Chapter 2 #3
“Seriously though.” His eyes gleamed. “Olympic Village. Attractive people everywhere. You’re telling me you’re not even considering making some bad decisions?”
“It’s the Olympics. I’m here to skate.”
“That answer sounded rehearsed.”
I shot him a look. “I’m focused.”
“Uh-huh.”
“What?”
Ethan’s grin widened.
“Ethan.”
He laughed. “You know you’ve thought about him more in the last hour than you’ve thought about half the men we’ve competed against for years, right? But hey, nothing wrong with being focused. Just remember one thing, Foster. You’re twenty-six, not dead. And last time I looked, not a monk either.”
“This conversation is over.” My stomach tensed. I hated how long it took me to answer.
“You’re avoiding the question.”
“There wasn’t a question.”
“There absolutely was.”
I ignored him after that, but I disliked how quickly my mind supplied Luka’s face.
The was usually the part I never that to think about. Training, friends, Ethan refusing to act his age…
Then we reached the corner where our paths split.
“See you later,” Ethan said.
“Yeah.”
I kept walking. The conversation was over.
The thoughts that had started it weren’t.
I’d barely dropped onto the bed before my phone buzzed across the blankets.
Mom.
I answered, already smiling. “Hey.”
“Dean!” Relief and excitement tangled together in her voice the way they always did during competition weeks.
“Are you settled in properly? Is the room decent? I read an article saying the beds are tiny and the heating barely works, and your father says you’ll survive perfectly well without either, which is obviously not the point—”
I laughed, sinking back against the headboard. “Mom, I’ve been here less than a day. I think I’m holding up okay.”
“You sound exhausted.”
“That’s because I crossed half the planet yesterday.”
“Have you eaten?”
“Yes.”
“Actual food?”
I closed my eyes. “I knew this was coming.”
“Dean.”
“I had vegetables,” I said solemnly. “Multiple vegetables. You’d be proud of me.”
“I am proud of you,” she said in a heartbeat. “I’m always proud of you.”
That warmth hit me square in the chest every time, no matter how old I got.
A brief pause followed, and then I heard the curiosity creeping back in. “How’s the Village?”
I groaned. “Oh, we are absolutely not doing this.”
“What? I’m asking a perfectly innocent question.”
“You have never asked a perfectly innocent question in your life.”
A muffled sound came through the speaker, followed by my dad’s voice somewhere in the background.
“Don’t interrogate him.”
“I am not interrogating him,” Mom protested.
“You’re one sentence away from asking if he’s met any nice girls.”
“I was not going to say girls specifically—”
I laughed hard enough that I had to drag a hand over my face. “Okay, now I’m definitely hanging up.”
“Dean, wait.” I could hear her smiling. “I just wanted to know if you’re enjoying yourself.”
The question caught me off guard a little. I stared up at the ceiling for a second before answering. “Yeah, I am.”
“Good.” Her voice became gentle again. “You work so hard, sweetheart. I want you to enjoy some of it too.”
Dad’s voice cut back in. “Enjoy it responsibly.”
“I heard that,” I called.
“You were meant to.”
“I’m not doing anything stupid.”
“That depends entirely on your definition of stupid,” Dad replied.
I laughed under my breath. “You two….”
“We can’t wait to get there,” Mom continued. “Your father’s already planning where he wants to sit, even though he knows perfectly well the seats are assigned.”
“I like to be prepared,” Dad defended loudly.
“You like to complain in advance.”
“Also true.”
I smiled, listening to them bicker in the background the way they always had.
“It’ll be good having you there. Seriously.”
“We wouldn’t miss it,” Mom replied.
Dad came back on before she could say anything else. “Just don’t overtrain trying to impress us.”
“I’m an Olympic athlete. Everything I do is technically showing off.”
“That’s my boy.”
I shook my head, still grinning. “Okay, I’m hanging up before this gets worse.”
“Love you,” Mom said quickly.
“Love you too.”
“Proud of you, kid,” Dad added.
That one sent warmth flooding through me.
“Bye.” I ended the call, then let the phone fall onto the bed beside me. I leaned my head back against the wall, listening to the silence that followed.
My head didn’t stay quiet, however. Ethan’s laughter and comments lingered, along with Mark’s warning about distractions.
And then there was Luka.
I’d spent maybe ten minutes talking to the guy. Less. But I could still picture him standing by the bench, shoulders tight, gaze sliding away whenever I looked directly at him.
And then there was the way he spoke.
Not his accent, although that was admittedly distracting.
Luka never seemed to say anything by accident. Every word sounded chosen.
Which, now that I thought about it, was exactly how he skated.
I scrubbed a hand across my face.
This is ridiculous.
Tomorrow I’d be back on the ice.
So would Luka.
Fuck. Mark was right. The Olympics were a terrible place for distractions.
And I had a feeling Luka Davorin was about to become one.