Chapter 23
“…and then about twenty minutes later he comes back in, and he looks at me and he goes, ‘Dad, I can’t find the elbow grease, where is it?’”
The Hartmans burst out laughing—even Danny, who’s covered his bright-red face in his hands—but Sasha doesn’t get it.
“Elbow grease? Like… oil?”
“It’s an expression,” Diane explains, barely able to speak through her tears. “It means…”
“Hard work,” Andy supplies when Diane dissolves into giggles. “So when I told Danny he needed some ‘elbow grease’ to clean out the garage—mind you, he’d already graduated college at this point—”
“Okay, in my defense,” Danny says as the Hartmans snicker (and Sasha, too, once he gets it), “there was a whole shelf of, like, grease and oil cans or whatever! I thought it was one of those!”
“Oh, honey.” Diane reaches out and pats him on the shoulder. “We love you.”
Dinner’s long over, but no one’s made any move to clear the plates.
Instead, Mr. and Mrs. Hartman have been regaling Sasha with all of their favorite “Danny moments,” swapping back and forth with an ease that suggests they’ve done this several times before.
Danny keeps groaning (“Mom, we don’t need to talk about the blender”), but he’s laughing, too, and it’s clear he doesn’t actually mind.
Sasha’s more than content to sit there and watch Danny get roasted by his parents, but eventually the spotlight falls on him, Diane asking if his mother embarrasses him like this (she doesn’t), if he’s ever tried to make two different smoothies in the same blender at once (he hasn’t), and then, changing the subject completely, how he got into gymnastics.
“When I was young, maybe three or four, my teachers are—were—worried because I did not play with other children,” Sasha explains.
“They told my mother, and she worried, too, so she took me to… to place for playing? Because she thought maybe I did not like children in class. But in this place, I did not play with children either. I played with… how do you say?”
He’s barely raised his arms above his head before Danny fills in, “Monkey bars.”
“Yes, monkey bars. Again and again, I”—Sasha doesn’t know the words for “hang” or “swing,” so he moves his arms to demonstrate—“and I ignore other children. Then she took me to gymnastics class, so I can play with children there.” He shrugs. “But instead I am just good at gymnastics.”
The Hartmans all laugh, including Danny, who’s already heard the story. He’d called it a “classic Sasha,” but Sasha still has no idea what that meant.
“Well, obviously it worked out in the end—I mean, look at you and Danny!” Diane beams at them, and Sasha almost chokes on his water. “I think that’s the greatest thing about these international competitions, you get to meet so many people.”
Across the table, Danny winks at Sasha.
“We put Danny into gymnastics when he was two years old,” Diane continues. “He already had so much energy, I couldn’t keep up with him. And once he started running, forget it. So we put him in a mommy and me class, thinking it would tire him out—”
“—but it just made him even better at climbing on the furniture,” Andy chimes in. “And then he started flipping off the sofa…”
“We used to call him our little Olympian,” Diane says fondly.
“It’s funny, his first class, the teacher actually said to me, ‘Wow, he’s really good!
’ And I didn’t think anything of it, because you know, they’re toddlers, but then he went to the little kids’ class and it was the same thing: ‘Wow, he’s really good!
’ And then Coach Garrett came up to me…”
Danny slumps in his chair, scratching Buddy’s ears; he’s obviously heard all this before, and probably repeated it several times himself, too, during interviews.
But Sasha keeps listening as Diane explains how Coach Garrett invited Danny to train once a week with the boys’ team—“He didn’t want him doing full-time, though, and Andy and I agreed, he was way too young for that”—and how, eventually, Danny was allowed to compete at his very first meet.
“He gets first place on everything, and all the other parents and coaches are talking about him, and Andy and I are looking at each other like, ‘Oh, I guess he is really good!’” Diane says, laughing at the memory. “And here we are, two Olympics later…”
“Yeah, crazy.” Danny’s smile looks strained, like a stretch that’s pulling too tight; but he’s also halfway under the table, twisting to reach Buddy, so maybe Sasha’s just imagining it.
“Hey, this is totally random, but are you guys using the boat next weekend? I was thinking maybe me and Sasha could—”
“You have a boat?” Sasha demands, immediately distracted.
*
“What do you think, Buddy?” Danny asks after dinner, the words muffled around his toothbrush. “I think Sasha was a little nervous when he met you. But you were so good. High-five.”
Buddy holds up his paw, and Danny bumps it, then spits into the sink.
“All right, we’re gonna go see Sasha. I know, it’s the bad snake place, but you don’t have to go inside, okay?”
The door to the guest room is closed, but the light’s still on, so Danny knocks and waits.
Sasha answers a few seconds later, looking ready for bed in loose shorts and a rumpled Team Russia shirt.
His hair’s damp from the shower, curls clinging to the sides of his face, and Danny blinks for a few seconds before remembering how to speak.
“Just, uh. Wanted to say goodnight.”
“Okay?” The confusion on Sasha’s face is priceless. “Goodnight?”
Danny laughs, then lowers his voice and leans a little closer. “Mind if I come in?”
Sasha gets it now, a flush spreading across his cheeks as he glances down the hall to make sure they’re alone.
Then he steps back, letting Danny through but leaving the door open.
Even though Danny’s tempted to kick it shut behind him, he realizes he better not—with Buddy lying out in the hall, it’s a dead giveaway if his parents come upstairs, and then they’ll wonder why the door’s closed.
So instead, he hits that sweet forty-five degree angle: enough to hide him and Sasha from view, but also they could totally just be bros hanging out.
“Possible deniability,” he explains to Sasha, proud of himself for crushing both stealth mode and geometry mode.
“Possible—what?” Sasha asks, but Danny’s in hug mode now and isn’t taking any questions.
“Don’t even say we already hugged today,” he warns Sasha, squeezing him tight, the way he couldn’t in front of Alina. “That doesn’t count.”
Sasha laughs, the sound rumbling in Danny’s chest. Best of all, he puts both of his arms around Danny’s waist, instead of just one like he usually does.
It’s not really a hug—it’s more like slow-dancing in middle school—but coming from Sasha?
Danny’s going to hold onto this, literally, for as long as he can.
“Are we done?” Sasha asks after a minute.
“Nope.”
Sasha sighs, dropping his chin back onto Danny’s shoulder in a very disgruntled, but also not-actually-doing-anything-about-it way. After a while, though, he starts to fidget, so Danny switches gears and kisses him.
It’s toothpaste, tongue, and a little bit of teeth, Danny grazing Sasha’s lower lip just enough to make him shiver.
Earlier in the car, he was taking the edge off, but now he’s taking his time: running his fingers through Sasha’s hair, finding all the best spots on Sasha’s neck, claiming as much of him as he can.
At first, Sasha keeps his eyes open, darting quick glances at the door; but when Danny’s lips press into the hollow under his ear, he gives a shuddering breath and lets his head fall back.
Danny grins and glides his hands down Sasha’s soft t-shirt, assuming he’s on the right track when Sasha shivers and pulls him closer.
As soon as his hands slip past the elastic of Sasha’s shorts, though, Sasha stiffens—and not in a good way, his eyes wide as he jerks back and checks the door.
“You know they’re downstairs, right?” Danny asks, trying to reassure him. He can still hear the living room TV, a muffled murmur drifting up to the second floor.
Sasha hesitates, then nods, but it’s obvious that he’s uncomfortable. “I don’t… I don’t want…”
“It’s okay. We don’t have to.” Danny considers suggesting that they move to his room—he’s guessing Sasha’s worried because of how close they are to the stairs—but in the end, he decides against it.
After all, they’ll have plenty of time together over the next two weeks, and for once, there’s no need to rush.
He can’t resist a goodnight kiss, though, cupping Sasha’s face in his hands and savoring him for just a little longer.
“Sash?”
“Mm?”
“I’m really glad you’re here.”
Sasha blushes, then surprises Danny by turning his head and pressing a soft kiss against Danny’s palm. “Me too.”