On Thin Ice by Susan Andersen Read Free Book Online Page B

Wondering how much she would willingly volunteer, Mick raised an interested brow in her direction before his attention was drawn once again to the woman in the arena. “So where is this partner now?”
    Connie’s smile faded and she shifted slightly away from him. The space she opened up between the two of them was infinitesimal in distance, but Mick recognized it for what it was: a sudden mile-wide gulf. If he hadn’t already known about Miller and Morrison, her posture would have alerted him that there was a story here and caused him to go digging for it.
    â€œHe’s . . . retired,” she replied repressively and turned her attention back to the performance out under the lights. Sasha Miller was her closest friend and there was no way on God’s green earth that Connie was going to resurrect that old scandal for the delectation of some guy she’d just met this afternoon—macho babe or not. If the new manager wanted to know about Lon Morrison bad enough, she wasn’t fool enough to think a dozen different people around here wouldn’t be more than happy to supply him with all the sordid details. But it wouldn’t be from Connie Nakamura’s lips that he heard it.
    The music reached a crescendo and Sasha exited the rink, flushed and happy. There wasn’t anything quite as stimulating as performing in front of a receptive crowd and she was flying high. It had been a dream of hers to skate for Follies on Ice since she was a young girl and she still had to pinch herself sometimes to accept that the dream had actually come true. The downside—the unrelenting pressure of constant travel, the occasional fatigue—simply didn’t matter once she hit the ice.
    Connie was standing by the new manager and Sasha flashed them a smile as she got out of the new act’s way. Stopping to apply her blade guards, she stepped off the ice, gathered up her Nikes, and slipped into her wool-and-leather letterman’s jacket.
    She loved this coat. It represented everything she’d missed out on back in her Kells Crossing high school days. She used to watch the girls who wore their jock boyfriends’ jackets—or better yet, the ones who had earned their own—and she’d always felt so envious and excluded. She hadn’t had time for extracurricular activities back then; her schedule had been devoted exclusively to skating. She’d loved it more than anything in the world, but it made her different from the rest of her classmates—and being different is not a lot of fun for a teenager. Particularly in a small town.
    More important than having an adolescent wish realized, however, this coat was significant to her because she’d bought it the day her mother died. Carole Miller was in her thoughts every time Sasha put it on.
    Connie was responsible for the purchase. Sasha had been knocked flat by the news of her mother’s death, and unable until the following morning to get a flight out of the city they were currently playing, she’d nearly climbed the walls, not knowing how to deal with her grief. She’d holed up in her hotel room, alternately crying and staring into space, until Connie had come knocking at her door.
    â€œC’mon,” she’d insisted the moment Sasha had opened it. “You know those jackets you’re always raving on about? We’re gonna go downtown and get you one.”
    â€œMaybe another time, Connie,” Sasha had retorted listlessly, starting to close the door again. “Today’s not a good day to go shopping.”
    Connie had blocked the closing door. “Ah, now that’s where you’re wrong,” she’d disagreed firmly, barging in and bundling Sasha into a coat. Gathering up her friend’s purse and room key, she’d placed them in Sasha’s hand and then held her off at arm’s length, her hands gripping Sasha’s shoulders while she looked her straight in the eye.