“You said it would last all night. How can I trust that if he awakes too early?”
He muttered something in Russian, then, “Should I be locking him in? That would not be safe, would it?”
I shouldn’t listen but part of me craved insight into his mind. I had never understood him. He kept so much hidden from me, requiring me to scratch beneath the surface for anything that would clue me in.
The next sound was a gruff exclamation of anger, then a clatter—something had hit the floor.
I pushed the door open. “Are you o?—?”
The words died in my throat. He was naked. Okay, not entirely naked. There was a towel, doing its level best to stay on those trim hips. Not yet losing the battle but flirting with surrender.
His gaze clashed with mine. “Why are you here?”
Spotting the phone on the floor, I answered his question with one of my own. “Who pissed you off?”
“It does not matter. You have made it clear you are not my friend.”
Had I? At dinner, I had enjoyed talking to him—more than I should have. I had pushed back against that, but a sense of fondness lingered, maybe even a vibe of “let’s be adults and work this out.” Very mature, I thought.
“So shit’s gone down between us, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be here for you.”
He expelled a ragged breath. “It does not matter. Perhaps it is better we are not friends. It is too complicated.”
Didn’t I know it. “A lot can change in fifteen years, Alexei. People grow, they no longer think with their hormones?—”
“Speak for yourself.” There it was, that cheeky hint of amusement.
“Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to disparage your hormones. Why are you still here?”
“I was doing drills with Hannah.” At my blank look, he said, “She is the red-headed spitfire who thinks she is better than everyone else.”
“Oh, I remember that feeling.” I had seen Hannah this morning as she skated rings around her peers. “That was nice of you to give her extra time.”
“Has Arkady called?”
“Not yet. If I don’t hear from him in a couple of days, I’ll call him.”
“You will hear. I will make sure of it.”
My gaze drifted to his damaged phone, sitting on the floor at the end of the bench. I squatted to pick it up, which gave me the perfect view of thick, muscled thighs and taut abs. This position was a little too provocative, so I quickly stood. It made me slightly dizzy.
“What’s going on, Alexei?”
“I shouldn’t have signed up for this. I have other commitments.”
“Worried you’re missing out on your gym time?”
He frowned. “Yes. It is important, especially as I spent so much of the last year on IR. I need to hit the new season in top shape.”
From where I was standing, Alexei’s “shape” was not a problem, especially the distinctive bulge at groin level. Something felt off about his protest, though.
“Who were you talking to?”
He took the warped phone from me—the screen was cracked but it looked to be still working—and stared at it. Still nothing. That bruise, close to his eyes, looked to be a couple of days old.
I’d like to say my fingers went to his cheek against my will, but that would have been a lie. He was hurting, and not just because of this recent injury.
“What happened here?”
