“Ah.” She was silent for almost a minute, typing on her phone, and then said, “Clarisse?”
Adonis was thankful for the easy lie she’d served him. “Yes,” he said.
“Tell her I say hello.”
A strange thing for Anamária to request; she rarely showed interest in being cordial with the other skaters, or talking to them at all when it didn’t involve coaching them.
“I will,” he promised, and made a mental note to inform Clarisse, just in case this detail ever came up in conversation with his mother and Clarisse, though he didn’t know how that would happen.
“I scheduled some more practices with Damien for when we get back,” Anamária commented without looking up from her phone. “I checked your calendar, and there’s a studying session on Thursday evening—with Sebastiaan Koning? I didn’t know you had classes together. You’ll have to move that because Damien is in town that day and can meet with you for practice.”
Fuck. A dozen possible protests ran through Adonis’s head, but he didn’t know which he could say that would convince his mother that the “studying session” with Bash was actually extremely important, thank you, and couldn’t be moved.
Anamária gave him a shrewd look. “What classdoyou have with Koning?”
Adonis muttered something about how they didn’t have any classes together, but he’d taken a gen-ed course that Bash was in now, and Bash wanted some help with it. He hoped it was convincing. He feared it wasn’t.
“I’ll move it,” he said, fighting to keep the disappointment out of his voice. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Good,” she said. Their boarding group was called. Adonis thought glumly about how, once again, he’d have to wait to get fucked by Bash.
——
Damien, of course, was as convinced as Anamária that it was his coaching that had gotten Adonis to this point in the Team USA selections.
When they met for practice on the Thursday night that Adonis was supposed to be riding Bash’s cock (or taking said cock in whatever manner Bash wanted), Damien was practically glowing.
“Fantastic work, following my coaching,” he said, daintily clapping his hands. “Tell meallof their feedback.”
Adonis did, giving Damien a rundown of all the compliments and criticisms he had received from U.S. Skate. As expected, most of the critiques were focused on his skating being too constrained, too controlled, especially in his free skate.
“Exactly,” Damien said, which stung just a bit. “You have to learn to let loose when you’re skating. You have tofeelthe movement, like it’s part of you.”
Well, that made no sense, Adonis thought, but decided not to say it out loud. He hoped to finish this practice early andmaybestill see Bash tonight, though Bash had admitted he wanted to be in bed by a reasonable time because he had a game tomorrow.
“Let’s go through your free skate again,” Damien said. “And we can take a look at where you need to loosen up.”
“Fine,” Adonis said lightly.
He stripped off his sweatshirt, leaving him in just a T-shirt and moisture-wicking leggings with his skates. Though the clothes weren’t warm, skating was a workout, and he never wanted too many layers.
Damien started the song, and Adonis hit the ice, going through the first part of the routine, until Damien paused the music and skated over to him.
“Your steps here are good,” he said, “but you’re not moving asonewith the music.”
Whatever that means, Adonis wanted to say. He was hitting the technical marks. He had done the steps exactly as choreographed.
Damien replayed the song. When it got to the point he wanted, he called out beats and counts for Adonis, with the occasional “move!” or “there!” thrown into the mix.
He paused the music again and caught up with Adonis on the ice. “No, no,” he said. “Let me show you.”
Adonis had a good sense of his own personal boundaries. He had built them up over the years. He knew what kind of personal space he liked, and how to negotiate what was comfortable for him in any setting. He had no problem sticking up for himself and had had to do so several times over the years.
He could often sense when an unwanted touch was about to occur; still, Damien’s hands on him surprised him. Damien was talking, coaching, and instructing, but Adonis didn’t hear him.
In a quick maneuver, he’d skated out of Damien’s grasp, his heartbeat several beats faster than it was a moment ago. “I’m good,” he said evenly, his voice deathly calm and cold. “It will be easier for me if youshowme yourself, rather than trying to help me do it.”
The message was clear: get your goddamn hands off of me, and don’t getanyideas, you motherfucker.
