“You sure you’re okay?” he asks, genuinely worried.
Not in the slightest. Unencumbered by heavy outerwear, I pull him backward into the bathroom. We don’t even make it to a stall. I press him up against the sink, hands sliding under his T-shirt. His body is hot and it only takes a second before he’s wrapping his legs around my hips and?—
A toilet flushes. We freeze. Austin barely has a second to get his feet back on the ground before the second stall door opens and a tall blond man who I think is from the German snowboard team emerges. He gives us both a confused glance and I realize we’re blocking the sink. We step out of the way and he washes his hands before wordlessly exiting the bathroom.
Fuck. I’m going to have to wait a few more minutes.
“Upstairs,” I say.
“But we’re supposed to—” Austin starts, but I don’t care. Whatever other meeting he has with a doctor, therapist, or publicist can wait.
Except as the elevator doors open, we’re met with Tara’s potent scowl and ever-flawless eyeliner.
“Outside. Ten minutes. Don’t forget.” She steps between us as she exits the elevator.
This time my whine isn’t so quiet. “But why?”
She might as well shoot laser beams from her eyes as she whirls. I duck behind Austin, ready to sacrifice my one true love in the face of her wrath.
“Apex is here. The whole team needs to be ready to go at three. It was on the schedule.”
God fucking dammit. How do they manage to jam so many things into a single day?
The reps from Apex are here to do a final check on our race suits for competition. The process is tedious, because after the fittings comes the photos, and while it’s not as elaborate as that photoshoot in Maine, somehow nearly three hours have still passed by the time I’m back in the elevator with Austin. My whole body feels infested with a thousand tiny ants, crawling over every inch of my insides. If I don’t get to touch him,reallytouch him, in the next ten minutes, I’m going to turn to slush.
So of course, as I swing the door to my room open and shove Austin inside, Matthieu is coming out of the bathroom. Wasn’t he at the fitting? His hair is wet like he’s recently showered, and he’s dressed like he’s going somewhere, in clean pants and a black half-zip.
“What are you doing here? How did you get back so fast?” I was hoping if we hurried, we’d have a few minutes alone before my very much unwelcome roommate made it back. Isn’the supposed to be like a hundred years old by now? Shouldn’t he have a bad knee that keeps him from moving too quickly? Any old sentiment about Matthieu’s greatness as a competitor vanishes with the realization my veteran roommate is a massive cockblock and doesn’t even know it.
Matthieu’s eyes narrow and dart between the two of us. Then he says seven words that make my heart drop.
“You’re coming to the team dinner, right?”
Fuuuuck. Why? Why would they schedule one of those for tonight?
“Austin’s not—I can’t—I have to—” I think I’m trying to tell him that Austin has some cryptic pain. A lingering something or other from his injuries that precludes dinner but will mysteriously be better by morning. And of course, I have to stay behind because clearly I am the only one who can take care of him.
Austin squeezes my hand and the silent consolation makes me want to cry.
“I’m going to take a quick shower,” he says.
So we go to the ridiculous team dinner. It’s at a local restaurant up the hill from our hotel. The whole team—ski, snowboard, support staff—gathers around long tables pushed together. There are no menus, and someone’s clearly talked to the kitchen, because while the food is all rustic Italian, it’s obviously been put together in consultation with our nutrition team. Steamed vegetables, trout with herbs and lemon, or veal that isn’t drowning under inches of cheese and heavy tomato sauce. People take photos, post them on Instagram.
I taste none of it.
Somehow, Austin and I get seated across from each other, when clearly he should be beside me. He spends the night chatting with a couple of skiers from the women’s team. I sit between Matthieu and Kage.
“Cedric?” Kage says at one point, though the way he taps my shoulder indicates maybe he’s said my name a few times and I didn’t hear him.
“What?” I ask, not meaning to be quite so stern, but Austin’s laughing at something Marissa, who’s sitting next to him, said, and even this moment of inattention makes me want him more. We’ve been apart for months, and every second the separation continues now is agony.
“Can you pass the bread?” Kage asks, though he might as well be speaking Lithuanian, because none of the words register.
Matthieu huffs on my other side, passing the basket of thickly sliced multigrain bread across my field of vision towards Kage. I duck, trying not to lose my line of sight with Austin.
“Should I find somewhere else to sleep tonight?” Matthieu asks. His mouth is so close to my ear that the words make me gasp and jump, finally breaking my concentration. I turn toward him, the protest already forming on my lips because I’m expecting him to be teasing. For there to be a turn to his lips. But his expression is all seriousness. He’s not joking. He’s offering.
I have to take a sip of the dark red wine we’ve been served before I speak.
