“Seriously though, this has to be my year.” His grin faded. “Brooke already told me she’s done after these Games.”
I looked at him properly then.
Nathan usually joked through pressure, but every now and then the real weight underneath it showed through if you paid attention long enough.
“She’s sure?”
“Oh, yeah.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “Her exact words were: Nathan, I would like to retain use of my spine before forty.”
Noah barked out a laugh.
Nathan pointed at him. “Mock me all you want, Bennett. Pair lifts are basically attempted murder with choreography.”
“Fair.”
Nathan glanced back at me. “Anyway, if this is our last shot, I’d really prefer not to screw it up.”
I raised my chin. “You won’t.”
“Look at you.” He grinned again. “Captain America confidence speech.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know.” Nathan nudged my shoulder. “And for the record, if anybody’s taking gold this year, my money’s still on you.”
“Your mom’s money too, apparently,” Noah added.
Nathan groaned dramatically. “Oh my God, my momlovesyou.Dean Foster could literally fall down a staircase and she’d call it artistic.”
“That feels aggressive.”
“She means well.”
I laughed and leaned back in my chair while the room buzzed around us.
Normally this part settled me. Team meetings, schedules, familiar faces, coaches pretending not to panic while athletes burned through nervous energy in increasingly weird ways. It all reminded me I’d done this before.
Then Nathan’s eyes gleamed. “You gonna tell us who café girl was, then?”
Damn it.
Noah jerked his head in Nathan’s direction. “Café girl?”
Nathan looked delighted to become the messenger of chaos. “There are photos.”
“I hate all of you.”
“That’s not a denial,” Nathan sang. “Bro, whowasshe? Because she’s hot.”
“She’s my ex.”
“Seriously? OMG. Is she single? Can I have her number?”
I laughed. “Tell you what. You get a medal in the Team Event, and I’ll introduce you. But that’sallI’ll do, okay? If she likes you, great. But if she rejects you, that’s between you and God.”
Nathan held his hands up. “Fine. I get it. You’re not a pimp.” He batted his lashes. “But youcouldput in a good word for me, couldn’t ya? You know, tell her I’m not a serial killer.”
“If you’re all finished,” Mark Winton cut in from the front of the room, “I’d love to begin before the Opening Ceremony arrives.”
