That had been desire blazing from beneath his thick lashes. If I kissed him? Maybe he wouldn’t be so horrified after all. Maybe he wanted me too. But I didn’t want to ruin everything by leaning over to test my hunch.
Stomach full, I slouched against the pillows, getting lower and lower. I’m not sure when I fell asleep, strangely lulled by the fight scene sound effects, but it was the middle of the night when I woke.
The sheets and soft blanket were tucked around me, and I blinked at the murmuring TV, set to BBC and showing some cooking show, the woman stirring a pot at a huge gas range barely audible.
Most comforting of all was that Henry hadn’t left me alone.
I blinked at his curled outline in the blue light from the TV, his lips slack. He was under the covers too, and I was officially in bed with Henry Sakaguchi. And funnily enough, the earlier lust didn’t return. All I wanted to do was cuddle close and feel the whispers of his breath on my skin.
Afraid I’d wake him, I didn’t move a muscle, watching the curve of his cheek and dark fan of eyelashes in the flickering light, his eyes moving in a dream I hoped was about me.
Chapter Nine
Theo
One wheel on my suitcase was out of whack, and I yanked it back just in time to avoid a collision with the woman beside me. Customs forms in hand, we filed slowly through the exit from baggage claim, giving our pieces of paper to officials and praying we wouldn’t be pulled aside for inspection.
For me, it wasn’t because I was carrying anything I’d get into trouble for—though I’d said I wasn’t bringing in any food to Canada, and there was a Butterfinger and a half-eaten bag of Doritos in my little carry-on backpack. I just hadn’t been hungry on the flight to eat them.
I’d flown from Torino to LA for Mr. Webber’s funeral, and now I was back in Toronto for the last week of training before the rink shut down for Christmas.
It was closed completely that one day, and the next was a weird holiday called Boxing Day. The rink was open for public skating since Manon and Bill and the whole team took it off before we went back to training the twenty-seventh.
In a non-Olympic year, they’d probably take the whole Christmas-New Year’s week off, but every day counted with our Nationals in mid-January, a couple of weeks earlier than usual. Every day counted for me especially since I’d taken time off for the funeral.
I shuffled forward in the line, peeking at my phone even though there were signs saying not to. Plenty of other people were ignoring that rule too. The screen filled with texts from my mom, because what else was new? She’d been dead set against me going to the funeral, but obviously I’d ignored her.
It was a few days of training, and I’d be fine. It was good to get some California sun and catch up with Em and my friends from the rink in LA. I’d even managed to get through the funeral without crying. Apparently I’d wept so much on Henry’s shoulder in Torino that I was all out of tears.
I held my breath as I scanned my texts, but nope. Nothing from Henry. It was seven p.m. Toronto time, and he’d be home with Esmeralda after a long day of training. Why would he be texting me? I’d wanted to text him a million times since I’d left Italy, but I’d only typed them out and never sent them.
I’d bothered Henry enough. Hell, coming to train at his rink in the Olympic season was a lot. Leaning on him emotionally while I came apart at the seams in Torino had been even more.
Still, I’d sent him a message from LAX saying I was on my way back and asking if I could get a ride tomorrow. I reread his reply now.
Yes.
Obviously it was dumb for me to keep looking at that one word like I could decipher some hidden meaning. I’d asked a question, and he’d responded. The end. Sure, I’d blubbered all over him, and he’d been sweet and kind and we’d slept together—but not like that.
It didn’t mean anything had changed. I was his rival for gold, and I’d just beaten him again in Italy. He’d been far, far kinder than most people would be.
What was I even expecting?
The customs guy took my form and marked it with a line before telling me I was free to go. I hurried through the automatic frosted glass doors that sprang open to reveal clumps of people waiting for passengers.
One family had a bunch of helium balloons and flowers. There were drivers holding passenger names on cardboard signs, but I was just going to call a Lyft and—