“It was nice reading about people more miserable than me.” He finishes cleaning up his hands before facing me. “And… it’s still your favorite book.”
Now not having to worry about smearing blood around he rubs the back of his neck. “Look, Roderick, yes, I want you to win. Yes, you being at the top of your game is a turn-on.” He tilts his head, timid. “If it weren’t for the rink, maybe it would have been easier to ignore you on campus…”
My conversation with Alex comes flooding back. Who am I without figure skating? Who is Christos without hockey?
Except, I know exactly who he is. He’s the kind of guy who takes up birdwatching and likes to try new recipes. He’s thoughtful. He’ll read 500 pages of Russian literature for a guy he likes. He’s also a pushover and more anxious than he lets on. I could have figured all this out and still let him open up about the team. Offered him a shoulder to cry on when they suffered losses. Celebrated his wins. Commiserated about how being at the top mostly means staring down eventual failure.
He continues, “you don’t need to be the best for me to—” He stops short like he’s just remembered something important. “For me tocareabout you.”
There’s so much weight in that four letter word.
It’s never mattered to me if Christos is the best coach in the league but… maybe it should. It’s what he wants, and in that context, suddenly the Dingbats matter a lot more. Alex was right. I’m not really me without figure skating. I’d wanted him to know me better but denied him—denied thebothof us, a huge portion of our lives.
I don’t realize my feet are moving till I’m in his space, reaching for his face.
With a nervous laugh he takes hold of my wrist. “Hey—windows.”
Practice is still underway downstairs. My hand drops to my side. “I hate that I can’t kiss you right now,” I grumble. “I hate the secrecy…”
He sighs, “That’s the one thing we can’t fix. If keeping this under wraps is too much for you—”
“Christos—”
He holds up a hand. “We can wait till you’ve graduated.”
“That’s over a year away!”
“You’re worth the wait.” It’s such a sweet sentiment, he just has to follow it up with something crude. “Plus you’ll be going to the Olympic Village soon. I wouldn’t want to hinder that.”
I frown. “Are you seriously telling me to go cruising in Milan?”
“I’ve always thought the curling team would give good handjobs.” He wraps his hand around an invisible broom and jerks it back and forth. “They got the motion down.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re not going to convince me. Plus, we tried the whole ignoring our feelings thing already. Remember?”
“I know. But are you going to be happy if we keep this up?”
“Maybe!”
He holds my shoulders, and for the first time I see the coach in him. “Think about it. Then we can talk about what comes next.”
His massive fingertips dig into the muscles in my back, forcing myself to confront the tension I’ve been holding there for who knows how long. Maybe since Nationals, or our fight, or maybe since I let slip that first white lie to keep our relationship a secret.
One hand lets go, and at first I think he’s going to brush my bangs from my face, but he presses his thumb right on my hairline. “I’d kiss you right here…”
The pain on his face is unbearable. Maybe I can’t do this. Which is worse, a year apart or a year of moments like this? Of being so close to each other and aching to be closer, but having to resist to protect our reputations?
“I’ll think about it.” I step back, a strange sort of relief washing over me once our connection is broken.
“Right… Well.” He takes a deep breath and puts his hands on his hips. “I better get back down there. Gotta talk things out with Terrence and Distel.”
“You’re not going to suspend him?”
Christos snorts, but there is no joy in his words. “Oh, he’s suspended. Might suspend Distel too, depending on what he said that got Terrence all riled up.”
“I don’t envy you.”
“I don’t envy you either.”