Mariana Zapata

"Ivan," I told him, sounding calmer than I flet, barely realizing he had put on his skates before coming out to hunt me down. He was skating toward the boards, and O didn't know where we were going. "Ivan, put me down right now, or I'm going to kick you in the face and not feel bad about it."
"Meatball," he said, just as calmly and quietly as I had been talking. "I'd like to see you try," the asshole claimed, mirroring my words right back at me just as what had to be his forearm locked down over my calves, holding against hischest before I did what he figured I was capable of.
And he would be right.