Chapter 12 Evan #2
"Ja," he answers curtly, before everything goes silent again.
Stefan moans again, and I scoot a little closer to him, leaving my hand on his arm. Damn it, I just got him calm. "So what are you doing the rest of the week?"
Understanding my strategy by this point, Stefan begins a very long, rambling description of what he's planning to do.
When it peters out, I feel him shift, and when I glance over, he's turned to face me.
“The room will be lonely without you,” he says softly, and even in the near dark, his eyes bore into mine.
My heart squeezes, the familiar pressure in my chest returning.
He's in this situation because he was following me back to our room instead of going off to do his own thing, and he's still saying he'll miss me?
“Stefan.” My voice comes out quieter than I expected, more tentative.
“I'll miss you, too.” I turn to face him as well, our knees touching, the phone dropping to the ground when I bump it, light now shining up toward the ceiling.
Aren't people supposed to look creepy when underlit? Stefan looks hotter, more angular.
His eyes may be shadowed, but they're gazing straight into mine. “We'll keep in touch, right? Stay friends?”
“Of course. What are your plans for the next couple of months?” I didn’t mean to sound like I’m suggesting a visit, but when the words are out, I don’t regret them. I’d love the chance to see him again.
To taste him, if he’d let me. Neither of us is looking for a relationship; I don’t need to ask to know that. We’re too busy, too preoccupied with training, too distant. I don’t do them in the first place.
But—we could have fun, practice together at my rink. I could bring him back to my crappy little apartment.
The idea of what we could get up to there is appealing enough it sends a little shiver through me. Stefan, in my apartment. In my bed.
Well, crap, now I'm hard again, sitting on the floor of a stuck elevator. Cliché, much? Can he see? The tight joggers I'm still wearing are very, very bad at hiding things like this, but the lighting is so weird...
Luckily, his eyes don’t flick down; instead, I think he looks pensive, which at least means he's not terrified anymore. “I'm going to tour around Europe a little while I'm here. Head home in a couple of weeks, probably. Hop back into training.”
“That's not giving yourself a lot of time off.”
He shrugs, unconcerned. “Can't be too ready for next year.”
It's blatantly untrue. He could overtrain, hurt himself, wear himself out before the season starts.
I let it go, again. He's an adult, knows his body, has a coach who—well, a coach who pushes him even harder.
Maybe that last is less useful than it could be.
His father was an Olympic gold medalist himself, though; he has to know what too far looks like.
“What about you?” he asks, the words almost blurring into one as they come out too rapidly.
Why? I don't think he's freaked out about the stuck elevator anymore. His hands aren't clenched. “Oh, I'll mostly be catching up on all the school work I've missed.”
“Wait, are you in college? How come I didn't know that?”
I can feel his eyes penetrating me, and I smile into them with a shrug. “I have no idea. It's not a secret. I guess it's not exactly been my top priority this week. What about you?”
“Oh.” He looks down, and in the weird light, his growing blush is more obvious.
His fingers start tracing circles on his thighs, and I tense.
Now he's looking down, he can't miss my hard-on.
Damn it. He doesn't give any indication he's noticed, though.
“I decided to wait on college after the last Olympics. Focus on my skating, you know.”
"Yeah, I get it. I did that for a couple years before the last Olympics." Though it didn't work out for me. Down, down. Come on... The memory of my failure is usually enough to sober me right up, but with Stefan so close, his scent surrounding me, the near darkness—my hand still on his arm. Crap.
I drop my hand quickly, and his head turns, tracking the movement. “What do you study?”
It's such an innocuous question, given the direction of my thoughts, it takes me a moment to gather my control. Straining to look unaffected, I sigh. “Sports management. I have no idea why I thought it was a good idea, or what I’m planning to do with it.”
“Do you graduate this year?” His voice holds genuine interest, which warms me as much as anything else he’s said. Not that I need any added warmth.
My smile at him this time is, perhaps, a little sappy.
People always ask me these questions, but it's rote small talk, the kind they’re required to ask and will forget the answers as soon as I give them.
With Stefan, though, it's different. I think he wants to know. Like the answers matter to him. “Next year. I’m on an Olympic cycle schedule.”
“Oh, sure. That makes sense.” He smiles back at me, then his eyes drop again and his fingers start picking at his sweats. When he glances back up at me, he’s all but peering at me from underneath his fringe. Is he doing this on purpose? Does he have any idea how adorable he is?
Whatever he’s thinking makes him hesitate. Takes him back to the shy version of himself that contradicts the public Stefan Petryk persona in almost every way. “I have a really invasive question for you. If it's ok. If it's not, that's totally fine.”
“Sure.” His hedging makes me want to laugh, but I keep my face steady. Between keeping his panic at bay and general Stefanness, is there anything he could ask me right now I wouldn’t answer?
“Ok.” He takes in a deep breath, then blows it out on a long count. “You don't have to answer. Really. If you don't want to.”
“Stefan, it's fine. I won't take offense, I promise.” It's harder to keep the laugh out of my voice, and his head snaps up a bit, eyes meeting mine with their full intensity. I guess I failed at neutral.
"It's just—" Another slow breath, in and out. "I know that a lot of skaters are in the closet or whatever, and it's fine. I don't blame anyone. But—are you—" Another pause, as if he's hoping I'll fill in the blanks for him.
I could; it’s obvious now what he’s asking, but something in me wants to hear the words. For him to actually ask me. "This sounds so cringe, but what's your sexual orientation? Again, you don’t have to answer. It's ok."