The Thomas Flair - E.J. Russell Page 0,1

was gay. He’d walked into Central Gymnastics as a quaking ten-year-old whose body had been hijacked by diabetes, and the first person who’d greeted him was Tony, two years older and impossibly cool even then.

Sol dodged the last clump of athletes that separated him from his target—swimmers or divers, judging from the eau de chlorine fragrance—as Tony held up a “just a minute” finger to Luiz and dug his phone out of his pocket. From the way his grin faded, Sol knew exactly who must be on the other end of the text.

Tony’s fucking father.

If the guy hadn’t been the size of a Humvee—former linebacker, and he never let Tony forget what a huge disappointment he was for taking after his petite Senegalese mother rather than his beefy white self—Sol would have drop-kicked the asshole to Mars for the way he treated his son. Sol had never known Tony’s mom. Breast cancer had taken her before the boys had met. But Tony kept a picture of her with him as a toddler tucked in his gym bag. They had identical brilliant smiles and tight black curls, and if Tony’s skin was a shade lighter, it was an equally rich and gorgeous brown.

Tony caught sight of Sol and grinned. “Having a good time?” He tipped back his own water. “Living the dream, right?”

That grin might have fooled everybody else, but he’d been Sol’s best friend for nine years, and Sol kept a mental scrapbook of every one of Tony’s expressions. Because I’ve seen them all. And been mesmerized by each of them from that very first moment.

Something’s wrong.

But Sol couldn’t come out and just ask, not with Luiz standing right there—and the way Luiz’s gaze kept flicking from Tony’s lips, down his body, and back again, set Sol’s teeth on edge.

“Solly, you know Luiz, right?”

Sol forced himself to smile. “Of course. Congratulations on your silver on rings today.”

Luiz lifted his cup in a toast. “I reward myself with Coca Cola. For now.” He cocked his head, dark brows lifting in an undeniably handsome face. Sol could appreciate Luiz’s looks objectively, but subjectively? I’m Tony-blind. “You are here but not competing?”

Sol shrugged. “Alternate. They didn’t need me, but it’s still the Olympics, right?”

“Hey.” Tony nudged Sol with an elbow. “I always need you. Wouldn’t know how to face the judges without my Solly there to cheer me on.”

Sol snorted. “Yeah, right. You did fine at UO for the two years before I got there.”

Luiz’s brows rose in inquiry. “UO?”

“University of Oklahoma. We’re both on their NCAA gymnastics team. Go, Sooners!” Tony grinned and held up his fist for Sol to bump.

Luiz grimaced at his Coke. “Would you like to go somewhere else for a drink with a little more kick? Rio is my home, so I know all the best places.”

Sol glanced sidelong at Tony. Would he accept? He had two event finals tomorrow—parallel bars and high bar—the only member of Team USA to make it into more than one. But Tony shook his head.

“No, thanks. I’m heading back to the dorm. Gotta rest up for tomorrow.”

“Then you, Sol. You have not his excuse. As you say, this is the Olympics.” Luiz’s smile was crooked and sly. “Now that my competition is over, it is time to party.”

Sol shook his head. “Thanks, but I’ll head back with Tony. I don’t really drink.”

Tony gave Sol the side-eye. “You sure, Solly? Don’t bail on my account.”

“I’m sure.” He offered his hand for Luiz to shake. “Congratulations again on your medal.”

Luiz ignored his hand and brought him in for a hug and a back slap. “Obrigado.” He retreated a step and grinned. “Maybe tomorrow I can change both your minds about that drink.”

Tony laughed. “Could be. We’ll see how things go.”

The two of them threaded their way through the crowd. Despite Tony’s declaration about needing to rest, he seemed in no hurry, ambling along with his hands in the pockets of his shorts.

Tell him. Tell him now.

“There’s something—” Sol’s voice was nothing but a croak. He cleared his throat, but before he could spit out his confession, Tony chuckled.

“You can be pretty oblivious, Solly.”

Sol frowned as they flashed their credentials at the guards to pass into the Residential Zone. “About what?”

Tony’s grin glinted in the soft glow of a streetlight. “He was hitting on you.”

Sol whipped his head around as though some guy might leap out from behind a palm tree. “What? Who?”

“Luiz, you idiot.”

“Hello? I’m pretty sure he was hitting on you.”

Tony shrugged. “I’m