Page 39 of Back Outside Edge

So I decide to start by taking him to my house. It's out of town, in the hills, so it takes longer, I think, than he expects. He starts shooting me sidelong glances as we continue to drive, and I just smile at him, waiting for him to ask. He doesn't, so I don't tell him where we're going. Yeah, we’re two stubborn assholes. And I love it.

He's fully awake again by the time we get home. I watch him, enjoying his reaction to my house. To the way his eyes widen as he takes in the hills.

I love it out here. It's really too long of a commute to the rink, but it's worth it for the days I get to spend at home. A canyon opens up below my house, and this time of year, it's full of wildflowers. When I bought my house, it seemed perfect, but lately it’s felt too big, too lonely for me. Even so, it's worth it for the view.

Evan turns to me, his eyes wide. "This is your house? Seriously? I thought you said you didn't live with your parents."

Chapter 16

Evan

I'm aware Stefan comes from money. Most people at our level of skating do; it's a prohibitively expensive sport. The only reason I've gotten so far is the combination of Skate Canada’s low-income skating outreach and my sports scholarship.

I'm even aware Stefan’s level of money is above most. His family trains and coaches at their own rink; of course he has money. However, there's a difference between knowing he has money and having it shoved directly into my face.

He gives a casual wave though, as if the gigantic house in the middle of the California wilderness is nothing. "No, this is my house. I bought it for the view, honestly."

Sure, because twenty-two-year-olds regularly buy mansions with a view.

Instead of the front door, Stefan wanders around the side of the house, leaving my luggage in the car. Curious, I follow him, and when we arrive at the back of the house, my breath leaves me in a gasp. It's the most clichéd possible reaction to what's in front of me, but I can't help it.

He doesn't have a backyard, not as such. Instead, Stefan has an entire canyon. It's incredible. It's far from the biggest canyon in the world, but it’s gorgeous, the walls covered in a profusion of wild grasses, shrubs, and wildflowers, interspersed with large boulders.

A side deck peeks over the edge with what I imagine is an even better view, and Stefan’s house is almost all glass on the back side. Yeah, he likes the view, all right. Who wouldn't? "Isn't that house a little big for you?" I try to make the question sound teasing, like the house is no big deal. To pretend I'm not some country bumpkin who grew up working and living on a farm my family doesn’t own.

I take a deep breath of the warm air. He could have shown me the canyon from the inside, with the wall of windows, but I’m glad he didn't. Here, I can smell everything. Wildflowers, fresh cut grass, a sharpness I would say was pine trees if any were around, heated rock, dry soil, hardy shrubs like sage, maybe. If I could bottle the scent up, I’d give it to Stefan. It would be the perfect cologne for him.

He shrugs, all casual, as if none of this is a big deal. "I would have taken any house for this view. But yeah, it's pretty big. I know."

Pretty big? Since when is Stefan the master of understatement? The house could fit a family of ten.

He comes up to stand next to me. He’s closer to me than I remember him standing last time we were together, as if his personal bubble has shrunk over the last couple months. Maybe the last moments we had in Frankfurt dissolved both of ours, because I don’t mind his closeness. Not at all.

Is he still attracted to me? His exuberant greeting made my stomach churn with hopeful nerves, but he was so silent on the drive here. For all his apparent openness to the media, Stefan is a vault when he wants to be, impossible to read.

And now I've been silent too long; I need to say something. "It really is something."

Well, sure, I guess I could say the lamest thing possible.

"Yeah." The back of his hand touches mine. Casual, as if he didn't mean for it to happen, but I instinctively turn my own hand towards his, giving him space to take hold if he wants to.

It's a subtle invitation, and he takes it, causing my breath to hitch. His fingers wrap around mine and it’s warm and wonderful, lighting my skin up, sending my heart rate rocketing. I guess that answers the question. A couple of months away wasn't enough to bank the fire burning between us. At least not on my end.

Since he's still holding my hand, maybe not on his either. I sneak a glance away from the scenery to look at him, finding that bright blue watching me back, more gorgeous than I remember. My racing heart skips a beat. Cardiac arrest, here I come. His mouth curves into that quirk of a smile, just for me, and everything inside me melts. He didn't get any less attractive.

Now I'm seeing him in his home environment, I know exactly what color his eyes are. They're the color of the sky over the canyon behind his house. The precise shade of blue at the horizon's edge in the evening. And his hair? It's the same color as the tufts on top of the long grasses lining the canyon walls. If I hadn't already known he was a California boy, this would have sealed it. He might be the son of two Ukrainians, but he's a perfect match for this environment.

His fingers squeeze my hand, and I realize we've been staring at each other for too long. Gazing into each other's eyes like a pair of lovesick teenagers. "Ready to go inside?" His voice is soft, not interrupting the moment, a gentle invitation. I don't think he's propositioning me, but I don't think he would object, either.

"Yeah, sounds good. Let's go in." I try to smile back at him, but something in my mouth is off. A tremble, maybe. Stefan does strange things to my body.

At first glance, the inside of Stefan’s house is every bit as impressive as the outside promised, though, we’re interrupted the moment we walk through the front door. Two furry bundles streak across the hardwood to us, spinning around Stefan’s legs, purring when he leans down to pet them.

They’re huge. I knew cats could be big, but I've never met any this big. A good half of their size might be their coats, though, because they’re both covered in very long, very fluffy fur. The one that sits down first, eyeing me suspiciously, is white, with bright blue eyes and some orange on its nose, ears, feet, and tail. The other one, trying to climb into Stefan’s arms while he laughs at it, is the opposite. Black, with white tuxedo markings and white paws.

He looks over the top of the black cat’s head, now secure in his arms, as big as his chest. “So did I mention I have cats?” Out of nowhere, he goes pale, eyes almost as wide as the blue ones still regarding me from the floor. “Fuck, are you allergic to cats? I should have asked.”

“Nope, and nope.” I lean in a bit, holding out my hand for the one in his arms experimentally. It sniffs my fingers, and when it doesn’t hiss at me, I slowly touch its head. I don’t know a lot about cats; my family has always had a dog and the barn cats aren't friendly. “They’re beautiful.”