My forehead furrows. If I don’t know, how does she?
“It is not… We are private. Not anyone’s business.”
If I went public with a relationship, there would be media attention. Team attention. It took six months after Beck started dating Saylor for the guys to stop making whipping sounds when he walked into the locker room.
“You mean, this is just sex to you.”
I scrub a palm across my face.
I’m fucking this up. I knew I would.
“Of course not, Claire.”
She says nothing.
“We are not having sex right now,” I point out.
She rolls her eyes.
Yeah, that was a bad response.
I’m unprepared for this conversation. I’ve never had this conversation with a woman—because every other time, it has just been sex. I let myself get caught up in the thrill of sneaking around and the excitement of making it to the final, and there hasn’t been space for anything else.
“Have you told anyone about us?”
“No,” she answers.
“Okay. Why is that any different?”
She huffs. “You know why.”
My face must convey what I’m thinking—I don’t—because she continues.
“Because you’re hot and rich and famous, and anyone I tell about us is going to ask how big your dick is and then tell me not to get attached because you’ll be photographed at a club with a girl on your lap next week.”
Okay, so she is aware of my reputation.
I swallow hard. “I cannot change the past. That was all before I met you.”
“I’m not asking you to change anything, Otto. I’m just…” She glances down, dropping eye contact before looking up again. “You’re going home. I’m going home. It is what it is. Maybe I’ll… Maybe I’ll see you at the next Olympics.”
“The next Olympics?” I gape at her, dumbfounded. “In fouryears? Sounds like this was just sex toyou.”
Claire glares. “What did you think was going to happen with us?”
Truthfully, I haven’t given it any thought. I’ve been focused on each day. Each match. Each win. Claire came out of nowhere. And I’ve avoided thinking past the closing ceremonies because she’s right—there’s no simple solution.
She has a year of university left. I’m under contract with Kluvberg. Even if I wasn’t, I can’t imagine playing anywhere else.
“You could play in Germany after you graduate?”
That’s what Saylor did. It’s worked for her and Beck.
“Perfect.” Claire’s voice is thick with sarcasm. “Why don’t I leave behind everything I know—my dream of playing professionally for my own country—to move to Germany in a year? Why didn’t I think of that?”
I scowl, shoving my hands into my pockets. “What is your solution that has us in the same place?Iplay in the States?”
I chuckle at the impossibility, the sound trailing awkwardly while she stays silent.
