Jitters

Stress threatened to eat Tristan's nerves when he passed the ticket booth. Fortunately, the sales lady didn't know him, contrary to Charlotte – his skating coach – who was sure to be present. "Hell, I wouldn't miss it for all the world", she had told him last week. The little woman had driven the teacher so harshly, like a Russian trainer, only "to reach perfection because you can". She saw potential in, and Tristan had trouble hiding the bruises in the first weeks. Tonight was now the home run … the last stretch. The outcome of it all.

Frances was lacing her skates, as gorgeous than ever. Slight make up, reddish ringlets falling freely except for a tiny braid at the top of her head, a stretch t-shirt crossed over her plump breasts, long flowing skirt that was sure to give the best of effects when he would drag her in their dance… The only issue was that she didn't know, yet, what awaited her this evening.

Tristan had been sneaky enough. She wasn't expecting it, and his heart was already beating a hundred times too fast. Her little hand caressed his cheek before she slid her thin gloves on.

— "Are you all right, my love?"

Tristan forced a smile, chasing the nervousness away. How hard could it be, really? It couldn't be worse than a first day teaching a difficult class, right?

— "Weary about skating again?"

This time, the tall man couldn't help the smile that bloomed upon his face. She was in for a surprise, the little fairy! She'd witnessed that he could hold his own on skates; meaning circling the rink without falling… How would she react to the efforts of the past months? To his newfound skills, only so that they could dance together? Tristan tied up the last piece of his skates, chuckling to himself.

Intrigued, Frances stood and circled Tristan's shoulders with her arms. My nose landed just in the right place, and he took a sniff of her collarbone. The young woman wiggled in his grasp, laying her light stole over them both to hide from prying eyes. Tristan mused that the scarf would go soon, once she had warmed up. So would his sweatshirt, revealing the dark red underneath. The Mao collar ensured it remained hidden until the very last moment; it would become his favourite, or be burnt as soon as he set foot outside the skating rink.

It all depended on her, really.

Everything depended on her those days.

Tristan stood, pushing Frances a step back to capture her lips, a chaste kiss that lingered for a moment. The soothing motion of her mouth caressing settled his heartbeat a little, and he took her bag to give it away at the counter. Tristan's eyes landed on the clock. 8:37 pm, which gave him a rough hour to get himself together. An hour to man up. A shiver ran through the teacher's spine; Frances' hand immediately landed upon it, caressing the sweater in a soothing move.

— "Cold?"

Tristan nodded; this was the best excuse.

— "Come, let's warm up. The rink is pretty deserted at the moment."

The tall man followed, watching as she almost bounced on the ice and started skating right away. Still ethereal, so beautiful, like a fairy dancing upon a frozen lake. He, on the other hand, kept his steps uneven and movements much clumsier. It wouldn't do for her to guess how proficient he had suddenly become. It was surprisingly difficult to feign when muscle memory had now replaced inexperience.

Little by little, the rink filled up, and the couple started having trouble skating hand in hand. Frances turned around, gliding backwards for a moment to press closer.

Tristan's jitters weren't abating, and the clock moved way too fast. 9.24. The hour of truth was coming, and doubt nagging at him. So many months, working towards this goal, only to retreat? No. He wasn't such a coward. But what if? What if Frances didn't appreciate the attention? No, she was a performer. She knew how to handle others' opinions. What if he fell? Worse, what if he caused her to fall? What if the pressure …? Tristan's chest tightened uncomfortably.

No, he couldn't think about that.

Ugh!

— "You look distracted, mon amour. Do you want us to go?"

Frances' voice called him out of his anxious thoughts. So he gathered her in his arms, and kissed her thoroughly. The feeling of her body against his harder one quelled the fears. Her lips tasted like heaven, and her little fingers gently caressed his cheek.

— "No. Let's stay half an hour more."

Half an hour. In half an hour, all of this would be over, for the best or the worst. Tristan understood, now, how she had felt when two years of her life were crushed by the cruelty of that examinator. Those five little point that had prevented her from making it in the school she wanted. But hell… he should have more confidence. This wasn't a test after all, and he wasn't a blumbering twenty years old fool.

So Tristan resumed their rounds, and laughed, and talked gently until the clock read 9.45. Then, he stopped by the side and took a deep breath.

— "I'll drop my sweater at the counter. Do you want me to take your scarf?"

— "Why not? But I'll go with you."

His heart leapt in fright.

— "No, don't bother. I'll get to the restroom as well."

— "Oh, OK"

And Frances handed her scarf, assorted with a kiss for good measure. Tristan smirked; she never let him out of her sight without kissing him first. It was some sort of ritual for her, a good luck token. How he needed it right now ! Where was a four leaf clover when you needed one ?

As soon as Tristan was lost in the crowd, he skated quickly away, nearly jumping on the side rubber tiles. Running to the counter to drop his sweater and Frances' scarf, he came face to face with Charlotte. The diminutive woman's arms were crossed, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief.

— "I've seen her. Good choice, Tristan. You look good together"

His breath was already short and he just nodded stiffly; looking good as a couple didn't mean the same for him as for a skating trainer. She only saw the potential when his heart was otherwise engaged. Charlotte chuckled, and Tristan felt like strangling her … again.

— "Chill, boy. You're going to pass out before it even starts. Come and sit"

Boy ! Thirty five, hardly a boy ! But he certainly felt like it. Wobbly legs sunk on a bench, and the coach gave him a few last-minute instructions as she massaged his trapezius muscles. Ouch, was he really that tense ? What if …?

— "Remember to use inside turns rather than outside, you always mess them up, and keep your shoulders down."

— "Yeah, yeah"

The little woman slapped his upper arm energetically.

— "Hey. I'm the trainer, don't 'yeah, yeah' me else you'll fall flat on your face. I doubt your girl will be happy with this evening finishing in the emergency room."

Her words caused Tristan to deflate; she wasn't helping his nerves to settle.

— "Thanks for the vote of confidence"

The sarcastic remark caused her to press on his shoulder and catch his gaze.

— "Don't doubt, Tristan. You're an amazing dancer, and it shows on the ice. As for the rest, it is out of my hands."

Tristan nodded again. It was time.