Page 8 of Back Outside Edge

“I appreciate the confidence, but... Not compared to him. Look at that.” Evan's jumped into a camel spin, not even an overly difficult entry. And he still makes a spin every single one of us does look like he's in an entirely different realm. How does he do it?

“I hate him a little.” Jacques' bald pronouncement makes me laugh. As another skater known for his artistry, I'm sure it's uncomfortable watching Evan wipe the floor with him. And at a seven a.m. practice session, no less.

“How do you think he does it?” I ask. Maybe someone who focuses primarily on artistry can answer the question.

Jacques doesn't even crack a smile, his voice very matter-of-fact. “He has a fairy godmother. Obviously. Nobody can move like that without magic.”

“Yeah, probably.” I'm not sure either of us is joking.

Chapter 4

Evan

Stefan steps onto the ice as I leave it, and for a second, all I see is blue as our eyes meet. I should follow Gabby back to the warm-up room, see if she has any instructions for me, but I can’t tear my eyes off Stefan, much less walk away from him.

He's so powerful. Mastery evident in his every move. The group circles the rink, pace easy, for a minute. They're just getting their legs under them, but Stefan is the star. No matter how basic the movement, his intention, his mastery, is impressive. His form is perfect, so different than mine, which has frustrated coaches since I was twelve.

When the group begins to split away from the boards to move into element practice, Stefan has the run of the rink. I’m not the only one watching him; when he begins to speed up, moves into the rink, every other skater gets out of his way.

After a few minutes, I settle onto the seat where I left my shoes, but my eyes continue to follow him. I can't look away, not even to take the few minutes necessary to unlace my boots. His strokes pick up speed, and a moment later, he's on his back outside edge for a moment before he leaps into the air, using nothing but form and the power of his right leg. Then he’s flying, position flawless, perfect height, perfect rotations. He's superhuman. My dreaded quad loop, as if it's nothing. His warm-up jump is the one I've been working on for over a year without success.

Another cycle, and he takes off into another quad. A Lutz, this time, because of course it is. When he turns the jump that only a handful of people can do into a combination, I sigh. Jealous, all over again.

He seems to be in the mood to show off, because after another rotation around the rink, Stefan leaps into a quad Salchow and follows it up immediately with a quad toe loop. Can anyone else on Earth do that, stack two quads together? I didn’t know he could do it, but there it is, smooth as silk. Then a quad Lutz, triple loop, triple toe. Another combination that shouldn’t exist.

He's polite about his ownership of the rink, gives the rest their time to practice, but he is the undisputed king of it. As he moves further and further away from the possible, the rest of the skaters give him more and more space.

I'm certain we're all thinking the same thing. Wishing the same thing. To be able to jump like Stefan. Every takeoff is textbook-perfect. Every landing a deep, smooth glide. He rotates so quickly in the air.

Rumors of a quint have been spreading for years. Seeing him do what he's doing in person, I can understand why. He flies so high; he's got time for another rotation if he wanted it. He's already doing the impossible. What's one more jump that defies physics?

He's not going to do one this morning, though. Even if he was thinking about it, the session is too short, and he's already starting to wind down. A single quad Sal, which must be as easy as breathing to him. Then a triple-triple combination before he moves into a sit spin that grows into an upright.

Of course, because he's apparently a god, he rotates faster than anyone I've ever seen. He's a blur against the boards, yet when he pulls out, he's laughing. Laughing. How many G's was he holding? Now he's laughing, as if it was nothing. He is superhuman.

Someone draws up next to him, says something, and they're both laughing. Light, easy, neither of them even breathing hard. Stefan is close enough for me to see his face, and it’s glowing, eyes dancing, a light sheen of sweat highlighting the perfect planes of his face under the too-bright lights.

It's not fair. Nobody should be this good and this pretty. How are the rest of us mere mortals supposed to compete?

To add insult to injury, my cock is stirring again. What is wrong with me? I'm not supposed to react like this to a skater, to my competition. Didn't I learn my lesson about lusting over people in this world? Skaters are fickle and self-absorbed. We have to be to get to these levels.

But despite all that, I don't think I've reacted like this to anyone, ever. Something is very wrong with me.

Can professional adoration be mistaken for lust? Is that what this is? Because God knows, I admire the crap out of the man.

If it's old-fashioned lust, though, it's stupid, because regardless of whether he's straight, Stefan Petryk is the reigning god of figure skating. The man who makes the rest of us look like we never graduated out of Juniors. He's so far out of my league it's a joke. I don't think he even likes me, despite breakfast.

He still looks far too approachable, laughing with—is that Jacques Benoit? Yes, definitely, Jacques Benoit. And there’s another ridiculously handsome man—as though they've been best friends since birth. Hell, for all I know they have been. Stefan was raised in this world. Maybe they went to skating day care together. The fact that he holds some humanity behind the robotic perfection only makes him more appealing.

Plus, Jacques is out publicly, one of the few skaters confident enough to risk judge, sponsor, and fan disapproval to be themselves. He got away with it, since charisma practically oozes out of him and he's ridiculously popular, but it was still a risk.

So Stefan is at least accepting of queer people. Which is another mark in his favor, and enough to give me a kernel of painful hope. Might some part of Stefan maybe, possibly, be interested in me?

No; I know better. Being friends with a gay man doesn't mean anything about his sexuality. Just means he's not always an asshole.

The pair are still laughing when they make their way off the rink, ceding the space to the next group. As they start up the aisle, Stefan's head turns in my direction. Crap. I duck, staring at my boots, head down as I begin to untie the laces. Will he notice me? Realize I’ve been sitting here watching him?

I'm not the only one. Most of my group stopped to watch Stefan’s practice, skaters and coaches alike. It shouldn't feel weird, or like I'm any different than the rest.