My lungs forgot their job.
I looked away so fast my neck tightened painfully with it, pulse kicking hard while heat climbed straight through my body before I could suppress the reaction.
Kvrat.
He’d caught me looking.
I focused on breathing.
In. Out.
Control returned slowly.
The problem had started before the showers or the locker room, before I watched water run down Dean Foster’s body while my own self-control threatened mutiny.
Somehow, he’d turned a communal shower into a crisis.
I turned toward the wall after that and finished showering as quickly as possible without drawing attention to myself.
This would have been easier if attraction had been the only problem.
Attraction I knew how to survive.
I was becoming less certain about Dean Foster.
By the time I stepped back into the colder air outside the showers, my breathing had steadied again.
Mostly.
Then I saw Dean fully dressed near the lockers and discovered that clothing solved none of the problem.
The locker room felt quieter after the showers, though conversations still echoed between benches while bags slammed shut and lockers opened and closed around us.
I focused on routine instead. Towel. Clothes. Laces. Bag. My hands stayed precise even when my thoughts didn’t.
Don’t look at him again.
The instruction lasted maybe thirty seconds.
I pulled my shirt down into place and looked up directly into Dean’s gaze.
Closer now, still watching me.
The breath caught somewhere between my lungs and my throat.
“Hey.”
I forced myself to maintain eye contact. “Hey.” My voice sounded steady, a small victory.
“You’re Luka Davorin, right?”
“Yes.”
“I thought so.” A quick smile touched his mouth. “You skate pairs for Velkarya.”
I nodded. That flare of panic again.
“I saw you at Worlds last year,” he continued. “Your lifts are solid.”
