Page 41 of Off the Edge

But a text message was proof of contact. If my father got hold of my phone . . . I slipped it back into my pocket.

The people at the table beside me chatted about standards and etiquette, about discipline and honor, as though Cam had none of those things. They joked about his tattoos, as though being inked made him bad. They didn’t know him, had no idea what he’d been through to get those tattoos.

I could feel my blood heating. The more they spoke, the more they cast aspersions on a man who had been through more than most to get here. A man who wasn’t here to defend himself.

“Kare wa, kimi-tachi no dare yori mo hokoritakai otoko da,” I told them calmly. “Ano nebarizuyosa wa, namitaitei no mono ja nai. Sore ni, ano hyōhyō to shita taido o keihakusa to kanchigai suru na. Kare no sukēto wa kanpeki da.”

They fell quiet, then the man on the left bowed his head. “Sumimasen, Hasegawa-san. Shitsurei shimashita.”

It cost me nothing to defend him. I only wished I could do it more openly. Would he even want me to, at this point? Probably not.

I left the café and walked along the riverside, letting the air nip at my face.

Tomorrow, we’d compete against each other in the rhythm dance. I was ready. He would be too. There was no doubt in my mind that Camden wanted the win. He’d almost taken himself out of ice dance permanently to win the Meridian. He did not do things by halves. He would be a serious contender for the gold, if my father didn’t interfere.

The only way to make sure that didn’t happen was to stay far, far away from Camden Navarro.

EIGHTEEN

CAMDEN

The shock on Ren’s face when he saw me waiting outside his apartment door kicked my heart rate up and put my body into fight or flight mode.

“You can’t be here!” He’d stopped walking when he’d spotted me, but as someone approached from behind me, he walked faster and whipped his keycard out of his coat pocket.

“I’m not leaving until you speak with me, so . . .” A whole spool of doubts unraveled through me. He’d left me no choice, though.

He swiped the card. The door unlocked. He shoved it open and strode in. “Get inside,” he hissed.

He was furious. Good. I was fucking angry too. I didn’t want to be there either, but he hadn’t left me much of a choice.

He yanked his coat off, threw it on the couch. Then his gloves went. “How long have you been out there?”

“An hour.” I shrugged. “Maybe more.”

He said something in Japanese, something sweary, and ran a hand through his hair. “Did anyone see you?”

“Probably.”

“Camden, this is foolish.” He paced, long legs scissoring back and forth. “Focus on the dance tomorrow. You can’t be here now. You can’t.”

“Well, I am. Whose fault is that? Because you won’t fucking talk to me.”

He stopped and stared, cheek twitching.

Damn, he was fucking hot when he was angry. I’d forgotten that. I kinda loved seeing him all worked up and unraveled, because he was always so refined and controlled that when he did cut loose, it was exhilarating. I did not love the way he was angry at me, though. It made me feel small, made my heart shrivel behind my ribs.

“You gonna say anything about why you’ve been such a dick, or are you just gonna stare like I’m the problem?”

His glare cut away. “You’re not a problem.”

“No? Maybe you should tell the Olympic Committee that? They’d probably listen to you. Golden boy Hasegawa. Don’t let my name taint your shiny Olympic halo. Did you think I’d shrug off the kiss at skate sharpening? I’d just take your silence and walk? I don’t know who you think I am, but I don’t walk the fuck away⁠—”

He came across the room like an arrow straight for my heart and cut off my runaway rant with his mouth on mine. He pushed in, and he was everywhere suddenly. All my thoughts screeched to a halt, buffering, while he thrust his tongue in, and dammit, I was gone. I grabbed him, wrapped my arms around him, and fucking devoured him, taking and giving back just as hard as he gave. He scooped me up, and my legs went around him, slotting where they naturally fit.

He carried me a few steps sideways, then dumped me roughly on a table. Oh god, yes. I tore his shirt from his belt, got my hands up underneath it, on his skin, and stroked my fingers around his waist and up his back, taking his warmth into my touch. He hissed air in, between his teeth, then sent his mouth down my neck, kissing and teasing.

Some annoying little voice at the back of my mind said don’t do this again. I wasn’t stopping. Fuck that voice. And fuck being sensible and talking and all of that. I wanted this man on me, and in me, in any and all ways.