Carvings in the Ice

5-3.
Jonathan sat at the bar and traced the watery lines his glass made on the counter. He shouldn't be feeling this way, not now, but he did. 5-3. Two goals. Two goals that counted for so much when it came to the American team. They should have won this.
He closed his eyes and tried to let the music push the score out of his head. But it still lingered, pulsing with each throb of the bassline. 5-3. 5-3. 5-3. Why the fuck did he care so much? Was it pride? Ego? Whatever it was, it needed to go.
A hand clapped his shoulder, and he looked up to see Pat there. "Hey, good game, man," he yelled into Jon's ear. "Sorry, but I'm sure you'll have a chance to make it up to us and shit."
He nodded, cringing at how loudly his friend was yelling, even with the roar of the music around them. "Good game."
"Anna's here, by the way." Pat was grinning. "She's with one of her friends."
Jonathan couldn't help it- he found himself looking where Pat was pointing, in a corner, where Anna stood next to some guy he vaguely recognized as another figure skater like her. She looked gorgeous and bored, nodding at what the guy was saying but not applying herself to the conversation. "Just go for it already," Pat yelled at him.
"She looks busy."
"Naw, man. That's just a freaking figure skater, dude. You're the real shit." Pat winked, clapping his back once more before nodding to some of his US teammates and walking over to them.
Jesus. As if that were so easy. For all Jon knew, she hated him. But it was a club, and things were different in a dark, smoky room with music blaring. Things were very different.
He downed his drink and stood up, then realized she was already walking toward him.

Annabelle couldn't take it anymore.
Evan was being sweet, kind, attempting to be funny, but it wasn't enough. She couldn't find enough in herself to pay attention. Then she saw a bonafide opportunity- Jonathan, sitting at the bar hunched over a half-empty glass while Pat talked to him. "Hey, can I catch up with you later? I kind of just saw someone I have to talk to," she told Evan.
"Oh, did you? I'm sorry... sure, yeah, go ahead," he replied, looking crestfallen. Anna's stomach turned a bit at how rude she was being, but it was better this way... honestly, she told herself, smiling apologetically and making her way to the bar. Jonathan was standing, apparently ready to walk over to her. His eyes widened at the sight of her closing in. "Hey," he said a little shakily.
"Hi. Can we talk?"
"Here?" He looked around uncertainly.
"Well, yeah, I mean... I just wanted to say I'm sorry. That's all. I shouldn't have been so rude."
He nodded, brown eyes thoughtful.
"See... I... I guess I don't trust people that well. I always think they have a personal agenda, you know, a type of motive that hurts me in the end, and... ugh. I'm sorry, I'm making this about me-"
"You don't have to apologize, Annabelle," he told her. "It's okay. I understand. It happens. Now..." He smiled, feeling a bit braver now that she wasn't staring daggers at him. "Now, you gonna dance with me or what?"
She laughed, throwing her head back. Her waves fell off of her shoulders, exposing the creamy skin at her throat. "Don't you think we should have at least one more drink before that happens?"
"Why? You think I can't move?"
"Can any hockey player move? I've seen Pat, remember? It's not exactly what I call graceful," she replied.
"Hey, that's not fair," he laughed, following her as she walked to the stairs leading down to the dance floor. "I'm really not bad. You should see-"
"See?" She turned suddenly, taking hold of his shirt collar and pulling him down the short staircase. "I'm willing to find out for myself."
The look in her eyes was brazen, sexy, intense, and Jonathan found himself irrevocably hooked. They fell silent, letting the music take over where they chose to leave off. It was funny at first- a little shy, awkward, each of them finding the rhythm a different way. But soon they were on the same page, and before he knew it he was reaching for her, cupping his hands around her hips. Her hands were meeting around his neck. He could feel her movements, smooth and sensual, her body pressing closer to him, until they met.
Annabelle couldn't believe herself. She hadn't even had a full conversation with this guy- and yet she was dancing with him, dancing like she hadn't danced with someone in a long time. She could feel the muscles in his shoulders, taut and tense, under his shirt. His breath brushed her shoulder in uneven bursts, his brown eyes fluttering closed as she pressed against him, matching the rocking of his hips to hers. She pulled in tighter, swearing she heard the whisper of a groan as he responded. She bit her lip, her body flushing cold and hot at the same time. She shouldn't be enjoying this, but... she was. He was a good dancer, he wasn't lying- and good-looking, and funny, and he smelled so good as she held him close to her...
She turned, placing a hand on the back of his neck. Her other crept onto his, holding it where it rested on the flat of her stomach. It was wrong, she knew, something her mother would kill her for a couple of years ago- but it was exciting, too, the way she knew he was getting excited, how she herself could no longer really control the heat that pulsed through every inch of her body, Jonathan's lips against her hair... her ear... her neck...his hand slowly moving down...
"Wait."
Annabelle's eyes flew open, her heart leaping up into her throat. She half expected the music to come to a whirring stop, everyone to cease dancing and look at her in question. She wasn't moving anymore; Jonathan asked, "What's wrong?"
"I... we... I can't. I can't do this." She turned to face him, nearly stumbling. Her face was heating up.
"Do what? Anna, we were just dancing," he began, lips contorting into a confused smile. "I-"
"No, we can't. I'm sorry."
She pushed her way blindly through the surging crowd and got to the door, banging it open and walking into the crisp, cool Vancouver night. Jonathan watched her back with every step, eyes shifting only when he noticed the guy she'd been talking with earlier staring at him, hostility written all over his face. He followed Anna out. Jonathan hesitated, then decided enough was enough. He fought his way to the door and after her.