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…