Chapter 4
Adonis
“You seem distracted. What’s on your mind?
” It was the third time Anamária had said something like that to Adonis during the filmed session.
She was recording his free skate and critiquing it.
They were squeezing in some moments on the ice between his Social Philosophy class and the hockey team’s scheduled practice. The Cranberry Cup was in three days.
“You have to focus,” Anamária repeated. She handed him his water bottle. Frustration was evident on her face. “Where’s your head?”
In the bar with the very hot Dutch hockey player who had the voice and body of a Nordic god, he could’ve said. Instead: “I’m not distracted. I’m focused.”
“The Cranberry Cup is important. As you well know, U.S. Skate will be watching this and watching you. Your performance could determine if you’re picked for Team USA or not.”
The Olympics. Anamária’s goal for him. Therefore, it was his goal for himself.
He took a swig of water. “I know. I’m focused. I’ll do better. I promise.”
“I’ve told you to fix your landing twice. You haven’t fixed it.”
“I will.” He returned the water bottle. “I promise.”
“Don’t promise. Show me.”
Adonis gave his mother a curt nod and returned to the ice. This time, his landings were perfect.
——
Despite what steamy TV shows tried to say, Adonis had never found the locker room to be an erotic place.
The Rink’s locker room was shared between the hockey team and the men from the figure skating club. Because the hockey players outnumbered the figure skaters about ten to one, most of the time Adonis was in the locker room, it was a raucous place of snapping towels and loud jokes.
And it smelled like a gym bag.
Adonis was not shy about his body. Quite the opposite, in fact.
He often posted shirtless or nearly-nude pictures of himself to a select, private group of people on his social media.
Several times, he had thought about starting an online fan page for his nudes.
He loved to be watched. Look up exhibitionist in the dictionary, and you’d probably find “Adonis Costa” there.
That being said, he didn’t mind at all stripping naked in front of the hockey team, but he didn’t enjoy their towel snapping and jokes. They never targeted him or the other figure skaters. Mostly, they left each other alone. But the hockey players just took up so much space.
It was a blessing whenever the locker room was empty or mostly empty, as it was now. He didn’t see anyone else in it when he left the Rink and went to rinse off.
Adonis deposited his clothes in his locker, slung a towel over his shoulder, and walked naked from the lockers to the showers, which were in a single large room with no stalls or curtains.
He turned on one of the showers and stood under the hot spray, letting it wash the sweat off him.
He pumped soap into his hands and scrubbed his body, letting it froth over his chest and legs.
He raised his arms, cleaning his armpits, and then reached between his legs to scrub soap into his crotch and between his ass.
When he felt clean, he let the water rinse the soap off. He stayed for a moment under the water, his eyes closed, and then turned the water off. He dried his hair, then his body, and then wrapped the towel around his waist.
He hummed to himself as he walked back to his locker. He tossed his towel aside and was reaching for a pair of clean underwear from his bag when he heard, “Oh. You are here.”
Adonis almost fell over.
Sebastiaan Koning leaned against the lockers in the other corner. He was gloriously, almost, naked. He wore only a small, tight pair of black briefs. In one hand, he held an athletic cup; in the other, his shirt.
“I’m here,” Adonis said, and then decided that it was one of the stupider things he’d said.
“I see that,” Bash said. He slipped the athletic cup into a jockstrap and set it aside. Then he hooked his thumbs beneath the waistband of his underwear and pulled them off.
Adonis almost fainted.
Bash had a beautiful body. Wide shoulders and broad pecs, everything tapering into a narrow waist, then powerful thighs. There was hair on his stomach that grew dark and thick around his groin. Adonis quickly looked away from Bash’s cock. He didn’t get a good picture of it, and that was fine.
“Did you have practice?” Bash said. “I did not see other figure skaters.” He seemed unworried about his nakedness, or Adonis’s.
Adonis was very conscious that he was naked. He worried he might get hard.
He told himself to think depressing thoughts. Anything to prevent a boner. That would not be appropriate.
“It wasn’t real practice,” Adonis said. “Just my mother recording my free skate program and giving me all the critiques.”
Bash nodded. “Your mother. She is the coach of the figure skating team, yes?” He pulled on a pair of compression shorts, grabbed his jockstrap, and stepped into it. He adjusted the cup around his crotch, fidgeting until it was in place.
Adonis swallowed and turned away. He needed to cover his cock. He pulled his underwear on quickly.
“Yes, she is,” he said. “She’s very strict.”
“She is,” Bash said. Adonis turned to look at him. Bash was watching him closely, and Adonis’s cheeks reddened. “I hear her at the figure skating practices sometimes.”
“She sounds like a drill sergeant, doesn’t she?”
Bash laughed. His laugh was deep and rich. “She does.” Bash continued getting dressed. He was clearly getting ready for his own practice. “Do you fear her?”
The question's directness surprised Adonis. “Do I fear her? Am I afraid of my mother?”
“Yes. That’s what I asked. Are you?”
“No,” Adonis said, because it was true. “I’m not afraid of her.”
“Your face says you are afraid of her.”
A strange conversation to have with Sebastiaan Koning, Adonis thought.
“No,” he said. “I’m not afraid of her. But I don’t always agree with her.”
“What do you mean?”
He wondered if he should answer honestly and decided that he would.
“Sometimes I think my mother’s only goal is for me to win a medal in the Olympics.
It seems like she sometimes sees me only as someone who can win a medal, as if her love is based on how well I do in my competitions.
When I don’t do well, she’s not happy. When I do well, she is.
She would never say that, but I think it’s true.
She was in the Olympics herself. Won a model, but never did as well as she wanted.
I think she wants me to be what she couldn’t. ”
“Are there really parents like that?” Bash said. “This sounds like a movie.” He was dressed, now, except for his hockey gear. His arms were crossed, and his expression was calm and interested.
“There really are.” Adonis was suddenly embarrassed by how much he had shared. He laughed, hoping the laugh would make it seem less serious. “What about you? Are you a hockey player to fulfill all your parents’ unrealized hopes and dreams?”
“No, I am not,” Bash said comfortably. “My parents don’t even like that I play. They would like it if I moved back to Amsterdam and joined my father’s company.”
“Oh.”
“Yes. But they don’t control what I do. They know that. They think that hockey is dangerous. It is dangerous.”
“I guess you’re going to say that you like danger?” Adonis sat on one of the benches and began to lace up his shoes.
“No. Why would I like danger? I like hockey.”
“Why?”
“Because I am good at it.” Bash thought for a moment. “I’m strong, and it makes me feel how strong I am. Does figure skating make you feel strong?”
The question made Adonis pause. “When I do well, it does.”
“What about when you fail?”
“When I fail?”
“Yes.” Bash touched his left shoulder. “I had an injury in the Frozen Four last year. I couldn’t play for weeks, and I am still recovering. I still feel strong, though, because I know I am strong. Do you still know you are strong even when you fail?”
Adonis thought about what his mother said when he failed a routine. He didn’t feel strong then, no. When he failed, he felt like a failure. “I don’t know,” he said.
“You should figure that out.” Bash shut his locker. “It was good to see you, Adonis. I hope I see you again.” He looked around the locker room. “Maybe not here, though.”
He clapped Adonis on the shoulder when he left.