That was the part I couldn’t shake. Luka had said it like it was normal.
I rested a hand against the cool glass.
Luka Davorin was another athlete from another country with a complicated relationship to his federation. That should have been the beginning and end of it.
But then I found myself replaying every pause in the conversation, every answer that arrived too quickly. What he’d stopped himself from saying. What he was protecting.
Why I suddenly cared.
This isn’t my problem.
I looked out across the lights of the Village.
Then, without warning, my brain supplied an image of Luka smiling.
Not the guarded version most people saw. The real one, the one I’d seen earlier.
Blond hair falling into impossibly blue eyes. The corners of his mouth lifting before he remembered not to. Looking younger than he usually did. Less burdened. More alive.
I stared at the glass. There was absolutely no reason I should have been able to picture him that clearly, yet somehow I could.
Every little detail.
I swore under my breath and looked away from the window as though that might help.
Why the hell do I remember exactly what he looks like?
Luka
I did not needto look at my phone on the bedside table to know it was too late to be awake, too early to get up. I hadn’t been able to shut my mind down.
This was nothing new. I was always the same when a competition approached. On the ice, I maintained control. Reactions came later, when there were no witnesses.
Nobody saw the aftermath. The hours spent replaying conversations, programs, mistakes. Pulling them apart piece by piece until I understood exactly where things had gone wrong.
What was new was that none of the thoughts circling anything to do with skating.
Then it hit me. I had a foolproof method to shut down the noise in my head, and a room to myself. That last part felt like a miracle. I knew the Velkaryan ski team were all sharing rooms, not that one of them would have complained. Not within hearing of anyone who mattered, at least.
The day after we arrived in Milan, Mila and I had ventured out of the arena during a break, in search of a particular store. When I told her what I was looking for, she’d blinked, then grabbed her coat.
“I am perfectly capable of finding lubricant,” I’d said with an eye-roll.
Mila had given me a hard stare. “Of course you are. But think of this. If Mila Kadanek is seen buying this, no one looks twice. If Luka Davorin buys it? That is a different matter. And before you tell me there will be no federation officials lurking in the aisles of…” She glanced at my phone. “…Medi-Market, I will remind you of something you know only too well. They. See. Everything.”
I could not argue with that, and secretly I was relieved. She was right, of course.
Mila was always right.
I kicked off the blankets, and then my shorts ended up on the floor. I opened the drawer next to me and removed the gray bottle of Lub gel, squeezing some into my palm. The cool liquid made me shiver, but it soon warmed up as I stroked my cock, eyes tight shut, chasing the orgasm that would send me off into the sleep I badly needed.
Being able to do this without another person across the room, listening to every furtive sound?
This was heaven.
I didn’t bother to hold in the soft noises that fell from my lips as I tugged and teased. I knew it wouldn’t take long. I planted my feet on the mattress, one hand around my sac, the other working my shaft, pumping my hips as I picked up speed.
Slow it down. Enjoy it.
