Carvings in the Ice

"You did NOT."
"I did."
"NO WAY. OH MY GOD."
"Be a little louder, though, please, I don't think the people down at the other end of the Village heard you."
Johnny grinned. "Sorry, love. But... oh my good-nessssss. Who'd have thought my little shrinking violet would have it in her..."
"You make it sound like I'm a loser." Annabelle pulled her hair back and studied her face in the mirror. Her makeup was perfect, no line smudged, everything in place. She let her hair drop. It curled loosely past her shoulder blades. She was flawless... and she hoped that would translate onto the ice.
"Giiirrll," Johnny purred over her shoulder. "He is going to faint."
"I told you... he won't be here."
"Why, because you fucked? Oh, come on. You weren't that bad, were you?"
"NO. Just-"
She turned to face him. "Anna, breathe, babe. You can't be tight going out there. You'll fall on your face in your first stride," he told her, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Okay, so he's shut you out. So he hasn't texted you. So he finally calls you after so long and you don't answer, because you're pissed, and all this random bullshit that people in high school do."
Anna blinked at him. "Is this supposed to be helping me?"
"The point is," he went on, ignoring her, "he has it bad for you in some kind of way if he's going to be out there, in those stands, tonight."
"He won't be, though, so-"
"He WILL be, and you WILL win, and he WILL be giving you some more of that ass. That is a glorious ass, by the way," he added, eyes misting over. "What the hell do hockey players do that makes it that big and-"
"Enough." She was smiling now, albeit sadly. "I need to go."

"Représentant les États-Unis d'Amérique... Representing the United States of America... Annabelle Landon."
Patrick clapped and started to whoop until he saw an older gentleman staring him down from over the tops of his glasses. He shrugged in apology and shut up. God, old people have sticks up their asses, he thought.
"She's great, isn't she?" a voice sounded from his right. He turned to see a tall, handsome young man with dark hair.
"Yeah. Yeah, she's amazing. I'm a friend of hers, actually."
"Oh, really?" the guy asked, almost laughing. At me? Bitch, I will kick your ass until you're my height.
"Yeah. We met in Michigan. I was playing hockey, she was skating. We hit it off really well."
"I see. So you're her hockey player paramour now?"
"Huh?" Patrick blinked. Suddenly, it hit him who this was. He thought he'd looked familiar- the guy from the club when Jon and Anna had first hooked up, the figure skater who'd been in a pissy mood once he saw her walk away. "Oh, no, man, you must have me confused, he's..."
Quickly, he scanned the section he was in. He'd texted Jon earlier to ask if he would be there for Anna tonight, and Jon had been less than forthcoming. Pat had wondered briefly if there had been a fight, but then he'd gotten a text from one of the cuties on the ice dancing team and forgotten all about it. Now he wondered if he'd gotten it right after all...
He looked onto the ice, feeling the guy skater's eyes on him, and saw Annabelle readying for her music. He saw the look on her face and knew she'd been searching, subtly, in the stands for a sign of him, and when her music began, he knew just as well as she did.
Jonathan wasn't there.