“Yes, but not just that. I’m more nervous about the competition—about the other skaters, that is.”
“Why is that?”
“Most of them are older, stronger, more experienced. Several of them are Olympic veterans. We’re a team, yes, but I worry that they won’t respect me, or won’t like me.”
“Do you need them to like you?”
“I suppose I don’t, but I’d still like it if they did.”
“That’s very American of you, wanting everyone to like you.”
“Is it a bad thing?”
“It can be, if it means that you focus more on them liking you than on simply being your best. Other people liking you or not, it is not your responsibility. Your responsibility is to go to the Olympics and be your best. If they like you, they like you. If they don’t, they don’t.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“Of course I am right. Do you think everyone likes me? They do not. Even the guys on my team don’t all like me. They think I am too direct or too harsh. They might not like me, but they do respect me. They know that I am a good hockey player and that I care about them being good hockey players. Go to Milano and be the best skater you can be. That will not be hard because you are a very good skater. Theywillrespect you because they will see how skilled you are. If they do not like you, that is their problem. It is not yours. So, don’t worry about that.”
“That’s hard for me.”
“Just because something is hard does not mean it is impossible.”
“You’re right.”
“I know,” Bash said easily. He poured more gravy on his mashed potatoes. “And besides, you have plenty of people who like you. Why do you need to add more?”
Those butterflies in Adonis’s stomach did another little dance. “Oh, do I? Who are some of the people who like me?”
Bash scoffed, waving the gravy boat. “Do you need me to list them? Your team here adores you. Clarisse loves you. Even Robbie likes you.”
“What about you?” Adonis said directly.
Bash set the gravy boat down. “Yes, I like you.”
The butterflies’ choreography was frantic. “You do?”
“Yes. I like you a lot. I would not spend hours making a Thanksgiving dinner for someone I did not like. Do you know how intimate I had to get with this damned turkey?”
Adonis cracked a smile. “I like you, too, Bash.”
Bash harrumphed. “That is good.”
“I—I really like you.” He didn’t know if Bash understood the nuances of what “like”could mean in American English. That it could mean having feelings for someone.
The candlelight of the table flickered, emphasizing the angles of Bash’s sculpted face. “Good. I really like you, too, Adonis. Would you like some pie?”
——
Two hours later, they’d packed up the leftovers and organized them all in the fridge, set the many dishes in the sink to soak, and retired to the couch with strong coffee. Adonis rested with his legs in Bash’s lap, and Bash used a strong hand to absently massage Adonis’s feet, which also felt better than sex.
“I will watch every event,” Bash promised quietly. “I have already marked them all on my calendar.”
Adonis smiled sleepily. The Thanksgiving food was doing its job, sending him straight into a food coma. “What if I don’t do well?”
“I want to watch and support you even if you do not do well,” Bash said, as if offended that Adonis would think otherwise. “And I will cheer for you no matter what.”
“That’s very kind.”
