to green as existed in nature. They were distinctive from brown, but nothing like emeralds. The beach-blond eyelashes made the color more vibrant though. In the rink's floodlight, he'd look almost as good as Mike's elves.
Pavel broke the silence that settled over them. "I've overheard what Brighton had told you."
Daya bit her lip. "Uh-huh."
"I've been thinking about coaching a year or two back, chatted with some of them... serious-like. See, they want to package us to look our best, like presents. Some need bows, or that stupid crinkly paper, others—just a bit of a ribbon. And we all should fit into a gift bag..."
None of this was news to her, but why did he have to bring it up? She'd tear up on his shoulder if he wasn't careful.
"When Brighton looks at you, he sees strong athleticism, good speed, some passion. Technical flaws here and there, small mistakes." He fluttered his fingers in the air to show how inconsequential the mistakes were.
YOU ARE READING
Winners Don't Have Bad Days (Watty 2020 Winner, Romance)
ChickLitWhen a total stranger knows what eats you, maybe they are your one true love. Even if you don't know it yet. || On Friday the 13th, two twenty-something, Daya and Mike, end up in a mutually beneficial arrangement: she is his caregiver after he break...
