The Thomas Flair - E.J. Russell Page 0,28
do you have snacks in your room? We have to—”
“Calm down, Tony. It’s not that dire.”
Tony ran his hands through his hair, trailing jizz through his curls like X-rated hair gel. “Jesus, Sol, you can’t take risks with your health like this.”
Sol raised an eyebrow. “Says the man who jumps off cliffs and out of airplanes.”
“That’s different. I can take chances with myself. But you?” Tony grabbed a T-shirt off the floor and started mopping semen off Sol’s belly. “I don’t take chances with you.”
There went that heart double layout again. “I guess you do care.”
Tony tossed the shirt aside and sat on the edge of the bed. He laced his rather sticky fingers with Sol’s equally gummy ones. “You can doubt anything else. Doubt the world is round. Doubt that the Japanese team will invent six new elements by Friday. Doubt Rahul will pass quantum mechanics. But never doubt that. That—” He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss on Sol’s lips. “—you can take straight to the bank.”
The neoprene sleeve on his knee had bugged the hell out of Tony on the plane from Colorado Springs to St. Louis, and he’d picked at it through his pants until Sol elbowed him in the ribs. The damn thing had been a semi-permanent fixture for the last three days. Yeah, nobody had been more surprised than him when it turned out his injury wasn’t completely faked after all. Turns out all the reps Andrei insisted on came at a cost—although catching Sol in equipment storage and dropping to his knees to swallow him down hadn’t helped. Worth it, though, for the look on Solly’s face when he came. And since that had been the only time they’d managed to get their hands on one another’s skin since the inauguration of the Thomas-Ashvili? Doubly worth it.
He’d worn it during their training sessions out on the floor at the Enterprise Center, but fuck it. I’m not wearing it for the trials. He sat on the bench in front of his locker and stripped it off.
“Hey, Tony.” Danny strolled over and straddled the bench next to him as Tony was stepping into his warmup pants. “I saw Quinn Urquhart in the stands during podium training. You got another interview with her after the trials?”
Tony forced himself to grin at Danny, even though his mind was apparently circling somewhere over the Mississippi, because it certainly wasn’t in his head. “Nah. I just told her we always practice shirtless. Her fans insisted on evidence.”
Danny flexed his biceps, which made it look like he was smuggling bowling balls under his warm-up jacket. “Tell her we’ll be happy to put on a show anytime.”
Rahul scowled at Danny from his spot on the other side of Tony. “Think about showboating later. It’s the Olympic Trials. You should be concentrating on your routines.”
Danny laughed as he rose to his feet. “Not all of us prepare by reciting the periodic table of elements.”
“I’m an engineer,” Rahul muttered. “Not a chemist.”
“Whatever. Get ready. March-in is in five.”
March-in is in five. Five minutes before Tony was on the competition floor with his team for the first time since Rio. He’d gotten used to the adrenaline buzz from his XBL stunts over the last few years, but this was different. Is this what it’s like to be afraid? He’d never been afraid in a gym before—not for himself, anyway. He’d nearly pissed himself the first time Sol tried a Gaylord II on the high bar when he was a sophomore in high school, but that was different. That was Sol.
He fumbled with the zipper on his gym bag and pulled out his water bottle to ease his dry mouth. Just take it one exercise at a time. One skill at a time. That’s what Xiao told them in their mindfulness sessions. But Tony couldn’t help projecting, indulging in a what-if. Six routines today and six the day after tomorrow. Those were his only chances—his last chances—to prove to Sol that he was all in.
What if I can’t do it? He hadn’t stuck a dismount in practice all week despite the knee support, and in podium training, he’d missed the bar after his easiest release move.
What the fuck is wrong with me? I don’t get nervous. But that’s what it felt like—a low-level vibration under his skin, keeping him from concentrating.
He jerked when Rahul slammed his locker and stalked after Danny. The rest of the guys had already wandered off to line up for