Page 57 of About to Fall

“That was the entire design brief. And for the record, Bash got a gigantic wolf on his shoulder so I got off easy in the drunk tattoo department.”

He laughed into my shoulder—that real laugh, the full body one I was becoming embarrassingly addicted to pulling out of him—and settled back against my chest like he belonged there.

My thoughts were racing in time with my heartbeat.

Tomorrow we had a competition. Tomorrow we'd be back to being rivals. Tomorrow this would get shoved into a box labelled mistake and buried under layers of professionalism and competitive focus and whatever bullshit we told ourselves to make it make sense.

Except I already knew that wasn't going to work.

The realization hit me like a missed landing—hard, disorienting, the kind of impact that knocks the air out of your lungs and leaves you staring at the ceiling wondering what the hell just happened and how you're supposed to get up from here.

I didn't hate Nicky.

Not even close.

26. Nico

I had slipped out of the hotel room before the sun was fully up.

Adrian was still asleep—sprawled on his stomach in the other bed, one arm hanging off the edge, face pressed into the pillow at an angle that should have been uncomfortable but didn't seem to bother him at all. His hair was a mess of pale pink against white cotton. The sheets were tangled around his waist. He slept the way he did everything else—taking up as much space as the universe would allow.

I hadn't looked at him for longer than thirty seconds. Couldn't afford to. Because looking led to thinking and thinking led to remembering and remembering led to the full body flush that was currently making me want to crawl out of my own skin.

I had gotten dressed in the dark, grabbed my skate bag, and left without making coffee or leaving a note or doing any of the things a normal person might do after—

After.

My heart was beating erratically in my chest.

It should have been simple. Anger and adrenaline and the kind of collision that burned itself out on impact. A hate fuck. Something I could file away under poor judgment and never revisit.

Except afterward we'd stayed in that bed. And talked. And laughed. And it had felt… easy. That was when the temperature shifted.

I'd felt it happen—the exact moment we both realized we'd gone too far. Said too much. I'd gotten up first. Locked myself in the bathroom. Stood under the shower with my forehead against the tile.

When I came out, he was waiting for his turn, leaning against the wall in his boxers, expression already sealed shut. He didn't say anything. Neither did I. He went in. I heard the water start.

While he showered, I fixed the bed—the compulsion to make order out of chaos. Pulled the sheets straight, smoothed the pillows, tucked the corners. By the time I was done, it looked like a hotel bed again. Clean. Neutral. Like nothing had happened here.

When he came out, half naked with his hair dripping, his eyes went to the bed. Then to me. He didn't say anything about it. He didn't need to. We both knew what I'd just done.

He climbed into his own bed. Not mine.

"Good night, Nicky," he said and turned away from me.

I lay there on sheets that were smooth and cold and smelled like us and told myself this was fine. That the ghost of his hands on my hips and his mouth on my neck and his fingers laced through mine would fade by morning.

◆◆◆

There were three other skaters on the ice at this hour. Probably jetlagged and trying to squeeze in more practice. Not spiralling and needing a place to escape.

The bite of cold air against my face helped clear my thoughts as I tried to outskate the thoughts.

It hadn't meant anything to him. That was the thing I needed to accept—cleanly, quickly, before it twisted into something that would compromise my focus for the next few days.

Adrian Zhao was not new to this. He'd probably hooked up at every competition he'd ever attended. The man travelled with a box of condoms—not a discreet travel pack tucked into a toiletry bag like a normal person. A box. The big box. The Costco of condoms. How much sex was he planning to have?

He flirted easily. Dressed provocatively. Sex was just another thing he did for fun without examining what it meant for the person underneath him.