Page 65 of About to Fall

He didn't say anything for a minute. Just worked the laces with practised efficiency, his rings catching the fluorescent light.

“Sucks about Osaka.”

I kept my eyes on my own skates. “It's fine. I'm still in contention.”

“Fourth place though.” He said it casually, like he was commenting on the weather. “I don't remember the last time you didn't medal.”

“Happens all the time.”

“So you don't remember either?”

I tugged a lace tighter than necessary. “Juniors. I was sixteen, so you were already a senior citizen by then. Fell on my triple Lutz. Landed on my ass in front of three thousand people.”

“Tragic.”

“It was formative.”

He snorted. Finished his left skate and started on his right. The silence stretched between us—not quite comfortable, not quite hostile. Something in between.

“It really is just one competition,” he said finally. “You know that, right Nicky?”

I looked up. He was watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read. Not mocking. Not gloating. Something almost like... concern.

“Are you—” I blinked. “Are you giving me a pep talk?”

“Of course not.” He pulled his lace tight. “Maybe a little. Point is, don't quit.”

“Why would I quit?”

“You had that look. After the scores came up. Like you were calculating whether it was worth it anymore.” He shrugged, still not meeting my eyes. “Don't quit. That's all I'm saying.”

“I'm not quitting.” The words came out sharper than I intended. “You're not getting rid of me that easily. You want to go back to the Olympics, you're going to have to beat me to get there.”

Something flickered across his face. The corner of his mouth twitched upward.

“Good.” He stood, testing his weight on his blades. “I like fierce competition. It's boring otherwise.”

I finished my own laces and stood beside him. We were almost the same height—he had maybe two inches on me—but he always seemed to take up more space.

“You had a good program,” I admitted grudgingly. “In Osaka.”

His eyebrows shot up. “Oh? So you were watching?”

I rolled my eyes. “Everyone was watching. You were in first place. It's called paying attention to the standings.”

“Sure, Nicky.” The smirk was back now, familiar and infuriating. “That's definitely why you were watching.”

He skated off before I could respond, gliding backwards so he could keep his eyes on me, grinning like he'd won something.

I told myself the heat crawling up my neck was irritation.

It was a very convincing lie.

◆◆◆

“Are you headed to off-ice conditioning?”

Adrian caught up to me outside the locker room, his usual skating uniform of track pants and sleeveless compression shirt traded for athletic shorts and a tank top. I tried not to think about how quickly he would ditch the shirt in the gym. Tried not to notice the way the tank top hung loose enough to show the edges of ink along his ribs when he moved.