Desk Jockey Jam

“I like you, Bree.”

She shoved against him, because he was a dirty, rotten liar and he liked anything with tits. He let go and she was free, but he lost his balance and crashed forward, falling to his side. He sat back with his legs outstretched in front of him and looked up at her. “You make me see things differently. You make me want to be better.”

He had to be mocking her, but he wasn’t smiling any more. She skated around him, forcing him to turn his head left then right to follow her. “You want to be friends, even though there can’t be anything romantic in it.”

“Yeah.”

She took a run at him and jumped his legs. He flinched as she went over the top of him. “I don’t believe you.”

“How can I prove it?”

She lined herself up to jump him again. “You can’t. You’re a player.”

He said, “How does that stop us being friends?” as she jumped his knees. She circled him again, like a shark thinking of swimmer for dinner. “Being my friend entitles you to ridicule me mercilessly about my real and imaginary failings.”

She skated a precise figure eight. “I’ve done that already.”

“See you’ll fit right in.”

Freddy gave way to Jet’s Are You Gonna Be My Girl. Ant tried to get up and got no further than his hands and knees. She body checked his hip and shoved him over. “You know I came on to you.”

He rolled to his butt and leaned back on his hands, legs sprawled in front. “Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s true. I like boys.”

“I know.”

He was so smug. He had no idea how easy it would be to run over his hands and break his fingers. He had no idea how much she was fighting coming on to him again. “How can you know? You thought I liked kissing girls.”

“I figured it out.”

“Don’t make me laugh. You asked Toni.” Because that’s the only way he could know she was here too.

Ant lay down full length on the track, arms wide in a crucifix, a sacrificial shape. “Yep.”

Bugger Toni. It wasn’t the usual thing for a jammer to gun for her own pivot but there was always a first time.

Bree skated around to Ant’s feet. He lifted his head to watch her. “You did come on to me and you liked it.”

She opened her legs around his feet and skated up the outside of his body, till her wheels were level with his ribs. His hands came around to close over her boots, keeping her still. She looked down at him. He was conceited and like the Scissor Sister’s were singing, filthy gorgeous. She could keep being angry with him, but what was the point? It was pretend anger like her pretend lesbianism.

“I did.”

“So what are we going to do now?”

“I don’t know.” She shook her head. “We’re still colleagues.”

He pushed her feet backwards and she thumped down on her knees, straddling his hips, her hands coming to his shoulders. “That’s not a real barrier. How do I know you’re not pretending to like blokes?”

She pushed off his shoulders so she was sitting upright. “You want proof?”

“Something I can analyse.”

She leaned over him and grabbed his chin. Duffy started singing Mercy. He wouldn’t be getting any of that. Over her head she heard the rip of velcro as he got rid of his wrist guards. Then his hands came down on her hips and he pressed her against him. He wasn’t looking for kindness. “Don’t start something you don’t mean to finish, Kitty.”

She traced a finger around his lip and he exhaled with a grunt. Then she sat back upright, her own breath coming sharp and short, and ripped her wrist guards off. She wanted to feel him, have her hands in his hair, touch his bronzed skin and grip the muscled strength in him. He had one hand splayed across her backside, the other roamed her hip, spreading heat, a firestorm in her limbs.

She could still stop this. She could be on her feet and half way across the room before he knew she’d moved. And he couldn’t chase her, but that’s what he’d already done. She’d tried to get rid of him, but he bounced back and now he was waiting to see what she’d do next. Waiting for her to make the decision.