Page 2 of Date With Skates

“What good news?” I ask.

“Callahan is on the way here.

“Fuck you,” I say with a smile. “You serious?”

“Yeah. Floyd broke his ankle. Bad hit.”

“No fucking way,” I say. “That sucks. Can you imagine?”

“I don’t even want to think about it. I’d be so mad. He’s missing the Olympics, and not to mention, his career could be over.”

“Wait. Hold on—Callahan is taking Floyd’s spot? So, I’m rooming with him?”

“I guess so,” Richtor says, picking up his fork and stabbing a sausage. “Unless they move people around, but I don’t see why they would. Man, it’s so good that he’s coming. Having the three of us playing together?” He huffs a laugh. “We’re definitely taking home the gold.”

Richtor usually plays second line, but we practice together. I play well with him, and just about anyone else on the ice. But me and Callahan? We’re partners. The dream team. We’re always out on the ice together, reading each other without a word spoken. He’s my best friend, and I’m pissed he didn’t tell me he got the call.

“We’re taking home the gold,” I say in agreement, and our entire team around the table whoops, clearly listening in on our conversation. Seems everyone knew but me.

After breakfast, we head to the arena for morning skate. We have a few days of practicing together as a team before we have to play any games. Callahan won’t be here until tomorrow, but he’ll jump in when he gets here and will have no problem catching up. Especially if we’re on the ice together.

I’m so excited about him coming that I can’t stop thinking about it. I’m energized during practice, playing as hard as I can, and talking shit to anyone who looks like they’re slacking. This is the Olympics; there is no room for laziness.

When practice is done, a few of us walk around to watch some of the other practices or the competitions that have already started. We stop at curling, watching for about an hour before we get word that the women’s hockey game is starting. All of us get up without hesitation and walk over to the rink to watch them play. These women are bad ass. They’re rough on the ice and play hard—harder than some of the men I’ve played against.

At night, I sleep like a rock after working so hard. When I wake up, I have a text from Roman telling me he has a surprise for me.

Me: A surprise? I wonder what it could be since I’m all the way over here in Canada and you’re back in COLORADO.

Roman: Who told you?

I laugh as I type out my response, letting him know that it was obviously Richtor. The guy can’t keep a secret to save his life. I give Roman shit for not telling me sooner. I’m sure he was excited and had things to figure out, and maybe he was trying to make it a surprise. I’m not really mad but I have to give him shit for it. How else will he know that I like him?

We agree that he’ll let me know when he lands and is on his way so I can meet him and show him around.

The routine for the day is basically the same as it was yesterday. We eat meals. Practice. Watch games and competitions. The only thing different today is that I’m waiting for Roman at the gates after dinner, rather than hanging with the guys and figuring out who we are going to watch.

I’ve been waiting here forever. He should have been here by now, so I give him a call to see what the hell the holdup is. It’s cold out, and I don’t want to waste precious Olympic minutes doing absolutely nothing.

On the call, I also break the news that we’ll be sharing a room, to which he isn’t fazed. Not even annoyed a little. Lame. He says he’ll be here in a few minutes, so I end the call. When he pulls up, I shove my phone into my pocket and wave.

I help him with his bags and lead him to our building to show him where we will be staying.

Chapter Two

Étienne

This is all a little overwhelming, and I am not one who admits something like that. I’m too proud for it. It’s all good though, because faking it till you make it is my motto. I live by it. I kind of have to when my mouth works faster than my brain. Things just spill out that I don’t mean to say, and sometimes, I’m just as shocked as everyone else.

Sometimes I feel like I’m two people living in the same body. One of them is always trying to keep the other one in line, but it never works. There is a lot of face palming going on in my head. The internal part of me is the calm one. Everything on the outside? The physical stuff? All the stuff other people see? I don’t know, but I have no control over that about ninety-seven percent of the time. Yes, weird number, but I’m going with it because it feels right.

Nico is probably the only one who isn’t surprised by anything I do or say, but that’s because he’s too worried about himself. Everything with him is me, me, me. As if being a star figure skater isn’t enough. He wants all the attention too. Well, guess what? Not anymore.

I mean, sure, he’s going to impress everyone when he takes home the figure skating gold medal, because I know he will, but I’m also going to make my place here. Prove that I’m just as good as him, but in a different way. I may be here as his fake personal assistant, because I’m no such thing at home—I’d rather eat my shoe than answer to him—but I am going to prove that I can handle the sports industry. Because I need to do something with my life, and what better than sticking to what I know?

Of course I won’t get on the ice, so I can’t do anything that would require that. And I’d rather not be involved with anything that has flying balls.

I like balls near my face as much as the next gay man, but not when they’re hard and going ninety miles per hour.