Kiss and Cry

At my heels, he was still talking. “Ivan said—”

Concentrating on the blood rushing in my ears, I ignored him, blocking out everything but winning. We took turns overtaking, and I was calculating the distance remaining as the trail looped back toward the starting point so I could expend the correct amount of energy to win when he disappeared from my peripheral vision.

If he’d made a noise when he tripped, I hadn’t heard it over the roar of my pulse. Still running, I turned to find him sprawled on his stomach in the wet dirt. I was on higher ground, and my shoes slipped in the mud, adrenaline spiking as I threw out my arms to stay balanced.

Stopped now, I watched and waited. Not moving, he’d surely knocked the wind out of his lungs. I didn’t see how he could have hit his head, but after a few seconds, adrenaline spiked again. I took a step closer.

He wasn’t really hurt.

Was he?

I took another step down the slope. The drizzle was a light rain now, and the ground had to be freezing. Granted, we were used to the cold, but…

Was he actually injured?

His shoulders shook, and for a terrible instant I thought he was crying. Sympathy flared, and my rubber soles dug into the mud as I inched closer.

With a groan, he rolled over, looking at me upside-down, his perfect teeth flashing into that irksome smile as he continued laughing. “Even the Russian judge would give me positive GOE on that landing.”

Strange relief gave way to stabbing irritation. He was fine, yet of course he was making a big production as usual. Not to mention bragging about his inflated grades of execution.

He rubbed his chest, still laughing. The muddy white T-shirt had rucked up over his stomach, and my eyes were drawn to the damp strip of pale skin.

“Oh, come on. Are you actually a robot? Don’t tell me this isn’t funny! That was an epic splat.”

As I imagined running my fingertips over his exposed belly, he held up his hand in a wordless request for assistance. With a sigh, I walked several steps down until I was by his feet and took his hand—and he yanked me down into the mud.

On top of him.

Because of course he did. As he laughed, I braced myself on his chest with my free hand, my shoes slipping as I tried to find purchase. Our legs were tangled, my fingers dug into his pectorals, and it wasn’t funny.

Especially when Ga-young and Julien appeared over the rise on their way up the hill. She was a medalist in South Korea, but at fourteen she was still too young to compete internationally as a senior. Her eyes were wide as she gaped. Beside her, Julien laughed, sweat glistening on his brown skin.

He called out something in French that I thought was the equivalent of “get a room,” and I shoved to my feet, face burning. Theodore was still laughing, and Ga-young pressed her lips together, clearly trying not to giggle.

Seething, I powered up the rest of the hill with burning lungs, mud splashed all over my black pants. He was ridiculous! Such a childish trick to pull me into the mud. Right on top of him. Why did he insist on being so, so—

To my horror, I realized I was half hard. Gritting my teeth, I bit back a growl. No matter how much he smiled at me, no matter how tight and see-through his T-shirts were against his enticing body, I would not be taken in.

Like the flash of a camera going off, I remembered the first and last time I’d trusted an easy smile and pretty face. Cresting the hill, I sped back toward the slick road and red taillights passing by, beating Theodore Sullivan soundly even if he wasn’t racing me anymore.

Chapter Four

Theo

It was bound to happen sooner or later, and apparently today was the day.

The elevator door slid open at the eighth floor, and Henry stepped on. Well, he half stepped on, stopping dead and staring at me like I was a ghost, and this was some horror movie. The guy hated me, but come on. I wasn’t that bad.

“Hey!” I gave him a little wave. “I guess we’re neighbors.”

He blinked, so at least he hadn’t been magically frozen into stone with the shock of it all. Manon’s assistant had mentioned Henry lived in this condo too, and that Ivan had until he moved in with a girl he met.

The door bounced back open. Henry hadn’t moved, and the door tried again valiantly to close and do its elevator duty. After two more denials, an angry beep sounded. I tugged Henry inside by the dangling strings of his hoodie.

“So you’re on eight, huh?” I said, stating the obvious. “I’m on eleven. The building seems nice enough. You like it here?”