“I DON’T KNOW if I want to do this anymore,” I said to Coach Lee a week later.
A week after I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about all the reasons why doing this was a stupid idea, including but not limited to flashing all my shit at Ivan.
Our one-week long friendship had gone… well. We hadn’t said anything insulting to each other in that time period. He had even smiled at me once when I’d agreed with him that we had done something right when Coach Lee had claimed the opposite.
It was fine. Totally fine.
And maybe that was part of the reason why I didn’t want him to start teasing me. At least while I didn’t have clothes on. I didn’t give a shit what the photographer or her staff thought… but Ivan was the only one who had the power to genuinely piss me off.
So there I was, after a full night of stressing out about the shoot. Galina would have said I was antsy, but I wasn’t antsy. Just… stressed. About the consequences. Long term and short term. With Ivan and without.
It wasn’t like I’d been stoked about doing it in the first place, and if my gut said this was a shitty idea… there was a reason for it. Every time I had ignored my gut feeling before, I’d paid for it.
So…
Coach Lee turned to face me from where we were standing off to the side of the ice at the nearly empty LC. Her face instantly shuttered, and her mouth twisted to the side, but it was the fingers she immediately started wiggling that gave her away. That and the tight smile she forced onto her lips as she nearly croaked, “Is there something I should know?”
Was there something she should know?
Nerves, real nerves, bad nerves that made my insides twist up and my stomach almost ache, pretty much took over my entire body, but all I could do was shrug. “I don’t know if I want to do this with Ivan after all,” I told her. “It’s one thing for us to do all our lifts fully clothed, but the more I think about having to do this naked… I don’t know,” I partially lied.
Because I did know. I knew what might have been the biggest reason. I was hesitating again.
Three days ago, I’d had to start deleting comments and messages from random guys on my Picturegram page. It had only been two comments, but two was too many. They said they would “wreck me” and “tear (my) ass up.” Then there had been the private messages, which had been two dick pics and another asking me to post a video of my bare feet. Which then got me thinking about what my brother had said during dinner days before about strangers jerking off to my pictures.
I wasn’t a prude, but I also wasn’t a fan of living my life, posting pictures of one of my ballet lessons with Ivan that Coach Lee had e-mailed me—for that specific purpose—and then dealing with those kinds of comments and messages. I was no stranger to dicks. But I wanted it to be my choice when I saw them. I definitely wasn’t a fucking fan of remembering when other people had sent me pictures and videos so much worse. Pictures and videos that had made me lose sleep because of how helpless they had made me feel. How dirty.
And that’s what had started to happen unless I was exhausted. I had started to lose sleep. More and more sleep.
Until I was here, at this point, stressing over stuff like that happening more and more. I didn’t want to see that kind of shit. All I wanted was figure skating. I didn’t care about the rest.
But that’s not how stuff worked nowadays.
A funny expression came over Coach Lee’s face as she took me and my words in. “Did Ivan say something?”
Shit. I hadn’t thought this through well enough, had I? The only thing I could do was be vague. Just a little. Just enough. “He always says something, but that’s not it.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You know what I mean. Did he say anything about doing the shoot with you? Because I’m going to be honest, that doesn’t seem like it would bother you.”
Was I that obvious? Because she was right, Ivan’s comments didn’t usually bother me. Aggravate me, yeah. Make me want to kill him, yeah. But bother? Not so much. But being naked in front of someone, especially someone like Ivan who was constantly judging with those clear blue eyes, felt like a power exchange that left me with nothing. He would know something about me so many people didn’t. And this person teased me over everything.
“I don’t know if I want to stand in front of him naked. That’s all. If I did it by myself, it wouldn’t be a big deal. Even total strangers, sure, but to do it in front of him when I have to see him all the time, I don’t know.”
Her hand went up to her eyes, and she pinched the bridge of her nose, clearly exasperated before finally nodding slowly. “Okay. All right. Let me go talk to him and talk to the photographer and see what we can come up with.”
For a moment, I thought about apologizing for changing my mind, but fuck that. I didn’t want to show Ivan of all people my naked body. I’d bet nobody else here would want to either. It was my choice. My decision. My body.
I wasn’t about to say I was sorry for being an inconvenience, because I wasn’t.
But I did feel just a little bad as Coach Lee turned on her heel, rubbing at her neck, and headed where the photographer was standing with Ivan and an assistant, deep in conversation. They had come in early to make a couple of sets on the ice, one with a gray background and another with a white one, surrounded by lights. It was fancy.
I made myself watch as Coach Lee’s mouth moved and then watched as Ivan’s chin slid forward a moment before his eyes sliced to my direction before focusing back on Lee to listen to whatever else she was saying.
And I couldn’t say I was totally surprised when maybe a minute or two later, Ivan began shaking his head, clearly ignoring whatever Lee was saying, and started skating toward me, the knot at his robe the only thing keeping me from seeing more than just a slice of his thighs, calves, and chest as he did it.
“I’m not doing it,” I said before he got a word out. “If you want to do it by yourself, go for it. I’ll do it by myself too. But I don’t want to do it together.”
Something tight snapped across his shoulders the second the last sentence was out of my mouth. But it was the way his face went serious, his rectangular jaw tight, mouth pursed and eyebrows heavy, that really became visible.
“I don’t want to do it, Ivan, and you’re not going to guilt trip me into it, all right? I know it’s a big issue, but I don’t want to do it with you.”
Those pale gray-blue eyes hadn’t moved off of me as he slid to a stop at the boards and paused there at the entrance, staring at me like he didn’t even know who I was. He was watching me closely as he asked, slowly, drawing out each letter, “Why?”
I didn’t even think about it. “Because I don’t want to have my tits and vagina in your face.” There. Done.
The breath he took was so ragged I could see it in his chest. “You were bragging about not being self-conscious a few days ago, and now you’re backing out?” he asked, watching me a little too closely. “You’ll do it alone but not with me?”
When he said it like that…
“Yeah,” I agreed, nodding.
“Because of me?”
“Yes, because of you.” Friends were honest with each other. He couldn’t fault me for that. Maybe I wasn’t being completely honest but it was something.
He blinked, still taking me in. “They want us to do it together, not separate.”
I shrugged both my shoulders, totally unapologetic. “Well, there’s this thing called Photoshop; they can probably blend us in so it looks like we’re together,” I suggested.
He blinked again, his jaw grinding from side to side.
I just looked at him.
Ivan blinked at me, and I blinked right back.
One of those big, strong hands that could hold my hundred-plus pound ass all by itself over his head drifted to the back of his neck. His jaw twitched again. His breathing slowed. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “What did I do that you don’t want to do it with me?” he asked slowly. “You talk shit right back. I thought we agreed to be friends.” Those eyes drifted across my face, which was covered in makeup that had taken the artist almost an hour to apply. “We had dinner together,” he reminded me, as if I’d forgotten he’d spent three hours in my mom’s kitchen, playing Jenga with my family, eating lasagna, gobbling down the smallest sliver of chocolate cake while I’d eaten three times the amount because why the hell not.
He’d gotten me a paper towel—maybe because he genuinely thought I couldn’t reach across the table, maybe not. He’d driven me home. He’d asked me to be his friend, even though the more I thought about it, the more I figured he wasn’t so familiar with what the hell that meant.
Gentle. Be better.
So, I tried. “Ivan, I have to look at you every day. Isn’t that reason enough to not want to be naked in front of you?” I asked, keeping my voice as far away from aggressive as possible as I tried to be an adult.
He didn’t hesitate. “I don’t care if you see me naked.”
Shit.
Okay. I was going to have to go at this more directly. “Well, I don’t care if the whole world sees me naked either, but I don’t want you to see it, all right? Can you respect that?”
“But why?” he asked, honestly sounding confused.
Exasperation, or maybe frustration, hit me hard. Real hard. The last thing I’d expected was for him to want an explanation. “Because. I already told you.”
“No, you didn’t.”
I blinked. “Yes, I did.”
“No. You. Didn’t.”
“Yes. I. Did.”
“No. I want you to tell me. What did I do over the last week to make you not want to do this anymore?”
He wasn’t going to let this go. I tried not to be a dick. But he wanted an explanation, so I gave it to him. “Ivan, do you think I want you to tease me about skipping puberty after you’ve seen my tits? Because I don’t. Not even a little bit, all right? Is that what you want to hear? That I don’t want you looking at me and judging me when I have to see your face all the time? I like myself just fine. I don’t want to listen to you make fun of me, of things I can’t change. I have little tits. Okay. We both know that. What if you think my nipples are too big, or you think they’re too small, or you’ll laugh at my stretch marks, or tell me you get where all my weight comes from! My thighs!”
“What?”
I shrugged at him again, my stomach giving this uncomfortable roll as I told him more of the tiny truth I was sharing. “I like my body, all right? I don’t want you to make me not. I know I’m not….” I shook my head, not finishing the sentence. “I’m good with who I am and what I look like, and I’ll trim down a little more before the season starts.”
I wasn’t sure if I hadn’t noticed it gradually happening, or if it happened in the blink of an eye, but at some point, his face had gone pale, and in the next blink, he was off the ice, going around the barrier and standing two feet away from me, looking totally and completely stricken, like I’d stabbed him. “Jasmine,” he said my name slowly and in almost a hiss, for one of the rare times he didn’t call me Meatball. “Come on.”
I just looked at him. “No come on, Ivan. I hate the fact that I care what you think, okay? You don’t need to rub it in. I’m trying… to be friends with you,” I tried to make a joke, but it didn’t work when nothing about him changed even a little bit.
If anything, Ivan looked surprised. “Jasmine,” he repeated my name, his voice low and almost hoarse.
“I’m not doing it,” it was my turn to repeat. “Sorry. Nothing you say or do will get me to change my mind, so get out there, tiger, and get your part over with, so I can do mine. I’m sure everything will look fine, and if it doesn’t… sorry not sorry.” If I could tell him the other half of the truth, he would understand. I knew it.
But I didn’t.
Ivan though, didn’t get over there. He didn’t move. Didn’t look away. Ivan just stared down at me, his breathing even, the smooth skin between his pecs clearly visible in the V-shape of the robe he had on. Those blue eyes bounced all over my face, and I hated it. I hated the fact that I’d admitted I wasn’t about to strip down because of him, because I didn’t want to hear teasing later on about the shape of my barely B-cups or the shape and size of my ass or the million other things he could nitpick. Because there were a lot of them. I wasn’t perfect. I wasn’t my mom or Tali or Ruby.
“Meatball,” he said, still speaking slowly, still not moving. He struggled with a swallow. Struggled with his words, if the strange expression on his face said anything. “I’m just fucking with you when I make fun of you,” he claimed, watching me. “You know that, don’t you?”
I glanced away and nodded, barely suppressing the urge to roll my eyes. “Yeah, I know you’re fucking with me. I can handle it. Sometimes….” God, it pained me to tell him this, but fuck it. “Sometimes, you almost make me laugh. But I don’t want to do this with you naked. It feels too personal now. We’re too… close.”
I heard more than saw him exhale. But what I felt was him taking another step closer to me. “The only reason I give you so much shit is because you were a pain in the ass, and then you were the only one who dished it back to me. You know you’re beautiful.”
I snickered and rolled my eyes that time, because come the fuck on. Really? Now I knew he was trying too hard. Please. God. “If you think flattering me is going to convince me to do this, you don’t know me at all, Lukov.”
“Not Lukov. Ivan,” he replied easily, his tone so gentle, it made me uncomfortable, because that wasn’t what I wanted from him. Much less what I expected from him. “I’m sure you’re perfect under there.”
I snorted that time, because goddamn, he was laying the bullshit on thick to convince me. Jesus.
But he kept going. “I’m sure there’s nothing under your robe that wouldn’t give every man here a hard-on. Some of the women too, I bet.”
I side-eyed him using the h-word and shook myself out of it. He was full of shit. I knew that. He knew that. Even Coach Lee would have known that if she could hear him now. Who the hell did he think he was talking to? Someone who hadn’t known him for over a decade and been the focus of his petty, asshole comments that entire time? Now he was just pissing me off. “Would you shut up? I don’t need to hear you saying this, all right?” I snapped.
His hand touched my wrist, and by some miracle, I didn’t jerk it out of his reach. “I’m not just saying all this,” he said in a tone so quiet, so… I don’t know, tender or shit, that it made me uncomfortable. I didn’t think anyone had ever spoken to me like that before. Not even James, the nicest guy in the world. Ivan kept going. “I’m just giving you shit when I tell you that you haven’t gone through puberty. Come on,” he insisted, still using that voice that I didn’t know what to do with. What to think of. “I didn’t think you were that sensitive.”
I blinked. “I’m not that sensitive.”
“Jasmine,” he breathed out, wrapping his fingers around my wrist tightly but not painfully. That dark head of hair and that flawless face that might have had makeup but might have not, dipped closer to me as he asked, “What the hell is going on with you right now?”
“Nothing,” I insisted.
“You’re full of shit,” he claimed. “You know who you are and what you are. I’m not about to fucking tell you and blow up your ego even bigger than it already is, cut me some slack,” he almost barked out. “I want to do this shoot with you, not by myself. With you. As a team. It’ll be great for both of us coming into the season.”
“I know who I am and have a big ego, sure. Okay. Look, just go get it over with, and I’ll go after you. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I don’t feel like arguing right now.”
The second the two hands landed on my shoulders, I jumped, unexpectedly. And when his mouth lowered to where his lips hovered just over mine, I definitely didn’t move either. We were close seven hours a day, six days a week. There were no physical boundaries between each other because there couldn’t be.
But this…
This I didn’t know what to do with. I couldn’t think of the last time anyone had been this close to me.
“I’m being fucking serious,” he whispered with all the strength and determination in the world.
I couldn’t help but peek up at him, that’s how strong and demanding his tone was.
He was looking down at me with that fucking face, looking more serious than I’d ever seen before, even right before competing. “I’d never make fun of you.”
I frowned.
He shook my wrist, gently, covering the spot where my bracelet usually was. I’d taken it off and left it in my locker. “I wouldn’t when you’re naked,” he said to me. “And who would make fun of you without clothes on? I bet none of those men out there have ever seen legs and an ass that launch a person in the air like yours do.”
I wasn’t going to pick at that comment with a stick. Instead, I blinked at him. “Why are you looking at my ass?”
The corners of his pink-pink mouth tilted up the tiniest bit. “Because it’s there, in my face all day.”
I guess he had a point. It wasn’t like I didn’t look at his ass from time to time. Because it was there. “Then, don’t. Friends don’t look at each other’s butts.”
The way he rolled his eyes did something uncomfortable to my stomach. “Jasmine, this body—these thighs you think I’m going to make fun of you over, and this ass you think the same thing of—are going to win us first place from now on. I wouldn’t make fun of it. I wouldn’t make fun of you. We’ll do it like we always do. When we step out on the ice, it’s work. It’s us focusing, not fucking around.”
I held my breath, watching his features as I did it. “I don’t believe you.”
“That I won’t make fun of you?”
“Yes.”
There was a pause and then, “Do you want to see me naked first?”
I burst out laughing. Instantly. Without meaning to. It was the last thing I would have wanted to do. “No!”
And from the smirk he gave me, he knew it too. “You sure? I have a mole on my thigh that looks like Florida. Maybe you’ll find something to make fun of me over, but I don’t think so.”
I was still laughing, even though I didn’t want to—I really didn’t want to—as I glanced up at him and shook my head. “God, you’re a cocky asshole.”
His smile was small. “It’s the truth. You can look as hard as you want, and if you find something, go for it, but I work out all the time. I have about… seven percent body fat year round. Looking at myself in the mirror isn’t a hardship.”
I laughed even harder, but how could I not when he was being like this? This guy I didn’t know.
“You can make fun of me, but I would rather you didn’t, honestly. I don’t like when people say I’m skinny, because I’m not,” he said almost gently, and it was my turn to blink.
Who the hell would think this man was skinny? There wasn’t a single “skinny” thing about him. I’d seen him work out once, years ago. He’d been bench-pressing twice what I figured his body weight would be. Swimmers and runners had nothing on a body like Ivan’s. Absolutely nothing.
Not that I’d ever admit that shit.
The hand on my bare wrist gave it a shake. “Come on, Meatball. You and me. We’ll make everybody jealous with our work-of-art asses.”
Was this what friendship was like? What it was supposed to be? Him teasing me? Me talking shit back but doing it with a smile on my face? If it was…
If it was, I could do it. I thought. Maybe.
“I hate you,” I sighed, peeking at him again because I sucked.
Then he laid it on me real thick, those blue-blue eyes aimed right into my brown ones. “Do it for Paul then. So he can see it and regret he never got to do a naked photo shoot with you for TSN.” My wrist got another wiggle. “Or any photo shoot.”
And there he had me, proving he knew me better than I expected.
Because goddamn motherfucking Paul. Ugh. Ugh.
I didn’t want people jacking off to me. But if this was a chance to rub something epic into that asshole’s face… it would be worth it. Totally fucking worth it.
“There’s my Meatball,” he said in almost a whisper, his fingers loosening from around my wrist until they were slipping through mine, holding our hands together like we had done it a thousand times. Because we had. “We’re doing this, right? Together? I won’t make fun of you, but you can make fun of me a bit?”
I didn’t know who the hell was standing in front of me right then. This nice, funny, gentle guy. But I squeezed his hand in mine anyway and nodded. “Yeah, we’re doing this together,” I grumbled, knowing it was the right thing. Knowing maybe I’d regret some parts of it, but not all of it. At least not if he didn’t make a puberty joke.
“That’s what I thought,” he said, sounding almost cheery as he gave my hand a tug.
And then we were on the ice, in our robes, with makeup on and ready—at least me for sure—and Coach Lee and the photographer immediately stopped talking the second they spotted us skating toward them. She raised her thin, black eyebrows and asked hesitantly, “Did you change your mind?”
I nodded.
“I only want to do this if you’re comfortable,” the photographer said quickly. “We all have nothing but respect for you and your body, Jasmine. We can work on some angles if you keep your underwear on—”
I shook my head. “It’s fine.” I wasn’t about to say I hadn’t wanted to get naked because of Ivan. Much less because of strange assholes that had nothing better to do. Pathetic pieces of shit.
“You sure?” the photographer asked, not sounding at all like she would be put out if I said I wasn’t.
But I was. And I said that. “Yeah, I am.”
She shrugged. “Okay. Let’s start then, if you’re both ready.”
Ivan squeezed my hand—he hadn’t let it go—and said just loudly enough for me to hear, “I underestimated how cold it was, so you can’t make fun of… certain body parts if they’re trying to crawl back inside of me to protect themselves….”
I only barely held back a smirk as this feeling of being right covered my entire upper body. “I won’t make fun of Peter, if you don’t make fun of Mary and Maggie. Those two bitches aren’t hiding because it’s cold. They’ve been hiding,” I said, evenly.
He nodded, but his mouth tipped up a millimeter of an inch. “You know I’m expecting you to have three nipples now, right?”
I rolled my eyes. “And I’m expecting your winky to be an inch long. We’re even.”
Ivan made a face, his fingers tightening over mine. “Maybe an inch too long.” I groaned, but he kept going. “Let’s get this over with, yes?”
Neither one of us said anything as we let go of our hands and skated to where the two backdrops had been set up in the center of the rink, the lighting umbrellas on and ready to go. Coach Lee approached us, looking skeptical. “Ready?”
Ivan nodded, and I said, “Ready.” Because I was.
It would look good. It would make a point to people I shouldn’t have wanted to make a point to, but needed to. It would be worth the other shit.
With a deep breath that I wasn’t used to, I let it out and watched as the photographer went behind her camera, nodding at us in encouragement as her assistants got into position. “Whatever you want to do first, we can start there. Any lifts or stationary positions would be great though.”
Yeah. Apparently I wasn’t going to manage to avoid getting my crotch out of Ivan’s face, but there was a reason I waxed regularly.
We were about to get to know each other on a totally new level, I guessed. I could do it. Of course I fucking could. I was strong, smart, and I could do anything, just like my mom had always told me.
“Hand to hand lift?” I asked my partner—my Ivan—as my hands went to the knot at my robe and began undoing it.
“Sure,” he responded, almost too easily, his own hands in the same place mine were.
Either he was really trying hard to be nice to me or he was up to something. I wasn’t sure. But I doubted he’d do something fucked up in front of cameras, especially after that pep talk.
I thought.
“Whenever you’re ready,” the photographer called out.
Is it me or do the lights seem to be too bright? I asked myself. Everyone knew the camera added at least ten pounds, but with all these lights, I had a feeling it was going to feel more like twenty. Oh well. Let them judge. I had nothing to prove to people who didn’t matter or mean anything to me.
Standing in front of Ivan with my hands still on my robe, ready, I asked him, “You’re good to go?”
Already in the zone, he nodded.
It was time to party, I guess.
Undoing the knot at my waist, I got myself under control, scrounged up every ounce of my confidence and dignity and reminded myself that no body was perfect, and hopefully they’d Photoshop the shit out of anything that didn’t look right even though they probably wouldn’t since the issue was called The Anatomy Issue to begin with. But fuck it. If people wanted to point out a roll if I was bent over, go for it. I’d grown up around three of the most beautiful women in the world. I’d accepted a long time ago that I wasn’t one of them, and that was okay.
And then I took my robe off.
No one had said anything, but I’d put white cloth tape directly over my nipples, leaving the rest of me free. I mean, they couldn’t post pictures of me totally topless, so I hadn’t seen what the big deal would be. My bare butt and vagina, I couldn’t care less about. We’d all come out of one.
I could do this. I really could.
And then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the movement of another robe being taken off and handed over, a flash of skin and more skin, just a second before a hand was outstretched to take mine.
Time to get it over with, I thought to myself, and turned around to face Ivan for the first time, maybe, kind of, holding my breath. I raised my eyebrows up at him the second my eyes met his, hoping to God I hadn’t suddenly decided to start blushing for the first time in my life, because that would make this real humiliating.
“Fuck,” I heard Ivan mutter under his breath as I looked at his face… only to find that his eyes were squeezed closed.
“What?” I snapped.
“Nothing,” he snapped back immediately.
“What?” I insisted, trying to figure out why his skin had gotten even paler… and why he wasn’t looking at me.
“Nothing,” he replied, sounding just like the Ivan I knew: a pain in the ass. He shook his head and swallowed. “Let’s get this over with.”
“Get it over with?” I asked, not feeling at all insulted. Maybe he was the one regretting it now. Oh fucking well. “You’re the one who wanted to do it,” I reminded him.
“Well, I’m starting to think it was a shitty idea, so let’s get it done,” he muttered, eyes still closed.
“Prude,” I whispered, not getting why he wasn’t looking at my face at the very least. He was beginning to make me feel like there was something wrong with me.
So I looked at him. Because he was there.
And I suddenly began regretting doing this again.
Because Ivan’s body…
Fuck.
Maybe because I was an athlete—regardless of what other people stupidly thought—I could appreciate all the different forms male athletes held. I’d never been a big fan of male models with their perfectly sculpted tiny muscles that had to be worked on regularly, one at a time. I liked raw strength in all its shapes. I really did.
But Ivan’s in particular had been basically painted by a master. The caps of muscle at his shoulders were drawn by pen, the lean, rigid muscles of his forearms and biceps were strong. Then there were his firm pectorals, the flat abs with eight small square shapes at them. The detailed muscles at his hips from all his lifting, and the long, lines of muscle striations at his thighs and calves.
I didn’t need to look at his ass to know that it was high and tight.
And I’d be a fucking liar if I said I hadn’t glanced at his penis, but like me, he’d decided to cover something. That something was hidden by what looked like a nude-colored sock that covered his junk, leaving only trimmed hairs at his groin there.
I wasn’t going to bend down to see if I could see his balls.
I glanced all over Ivan again and barely held back a head shake. He was seriously a work of perfection. Honestly. Truly.
But I would die before I told him that, so I needed to stop thinking about it. We needed to get this shit over with.
“Come on then, shy boy, before your balls start receding back into your body too,” I told him.
That had him snapping his eyes open to glare at me, his face scrunched up. “Hopefully my hand doesn’t slip.”
“Hopefully I don’t lose my balance and my foot goes up your ass—”
“Okay! All right! Let’s start you two,” Coach Lee hollered, and I didn’t need to look at her to know she was shaking her head.
I blinked at Ivan, as I stood there fucking naked and said, “Come on, Socks. Let’s do this. Maybe we’ll end up on the cover.” And I felt zero nausea or worry as I said it.
