Page 44 of Love on the Tracks
She grins at me then, and speaks slowly. “The point is, the Russian team cheated. They’re getting stripped of their medals, which means everyone moves up in the standings. Moretti gets the gold, Vogel gets the silver, and I—”
Understanding finally dawns. “Holy shit. You get the bronze? You medaled? Holy fucking shit.”
I pick her up and swing her around. Which, after I’ve done a few turns, I realize is a downright idiotic thing to do to someone with a concussion, but Rowan doesn’t seem to mind. She’s too busy hugging me back and laughing. It’s the best sound I’ve ever heard. Louder and more brazen than the sound of her singing, but there’s joy in both of them, and it fills my heart.
“You won, Row, you fucking won!”
“Yeah, I did.”
Finally finding some semblance of sanity, I set her down and take her face in my hands. “That’s amazing. I’m so proud of you. I mean, I was proud of you before, and I’d be proud of you no matter what, but you’re—”
I want to tell her exactly how I feel. That she’s the most incredible woman I’ve ever met, I love how strong she is, and how hard she works. Of course, I can’t help but love how freaking gorgeous she is, too, with her long hair and her bright green eyes, and her body—Jesus, it blows my mind every fucking time. Though it hurt me when I thought she was choosing her sport over me, I love her devotion. If she cares about me even a fraction as much as she cares about sliding, I’d be a lucky guy. Hell, Iamlucky for having been allowed to have her for this long.
I can’t get any of that out, because she kisses me. Grabs the lapels of the stupid blazer I’d worn over here even though it’s not warm enough because I know she thinks I look hot in it, and pulls me to her, going up on her tiptoes to make our lips meet.
I’ve heard kisses described in so many words, done some of it myself, but never have I understood how a kiss could be searing until now. That’s what this is, though; white-hot blinding pleasure from our mouths meeting, and a brush of her tongue across the seam of my lips. Fire-eating has never sounded tempting to me, but at the moment, I’d do it. If it would be even a pale imitation of this, I’d beg for it.
We kiss until we’re breathless, until I’m drunk and a little burnt-out. There’s about a hundred thousand reasons we can’t take this any further, but god do I want to. Since that’s not an option, we stare at each other, giddy and stupid with luck and bliss.
“What I was going to say before I took the call—”
“Best call ever.”
She grins at me, and plants another small kiss on my mouth, one that’s cute and so sweet in its easy familiarity I want to bottle it. Keep it around and take a swig whenever things are hard, because once upon a time there was this incredible girl . . .
“Anyway, before I took the call, I was going to say you’re way more to me than a fake boyfriend to get some press. You’re crazy talented, but you’re also kind and funny, and I love how you look in your glasses. So basically, I like you. A lot. I know maybe I’m just some SIG athlete you thought it would be fun to do something nice for and get some good PR in the process, but—”
“You’re not. You’re absolutely not. I mean, yeah, that’s how this started out, but even from the first time I met you it started to be more than that. You’re amazing, Rowan Andrews. On the track and off it, and I’m lucky you’ll give me the time of day. I mean, pop stars are a dime a dozen, but how many people can say they’ve dated a medal-winning SIG luger?”
She laughs, and I love the sound. I want to sing with her again. Wrap her in my arms and try to teach her some more chords and even if she never gets it, enjoy the feel of her against me. I’ve got more to say too.
“I never meant to make you feel like you had to choose. I was feeling insecure and being selfish. Your loyalty and devotion is incredible and I wouldn’t change a thing. I know you’ve still got obligations to fulfill here, and you’ll have to go back to training when you go back home, but I was hoping we might be able to give this a try, not in the SIG snow globe, but in real life. I don’t want this to end.”
For the few seconds it takes her to start speaking, my heart feels as though it’s floating outside my body. Is she going to catch it in its hopeful free-fall and pull it close to her chest, where her own heart is beating the same frantic rhythm? Or is she going to step back and let it splat onto the floor?
“I don’t either. And maybe it’s soon, but time gets warped here, so I don’t feel like it’s too early to say . . . I love you, Zane Rivera.”
I make my living from singing love songs. The word must roll off my tongue a thousand times a day. Those times have been easy. Love has been this abstract thing I could talk about and shape however I liked. Pile onto it with notes and beats and a certain expression on my face to make all the fans swoon. This is different. This isn’t practiced, it’s not a performance, and it’s not marketable. What it is, though, is genuine.
The words weigh on my heart as I say them, not in a stifling way, but in an embrace. The same way Rowan’s holding me. Which makes it easy to say them back, and mean them with everything I have. “I love you, too, Row.”
Epilogue
Rowan
The closing ceremony was some of the most fun I’ve had in my whole life. I’d remembered it from last time, of course, but this time around felt different. And I don’t think it was just the difference of having a medal around my neck.
The one that is around my neck right now. Is in fact the only thing I have on and have had on for hours.
The bed in Zane’s hotel suite is deliriously comfortable. Someone’s going to have to pry me out of here with a crowbar when this is all over. We still have a couple of days to enjoy, though, and I intend to, oh yes, I do. I know just the guy to help me out with that.
Zane leans over and kisses me deeply. It’s maybe a trite way to describe it, but I can’t think of another way to say it’s not just our lips touching, or tongues tangling, or even some nips of our teeth. The connection is deeper than that, and since I’m me and not him, I don’t have fancy words to say that. It’s more than our surfaces getting tangled up and acquainted, it’s perhaps our longing hearts.
What I am good with is my body, so I try to tell him in my own way how much he means to me, how glad I am we’re together, and yeah, how much he turns me on. Because his hips resting between my legs, teasing me with brushes of his thick, hard arousal against my clit while we kiss . . . it’s a heady rush, and unlike my other lovers who have always come in a distant second, having sex with Zane is probably tied for my favorite thing to do on my back.
His hips beneath my hands are smooth, the sinewy muscles working under his soft skin in a rhythm that’s pure bodily pleasure. It’s possible I’d imagined scenarios like this when he was a pretty face on a picture under my mattress, a swoony voice on the radio, but my imagination wasn’t good enough.
Zane pulls back only long enough to dip his head and apply his magic mouth to my neck where he kisses, licks, and sucks. I want to beg him to do it harder, but despite the games being over, the press is not. Between my medal and being Zane Rivera’s new lady love, I’ve got a bunch of appearances scheduled over the next few weeks, with more to come, and I don’t want to have a hickey in any of the pictures. On just about any other place on my body, they could be excused as training bruises, but not there.
