The scrape of a chair made him look up. Jennings had walked in, hair still damp from his shower, moving with that loose-limbed confidence that made people look twice without even trying. Elliot tore his gaze away, focusing on his plate as if the beige chicken and roasted root vegetables required concentration.
It didn’t matter. His eyes still tracked Jackson automatically, traitorously, every time he moved.
A burst of laughter cut across the room. Ilaria and Alice had appeared from the stairwell, trays in hand. The two of them headed straight for Jackson, Ilaria’s smile bright enough to draw glances from the handful of other athletes scattered around the room—nothing like the quiet pain he’d seen hidden during their earlier conversation. He wondered if they all did this, put up a front for the world to see.
She spotted him watching and gave a small, tentative wave. Arching a brow towards the large table Jennings had occupied. Elliot’s reaction came fast. His expression hardened into a warning glare sharp enough to slice clean through the space between them. Ilaria’s lips curled, amused. She bumped her shoulder into Alice’s as if to saytold you, then sat down with Jennings as though they were old friends.
Elliot stabbed at a carrot.
He told himself he wasn’t watching.
He pushed back from the table, the divide between him and every other athlete here feeling painfully obvious. Jennings drew people to him, like moths to a damn flame, and Elliot was embarrassed to be just another of the masses caught in his orbit. There was too much at stake for him to get sucked into this. Nothing was worth risking the tentative balance of his career and family.
Ilaria caught him in the corridor; he hadn’t even noticed her leave.
“Montari,” he said.
She shook her long, dark curls free as she smirked. “Elliot. Enjoying dinner?”
“Whatever you think you know,” he said, “you don’t.”
“You are very rude, aren’t you? It’s refreshing.” Her smile was unwavering and infuriating. “I didn’t say I knew anything.”
“You’re implying things,” he hissed. “Stop.”
She studied him for a beat, eyes narrowing slightly, as if she were fitting puzzle pieces together that he didn’t want her touching. “You’re tense,” she said lightly. “Maybe too tense. You could stand to…release some of it.”
“I’m not looking for—”
“Oh lord, not with me.” She laughed. He couldn’t help but be offended, and it must have shown on his face.
“I like to be the prettiest one in the bedroom.” She shrugged, placating him.
“Alice know that?”
“Oh, she is the exception that proves the rule.” Ilaria smirked. “But you should relax. What happens at camp stays at camp.” She shrugged, the picture of innocence. “Unless you want it not to.”
His pulse thudded once, too hard, in his throat.
“You don’t understand,” he muttered.
“No?” she asked quietly. “You think you’re the first athlete who’s ever been afraid of being seen?”
His jaw clenched. “There are journalists everywhere.”
She snorted. “Sure, in the hotel. But not up in the mountains. They don’t bother with the trails. Too cold, too boring.” She tilted her head. “No one’s watching up there.”
Elliot swallowed. Hard.
He shook his head and stepped away from her, but her words burrowed into him anyway, setting something low and dangerous humming in his chest.
Another night in the woods with Jennings was ahead of him, and he wasn’t sure what he was going to do about it.
Chapter 13
Jackson
St. Moritz, Switzerland, March 19th, 5 months to the Olympics
