Chapter 21
Chapter Twenty-One
Luka
I woke tangled around Dean.
For one slow, disorienting moment, I lay there listening to his breathing and feeling the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath my hand.
Morning light leaked through the gap in the blinds, pale winter grey softening the edges of the room, and Dean was still asleep beside me, warm and solid and real.
I remembered the weight of him leaning into me the night before, the complete absence of hesitation, as though he had never questioned where to go.
Dean stirred beneath my hand, his eyes opening slowly before focusing on me. For a second his expression stayed soft with sleep, unguarded in a way that still startled me every time I saw it.
“Hey,” he murmured.
“Good morning.”
A faint smile touched his lips. “You sound way too functional for this hour.”
“I have already been awake for twelve minutes.”
He managed a rough chuckle. “And you are also way too precise.”
I laughed, and some of the heaviness still lingering from the night before eased from his face at the sound. He slid his hand up my back to my neck. “You okay?”
I smiled. “I should be asking this of you.” But it was clear the panic that had seized him yesterday no longer held him in its grip. And he had slept.
That mattered.
Right then I didn’t want to think about the enormous pressure waiting for both of us that evening. I wanted to lie there and enjoy his warmth, his scent.
“I think I was out like a light the second my head hit the pillow.” He pulled me closer, and I drew the smell of bed-warmed skin into my nostrils.
“He will be fine,” I murmured. I knew his father had to be in his thoughts.
He let out a sigh. “If there’s any change, Mom will call. Well, she’d better. But she did sound positive.” Dean rested his forehead against mine. “Breakfast with the team in an hour.” He paused. “You should come.”
I tensed up in a heartbeat.
“Luka.”
I looked away. “That seems unwise.”
Dean cupped my chin, turning my face toward his. “It’s breakfast, not a hostage negotiation.”
I tried for lightness. “You Americans approach breakfast with alarming enthusiasm.”
Another rough chuckle. “There’ll be other skaters there too. Keisha’s meeting us. Ingrid probably will if she’s conscious before noon.” I frowned, and he traced the line of my cheek with a finger. “Keisha Thompson, Canadian figure skater. Ice Dance. Ingrid Solheim, Norway.”
I nodded. “I know of Ingrid. A pairs skater.” Actually, I knew of both of them. They were on the same short list that also contained Ethan Miller.
This was still a bad idea.
I knew I’d be expected to have breakfast with my teammates, coaches, and Federation delegates, the way we’d done every morning since we’d arrived. It was supposed to be informal, relaxed.
It was never that.
Dean brushed his fingers up and down my spine. “You don’t have to walk in with me. Just… join us.”
Something in his voice made it impossible to dismiss outright. He wasn’t applying pressure, but offering an opportunity to experience something different.
That was harder to resist.
“Let me go to my room. I will meet you in the cafeteria after my shower.”
His eyes twinkled. “You could always use mine again.”
I laughed. “I think that is also unwise. I learned about the Archimedes principle in school. You learned this too?”
He frowned. “Er, yeah? Buoyancy, right? But what does that have to do with—”
I smiled. “In your case, when my body is immersed in water, you climb into it with me, and washing becomes the last thing on our minds.”
Dean stared at me for a heartbeat. Then he barked out a startled laugh loud enough that I instinctively glanced toward the corridor outside his room.
“Oh my God,” he said, still laughing. “That was a science joke. You’re flirting with me using physics now.”
“It was technically hydrodynamics.”
“That somehow makes it worse.”
I tried to maintain composure, but his expression was too delighted, too openly charmed, and laughter escaped me again.
Dean’s eyes were warm as they held mine. “You realize you’ve changed, right?”
The observation caught me off guard. “How?”
“You joke now.” His fingers continued their slow path along my spine, grounding and distracting at the same time. “At first I thought you were gonna file paperwork before every conversation.”
I narrowed my eyes. “That is unfair.”
“You said ‘this interaction appears statistically inadvisable’ the first day we met.”
“I did not say that.”
“Well, whatever you said, that was the implication.”
I bit my lip. “I stand by that assessment.”
Dean grinned. “And now you’re making innuendos about buoyancy.”
I flushed. “That was not—”
“It absolutely was.”
I gave up attempting dignity and pressed my forehead against his shoulder instead. Dean’s laughter faded, his hand sliding up into my hair.
“I like this version of you,” he murmured quietly.
For a man who spent most of his life trying to become what other people needed, being liked for who I actually was felt dangerously important.
Then Dean shifted lower in the bed, and I caught my breath. My hands were on his head a moment later, my back arched as he took me deep.
I can make time for this.
To lose myself in him.
The dining hall buzzed with dozens of conversations layered over each other in multiple languages, athletes moving between food stations in national team gear while coaches hovered nearby with coffee and exhausted expressions.
I stood there holding a tray, my pulse racing.
Does this count as a psychological stress test?
I spotted Dean’s table. He sat surrounded by Americans, his broad shoulders relaxed. Ethan lounged beside him mid-story while Noah laughed hard enough to spill orange juice across the table. The women were laughing too.
A bigger team than Velkarya’s and all of them faces I knew from watching videos of their performances.
Then Dean looked up. The moment he saw me, his expression changed, growing warmer.
As I approached, Ethan spotted me first. “Davorin!” He pointed at the empty chair beside him. “Come suffer coffee with us.”
I snorted. “That sounds less like hospitality and more like a threat.”
Ethan clutched his chest with a theatrical air. “He’s learning sarcasm. I’m so proud.”
Laughter moved around the table, and there was no tension in it, no discomfort, only acceptance.
That unsettled me more than hostility would have.
Dean shifted his chair as I sat down, his knee brushing mine beneath the table before moving away again.
A tiny contact that was still enough to steady something inside me.
Keisha sat opposite us wearing a Canadian team hoodie, armed with enough confidence to light the entire cafeteria by herself. Beside her sat Ingrid, tall and broad-shouldered with pale blond hair tied messily back from her face.
I knew both of them by reputation. Everyone did, not only because they were excellent skaters, but because they were openly themselves.
Keisha caught me looking and grinned. “You decided to join the American table? You brave man.”
I bit back a smile. “I am still assessing the danger level.”
“That’s fair.” Ingrid smirked. “Noah alone raises it significantly.”
“Hey!” Noah objected around a mouthful of toast.
Keisha stretched in her seat. “Honestly, though, it’s nice seeing another surviving pairs guy in here. Ice dancers are exhausting.”
Dean blinked. “You literally are an ice dancer.”
“Exactly. I know what I’m talking about.”
More laughter followed, and I found myself relaxing despite every instinct telling me not to.
Keisha casually referenced an ex-girlfriend at one point and Noah asked whether the breakup had affected her choreography. Ingrid mentioned a woman she’d met in Milan, and Ethan immediately demanded details.
I sat there listening.
For a moment I forgot to guard anything.
A sudden burst of laughter near the cafeteria entrance pulled my attention away in time to see a tall blond woman in a Swiss ski team jacket approach the table, confidence in every stride.
Dean looked up as she stopped beside him, but it was clear he didn’t know her.
“Dean Foster, right?”
“That’s me.”
Her smile widened. “I saw your skate last night. Very impressive.”
“Thanks.”
She leaned closer, her eyes bright. “I’m Lena.”
“Dean.”
Lena chuckled. “Yes, I know.”
The table went quiet, and I recognized Noah’s expression instantly.
Anticipation.
Lena rested one elbow against the back of Dean’s chair. “So I was wondering…” Her smile turned openly flirtatious. “Do you maybe want my room number?”
Ethan made a choking sound into his coffee.
Dean blinked, obviously caught off guard. Then he gave her a polite smile. “That’s flattering, but I’m here to compete. I’m trying to stay focused.”
The disappointment on her face was immediate, though she recovered quickly.
“Well, your loss.” She let out a dramatic sigh.
“Probably.”
She straightened, then laughed before walking away.
The second she disappeared, the entire table exploded.
“No way,” Noah shouted. “No actual way.”
Dean groaned. “Please shut up.”
“You turned down a hot Swiss skier,” Nathan said, his eyes wide. “Do you not understand how heterosexual men are supposed to behave in the Olympic Village?”
Keisha raised one hand. “If he doesn’t want her room number, I absolutely do.”
“Excuse me?” Ingrid’s voice sliced through the laughter.
Everyone around the table went still.
Keisha blinked at her. “Whoa.”
Ingrid looked as though she wanted the floor to open beneath her chair, and all of a sudden I saw what was going on.
A second later, Keisha appeared to get the memo. “Oh.”
Color rose in Ingrid’s cheeks as she stared down at her coffee.
Noah’s eyes widened, his lips parted, and Ethan kicked him hard under the table before he could say anything.
Sitting there watching all of it unfold—the embarrassment, the attraction, the teasing, the complete absence of fear—I felt something twist painfully inside me again.
Keisha flirted openly because she could. Ingrid reacted instinctively because she did not have to calculate survival before emotion.
And Dean—