Petrov scoffed. “Better than any dumb American.”
I snorted despite myself. “Fuck off, Petrov.”
“I’m just saying.” He slurped his coffee. “You watch him when he is skating. When he is at bar. When he is across the room pretending he is not watching you back.”
My grip tightened around my cup. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Sure you don’t.” He pushed his sunglasses back up and leaned his head against the seat. “Look, Sullivan. I don’t give a shit who you fuck. Man, woman, figure skater with bad attitude. Not my business.”
“There’s nothing—”
“I’m not finished.” He held up one finger. “What Idogive a shit is you being distracted. You almost killed me in the weight room. Your head is not in the game. This is problem.”
I opened my mouth to argue, then closed it. He wasn’t wrong.
“So whatever this is,” he continued, making a vague circle with his hand, “you figure it out. Get your head straight. Or get him out of your system. I don’t care which. Just stop being liability.”
“That’s your advice? Figure it out?”
He gave a tired little huff. “I’m Russian, not therapist.” Then he closed his eyes. “Now shut up. I’m going to sleep off hangover and pretend we never have this conversation.”
I stared at him for a long moment. Then I turned to look out the window, watching the tarmac crew load luggage below.
Petrov’s breathing evened out within minutes but I stayed awake, his words rattling around in my head.
You watch him when he is skating. When he is at bar. When he is across the room pretending he is not watching you back.
Was I really that obvious?
And more importantly—was Théo really watching me back?
I pulled out my phone before we had to switch to airplane mode. My thumb hovered over our text thread. The last message was still mine, still unanswered.
And for what it’s worth… tonight was the best night of my life. Even with the part where you ran away.
I started typing.
Have fun with Sabrina. Try not to cause too much trouble, snowdrop. Give Aspen a belly rub for me.
I hit send before I could second guess it, then flipped my phone to airplane mode and shoved it in my pocket.
Three days. I had three days to figure out what the hell I was doing.
24. Théo
The team was staying at a hotel by O’Hare for their early flight, so after the bar I brought Sabrina back to Derek’s place.
We had fallen asleep facing each other on Derek’s bed, still half-dressed and talking ourselves into exhaustion. Aspen was wedged between us, snoring softly, his paws twitching in some dream.
I had the pillow Derek must have used. It smelled like him—bergamot and something warmer underneath. I’d pressed my face into it without thinking when we had chosen spots on the bed and Sabrina had given me a look I pretended not to see.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuckity fuck.
His blackout shades were drawn so I had no idea how late it was. I fumbled under the pillow for my phone.
9:47 a.m.
I’d missed my skate time. Not that I’d planned to go with Sabrina visiting but the guilt still flickered in my chest anyway—that familiar voice reminding me I was falling behind, getting soft, wasting time.
