Kiss and Cry

Though I’d met them before, it still gave me a thrill to see them together right in front of me. I’d kept a tab with their wedding photos open on my phone for longer than I should have.

“Hey, congrats on the book trilogy. Is it going to be translated into English?” Theodore asked. “I love fantasy stuff with dragons and all that.”

“I hope so,” Misha answered. “Spasibo.” He slipped his arm around Dev. “There is time to return to the hotel, yes? I need some quiet.”

Dev gave him a little smile. “Yes.” To Theodore and me, he said, “Good luck tonight, guys. Glad to see you’re not at each other’s throats. Honestly pretty surprised.”

Theodore laughed. “Well, Henry hates me, but I’m wearing him down with my irresistible wit and charm. Enjoy the quiet!”

I wanted to argue that I didn’t hate him. The denial was like a whirlwind inside me, a confusion of emotions and words, but Dev and Misha were already walking away.

A new truth settled through me, squeezing into nooks and crannies.

I didn’t hate Theodore Sullivan. Not anymore.

His breath tickled the shell of my ear, and I shivered as he whispered, “They are relationship goals. You know ‘quiet’ was code for sex.”

I followed his gaze to where Dev and Misha had stopped to talk to a journalist, their arms around each other’s waists. They were so comfortable and affectionate with each other even though they’d started as bitter rivals.

Theodore moaned softly. “Oh my god, can you imagine them fucking? So. Hot. I heard they had secret hookups in the Athletes’ Village at the Olympics.”

Yes, I could certainly imagine Dev and Misha together in the most intimate ways. But with Theo’s warm exhalations on my skin, his body leaning close, I could imagine far, far too much. I could imagine Theodore saying other things in my ear.

Filthy things.

Desire coiled in my belly, blood rushing south and threatening to expose me. We were standing backstage at the Grand Prix Final, and there was Kuznetzov and his coach, and were they looking at us?

Everyone was looking at us. What was I doing? How had I allowed this distraction?

I jerked away and fished my noise-canceling headphones from my bag. “Time to prepare.”

He was my rival. My enemy. I had to focus. I had to go back to ignoring him. It didn’t matter if Theodore wasn’t the villain I’d always relished imagining him to be. He’d gotten under my skin for years as a competitor, and I couldn’t allow him to get to me now with his kindness and dimples and whispers.

Theodore sighed. “Yep, I guess so. Okay, see you later. May the best man win, right?”

Not responding, I turned on the soundtrack to the Hunchback of Notre Dame, which I listened to before every competitive performance. I had to start my pre-skate routine. I shouldn’t have gotten distracted.

Theodore was saying something else, but I couldn’t hear him. I sat back down, closing my eyes and beginning my visualization of my program.

It was one thing not to hate Theodore Sullivan. But I still wanted to win.

Chapter Eight

Theo

The crowd cheered, clapping along with the Rolling Stones as I gave it my all through the footwork. My quads burned with lactic acid, my lungs strained, but I gave the audience all the face I could, smiling and winking and feeding off their energy.

I’d pulled it off. It was good enough at least for silver. I’d tensed going into the Sal today, but I’d muscled it out and managed to let go and just feel the music and the crowd.

I swiveled my hips into my final pose, and they were on their feet. It was always a great feeling, and I finally let myself think about Mr. Webber while I took my bows with a grin.

Hopefully I’d made him proud.

I helped the flower girls pick up some stuffed toys, waving to the crowd as I made my way to the Kiss and Cry. From the corner of my eye, Henry shot out onto the ice through another door in the boards. Manon was there watching as he did a few warm-up laps while I got my scores. Coaches with multiple skaters at events typically split up so no skater or team was alone at any time.

Bill waited for me by the gate, applauding with the US federation rep beaming beside him. I hugged them and soaked up the praise, putting on my skate guards and team jacket before we sat with the cameras ready to catch every reaction.

We watched the replays, which finished with a slo-mo hip swivel. I joked, “Sexy!” and the audience read my lips and laughed, cheering even harder as the judges tabulated.

The stronger the crowd reaction, the higher marks tended to be, and yep—a new world record flashed up on the scoreboard. I pumped my fist, and the crowd thundered.