Chapter 17
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
When we rejoin the team, we get a few looks from Matthieu and Kage. Raised eyebrows and half-hidden smiles.
“You two speaking again?” Kage asks, laughing when Matthieu jabs him with an elbow.
“So nice of you to come back to your training session,” Ivan growls. “Unless you feel you don’t need it two days before your Olympic debut?”
I go to protest about the delay with the lift, but Ivan’s not really looking for explanations or excuses.
Instead, we murmur apologies, promising to behave.
And we do our best, though it’s hard to stay focused.
Austin knows. He may not remember, but he knows what happened.
It’s like the day of the shoot all over again, being so close I can touch him, but not being able to.
Or at least not in the way I want. Now that it’s out in the open, I want to climb inside his jacket.
Breathe in his scent. Once again drag him off into the woods and see if it’s possible to get through all his layers of clothes to give him the blow job he deserves after everything.
“Berard!” Ivan snaps. “Listen up.”
I start, realizing I’ve been staring at Austin like a lovesick puppy.
Kage is smirking. Matthieu rolls his eyes.
Even Austin is blushing and clears his throat uncomfortably.
I am so not even being subtle at this point.
There might as well be hearts tumbling from my eyes and little birdies bringing me flower crowns.
Who knew telling the truth would feel this good?
But I square my shoulders and nod, recommitting to paying attention. I have a lifetime to make Austin remember how good it feels to be in love with me. I have forty-eight hours to get my shit together and win a gold medal.
When our practice is over, I practically throw my skis into the gear tent. Well, not really. I’m not an asshole, and the equipment team has enough going on. But I drop them off as fast as I can, then rip my gloves from my hands.
“Come on,” I say, pulling at Austin’s arm as he drops his stuff off too.
“Where? We’ve got physiotherapy.”
“I have a better idea for therapy. Still physical. And a team sport too. It’ll be good for both of us.” I leer. I don’t actually know how to leer, but I think I do an okay job.
He smiles but digs in his heels, which is especially effective in his ski boots.
“But physio.”
I pout. “Really?”
He rolls his wrist the same way he did on the lift, then moves his jaw back and forth like he’s trying to relieve pressure in his ears.
“They get mad when I’m late,” he says.
So he’ll play the delicate card when it’s convenient? Pain in my ass.
“Fine.” But I pull him behind a fluttering tent flap. He laughs, but doesn’t resist. I want to kiss him. Just once, to remind myself what it’s like and—
Our lips are millimetres away when I pause.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“This is your first kiss,” I say.
Austin steps toward me, closing the final spaces between us, until all that separates us are the layers of clothes and outerwear we were silly enough to think we’d need today.
“I’m not a virgin,” he says. His lips brush over mine as he speaks, but he doesn’t stay still long enough to seal the deal.
My body is on alert, rising to the occasion, even if there’s nothing we can do here.
“Oh, I’m very aware of that. Even more than you might be, given only one of us remembers the things we did together, but .
. .” I brush a thumb against his mouth, feeling the soft but dry skin there.
A stray fleck comes off under my touch, and he traces the path I took with the tip of his tongue.
The small gesture makes me groan. “But it’s the first kiss with me you’re going to remember. ”
I expect him to tell me not to be so sentimental.
Or to reassure me it doesn’t matter. Instead, before I can even think of anything else to say, his mouth crashes down on mine.
It’s like outside the karaoke bar all over again.
He sucks the breath from my lungs, and I have to grip his jacket to keep from falling backwards into the tent.
He’s rough and confident, sending me a silent reminder he really isn’t breakable.
I nearly fall anyway, because I try to rise up on my toes, to kiss him more .
. . better . . . all of him, but ski boots really aren’t made for this kind of thing, and only his hand on the small of my back keeps me from tumbling and taking him with me.
Finally, he pulls back, letting us both gasp. I settle more firmly on my feet. My cock is already half awake, pushing against my clothes.
“Physio,” Austin says firmly, stepping away. “Team building later.”
I whine. That’s so not fair. But I follow after him, keeping my head down, in case anyone saw us.
Physio is torture. And not only because the therapist kicks my ass.
Sure, he has me twisting and bending in positions that make everything in my body strain.
There’s weird tension in my left knee that wasn’t there yesterday.
Tightness that runs up my thighs and pulls at my ankle.
Working it out is not fun, but nothing I haven’t dealt with before.
What I haven’t dealt with before is Austin and the team of therapists that descend on him when we walk into the treatment room.
Usually treatment is done individually and privately, but given the volume of people to work on and the limited space of the hotel, the Canadian staff have set up a large common area with dividers between stations.
I can’t see Austin, but I can hear as his team ask a barrage of questions about his condition, his body, what hurts, and where he feels weaknesses.
He gives direct answers like this is a ritual he has undergone many, many times in the months since he finally left the hospital.
Then he moans.
Okay, it’s not immediately after he answers all those questions. I’m lying on a table with one of my knees bent against my chest, and he lets out a long, low groan. It’s a deep “ohhhh” from the direction of his team, and my whole body goes tense.
“What was that?” Felix, the therapist I’m working with, asks. “Pain?”
If he only knew.
“No, it’s okay,” I say, focusing on breathing. But then Austin does it again as Felix releases me. I stare at the ceiling, listening to soft voices and the sound of Austin’s evolving discomfort and relief. It’s obscene, even if it’s perfectly innocent.
“Other side?” Felix prompts me. I make up a mumbled excuse as I spin around so my head is at the other end of the table, which means when we stretch out this side, I’m still facing away.
Even with the divider, there’s no way I can face that direction with what’s coming from beyond it.
If I did, I’m going to embarrass myself very quickly.
Hard-ons happen from time to time in sessions like this.
You can’t have someone this close to you, touching you and generating that sweet pleasure-pain of muscles releasing without sometimes it going other places in your head.
But everyone’s discreet about it, and honestly, as soon as the therapist is done, the feeling goes away, so things have never gotten too awkward for me.
But having Austin in the same room, making sounds like that . . . I’m only a man after all, and I know how to get him to make those noises when it’s only the two of us. Like the sound he makes as I push his legs back and—
“Jesus Christ.” I pop up to sitting like I’ve been electrocuted. Felix takes a surprised step back.
“You okay?” Austin asks beyond the divider.
I grip the edge of the table. “Yeah. I’ll be right back.” Without further explanation, I hop off the table and rush out of the room.
At this rate, I’m not going to make it to the podium. I may not make it to the end of today.
I’m waiting for Austin when he comes out of the therapy room. It’s located on the second floor of the hotel, and that’s still too far from my bed.
“You sure you’re okay?” he asks, genuinely worried.
Not in the slightest. Unencumbered by heavy outerwear, I pull him backward into the bathroom. We don’t even make it to a stall. I press him up against the sink, hands sliding under his T-shirt. His body is hot and it only takes a second before he’s wrapping his legs around my hips and—
A toilet flushes. We freeze. Austin barely has a second to get his feet back on the ground before the second stall door opens and a tall blond man who I think is from the German snowboard team emerges.
He gives us both a confused glance and I realize we’re blocking the sink.
We step out of the way and he washes his hands before wordlessly exiting the bathroom.
Fuck. I’m going to have to wait a few more minutes.
“Upstairs,” I say.
“But we’re supposed to—” Austin starts, but I don’t care. Whatever other meeting he has with a doctor, therapist, or publicist can wait.
Except as the elevator doors open, we’re met with Tara’s potent scowl and ever-flawless eyeliner.
“Outside. Ten minutes. Don’t forget.” She steps between us as she exits the elevator.
This time my whine isn’t so quiet. “But why?”
She might as well shoot laser beams from her eyes as she whirls. I duck behind Austin, ready to sacrifice my one true love in the face of her wrath.
“Apex is here. The whole team needs to be ready to go at three. It was on the schedule.”
God fucking dammit. How do they manage to jam so many things into a single day?
The reps from Apex are here to do a final check on our race suits for competition.
The process is tedious, because after the fittings comes the photos, and while it’s not as elaborate as that photoshoot in Maine, somehow nearly three hours have still passed by the time I’m back in the elevator with Austin.
My whole body feels infested with a thousand tiny ants, crawling over every inch of my insides.
If I don’t get to touch him, really touch him, in the next ten minutes, I’m going to turn to slush.