“I have to finish my session,” I said.
He raked a hand through his hair. “I have to get to weight training. Can we talk later? Maybe at my place?”
I just nodded and then pushed off from the boards, skating away and not looking back which took more effort than any jump I had ever attempted.
Laterwas the worst part. The kiss I could blame on heat and impulse—adrenaline, frustration, temporary insanity.
Laterwould be deliberate.
Latermeant I’d spent the whole day thinking about it and still knocked on his door.
And I was absolutely going to knock on his door.
Fuck.
19. Derek
I almost let a 250 pound barbell crush Petrov.
We were in the weight room, mid-set on the bench. I was supposed to be spotting. Instead I was staring at the wall across the room, replaying the same three seconds on a loop.
Théo’s eyes—dark, furious, something wild flickering underneath. The way he’d hauled himself up on the boards and pressed his mouth to mine. Brief but firm. His lips cold from the ice, his breath warm against my skin. The surprised inhale I hadn’t been able to stop.
And then he’d pulled back and everything in his face had shuttered closed. Walls slamming into place so fast I could almost hear them.
The bar dipped.
Petrov made a strangled sound. I snapped back into reality and caught it before it could cave his sternum in.
“What the fuck, Sully?” He racked the weight with a clang and sat up, glaring at me, accent thick with irritation. “You trying to kill me before Thomas can, yes?”
“Sorry.” I shook my head like I could physically dislodge the thoughts. “That’s on me. I spaced out. I’m here.”
“Well thank fuck.” He slid off the bench and jerked his chin at it. “Your turn. Maybe I will also be distracted. See how you like.”
He wasn’t.
But I was.
Between sets, the questions wouldn’t stop circling.What did it mean? What did he want it to mean? What did I want it to mean?
“Season starts next week,” Petrov said, arms crossed, watching me with narrowed eyes. “Whatever is going on with you—figure it out.”
“Nothing’s going on.”
“Bullshit.” He shook his head. “You been spacing out all morning.” He gestured at my face like it offended him. “Almost dropped the barbell on my chest. You wear the A, Sully. You are supposed to be leader. Right now, you’re liability.”
The words landed harder than they should have. Probably because they were true.
“I don’t care if it’s woman, money, family, whatever,” he continued. “Get your head right. We need you locked in, not… this.”
“You’re right,” I said. “I’ll handle it.”
“Good.” He tossed me a water bottle. “Because I don’t want to die under the barbell before I get revenge on Thomas for those fucking Bulgarian split squats. I die, I come back and haunt you.”
I took a long drink and tried not to laugh, because he wasn’t wrong about that either.
In the shower, I asked myself again—what did I want it to mean? The answer was almost too easy. I wanted it to mean something to him too. I wanted to kiss him again, longer this time, without the boards between us. I wanted to see what it took to turn that guarded expression into something unguarded.
