Page 4 of Back Outside Edge

"Thanks." His voice is rough, gravelly with sleep. A chill skates down my back. This is so bad. I cannot be crushing on Stefan Petryk. I can't. I just can't. It's not an option.

I don't turn away fast enough, and the image of his straight back, muscles rippling as he moves, his ass, tightly encased in a pair of white briefs, thighs every bit as muscular as I'd expected, will be seared into my brain for the rest of my life. No question.

The moment the door shuts behind him, I'm back on my side, facing away from the bathroom. My hand creeps down under my waistband and brushes against my cock, harder than ever. Even the light touch sends another shiver up my spine, and I breathe out a sigh of relief. Ok, I have to make this quick. I'm sure he's perfected the art of a two-minute shower.

My mind's eye is watching Stefan again. The way his biceps flex every time he moves. The six pack—maybe even an eight pack—he has to be sporting to match the rest. The long, lean, limber lines of him. His ass, tight and perfect. Those blue, blue eyes. Water running over his hard, mouth-watering body.

Before I know it, I'm coming hard into yesterday's sock, like I’m fifteen again. This is ridiculous.

But when the bathroom door opens again on a puff of steam and the artificially floral scent of hotel body wash, I'm out of bed, composed as can be. Stefan appears, damp hair smoothed back, dressed in workout gear from one of his many sponsors. Every bit as hot as he is in the ads.

He offers me something approaching a smile as I pass him on my own trip to the bathroom. Ok, Stefan is a morning person. Good to know.

My shower is more rinse than wash, and when I leave the bathroom after only a few minutes, I expect he'll be packing up his things for the day. Instead, I find him sitting cross-legged on a yoga mat, hands on his knees, eyes closed, posture ramrod straight. I slow down, trying to be quiet, and close the bathroom door with as soft a click as I can manage. Getting around him without disturbing him will be a challenge, though. The room doesn't come with much in the way of floor space, and he's taken up the area between his bed and the door, putting himself in my way.

I must not have moved quietly enough, because his eyes pop open. "Do you mind if I meditate for a bit?" His voice is calmer than it was last night. Still a little rough from sleep, but far less edgy.

"No, of course not. That's fine. I'll try to be quiet."

He doesn't quite smile at me, but the corner of his mouth does tick up again. He’s capable of smiling; I’ve seen it hundreds of times on TV. I’ll take this halfway attempt over snapping at me any day, though.

A moment later he closes his eyes again, dismissing me.

My suitcases are too loud when I pull them out of the closet, and I wince at the jingle of zippers, the thunk when I set everything on my bed. Sorting through my things to pull out what I need for the rink is also far from quiet, no matter how hard I try. Almost as soon as I start, Stefan gets up, going to the closet to pull out his backpack, removing a set of ear buds from a side pocket.

"Sorry," I breathe. Probably too quiet for him to hear, now he's got them in. He resettles onto his mat, and I try harder yet to be quiet.

The heater turns off, and our room is so silent my breathing sounds like a bellows. Even the hotel around us is quiet, which makes no sense. We can’t be the only people awake. Is my breathing disturbing him? His is a susurration, and if I can hear his, surely he can hear mine, since it's so stupidly loud. I drop my roller and wince. The thud of plastic on mattress wouldn't be noticeable at any other time, but it's as loud as a gunshot in the moment.

And I'm ready to leave the room, which means I have to go around him again. Crap. He hasn't moved, but for some reason one of the earbuds is out. Maybe I've been less annoying than I thought.

His eyes are closed when I wheel in front of him, then hesitate. He doesn't move, so I do my best to maneuver around him without touching him. "Sorry," I whisper again, when I fail completely and my suitcase bumps his leg. Two bags is a lot to manage through the small space. Did I really need everything? It's not like I'm going to be at the rink all day.

He grunts and leans back, folding his knees up to his chest and opening his eyes to watch me go by. "Going to breakfast?"

"Yeah, my first session starts at seven."

"Mm. Seven thirty here. Thirty-minute sessions are pretty tight."

"I guess they’re getting us ready for competition day?" I give him a grin, and his eyes widen a little. Was I too friendly? Too familiar? Smiling at roommates is normal, Stefan. Chill.

He suddenly stands, one graceful, limber movement, before stooping down to pick up his yoga mat. "Mind if I join?" he asks, rolling the mat and stuffing it into one of his own rink bags. I stop, watching him, bemused. Heart pounding far more than it should be at the simple question. Maybe it's the intensity of those eyes meeting mine again.

Chapter 3

Stefan

"No, of course not. You're done meditating?" Evan's voice is a little breathy. A lot surprised.

"Yeah, it was a lost cause." I have to move into a single tonight. I can't do this again. Can't focus with Evan in the room. My morning routine is shot to hell. And when my morning routine is shot, so is my skating.

And I’m not letting gold slip out of my hands this year just because the hotel fucked up.

He waits while I finish stuffing my mat into my duffel. When I stand back up and run a hand through my hair to loosen it, he smiles again.

That smile. It's a surprise. It shouldn't be. It's the grin he gives the camera every time it pans over him during competitions. Maybe I'd assumed it was reserved for the cameras, that it wasn't something he gave out in real life. But there it is, live and in person, just for me.

Is he as cheerful as he presents? Nobody could live in the world we live in and be that cheerful. Especially two days before Worlds. It's got to be an act.