The Thomas Flair - E.J. Russell Page 0,33

he was too busy reliving his gridiron glory days.

“I’d much rather hang out with them than my dad. But if I don’t let him yell at me now, it’ll be hanging over my head all the way to Tokyo.”

Sol frowned. “What’s he got to yell at you about? You made the Olympic team, for crying out loud.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t come in first.” Tony sank down on the bed. “Ol’ Dad is all about being top dog, and since he never managed it, I have to be the one to carry the flag. He thinks I need to up the risk level on my XBL channel to attract more subscribers.”

“Bullshit.” Sol plopped down next to Tony. “That’s not why you do it, is it? The risky stunts?”

Was it? A part of Tony had never stopped trying to please his unpleasable father—probably never would, since habits learned in childhood were fucking hard to break. But the truth? “I’m an adrenaline junkie, Solly. I always have been.” He smiled wryly. “I should probably take advantage of being fit enough to indulge my addiction while I can.”

Sol’s scowl deepened. “Also bullshit.” He drew one knee onto the bed so he faced Tony. “You’re more important than the next routine, the next stunt, the next risk. Stop taking chances with your body, Tony. The next time might not be reparable.”

Tony glanced at the open door. Still no movement in the rest of the suite, so he allowed himself to take Sol’s hand. “You almost sound like you care.”

Sol’s grip tightened on Tony’s fingers. “Of course I care, you jerk. I thought we covered that the other day.”

Tony squinted one eye, peering up at the ceiling. “We did? My injury, you know… The pain makes everything a little muzzy.”

Sol raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t have an injury. Or not as much of one as you pretended. You faked it, remember?”

“Did I?” Tony blinked in faux innocence. “I thought for sure I was heading for the light.”

“You did no such thing, and you know that perfectly well.”

Oh, but I was. Just not the one most people meant. “Maybe you could jog my memory?”

Sol chuckled, low and dirty, then got up, closed the door, and flicked the lock. “How’s this for a jog?”

He stalked over and straddled Tony’s lap, spreading his legs in the kind of wide splits that only a gymnast could manage, his groin snug against Tony’s. “Ringing any bells?”

Somewhere, Tony dredged up enough breath to speak. “Maaaybe?”

“How about this?” Sol flattened his palms on Tony’s pecs and pushed him backwards. Then he leaned forward and pressed his chest against Tony’s, his dark hair flopping over his forehead.

“Christ, Solly,” Tony growled. “Put this move in our warm-up and I’ll never get off the mat. This should totally be an Olympic event. Pairs gymnastics.”

Sol chuckled again, vibrating Tony’s bones and, er, boner. “I doubt anyone else on the team would go for it.”

“Well, I certainly would. This is—” Sol flexed his hips and Tony had to bunch the comforter in his fists to keep from grabbing Sol’s ass. “This is another element they’ll name after us. The Thomas-Ashvili 2.”

Sol flexed again and Tony moaned. “Why is your name always first? I think this should be the Ashvili-Thomas. After all, you are on the bottom.”

Tony shouted with laughter, but Sol cut it off with a kiss that was a solid 10.0 on execution. Tony let go of the comforter—why the fuck would he want to grab fake down and fabric when he could run his hands along the taut muscles in Sol’s back to palm his ass. God, that ass. Quinn and her fans went crazy over gymnasts’ chests and arms, but they were missing out on perfection if they weren’t checking out Sol’s ass. Not that anyone could get a good look with their stupid retro uniforms in the way.

Tony cupped one of those perfect cheeks in each hand. On second thought, maybe I’m the uniforms’ biggest fan. Because nobody should be allowed to ogle this but me.

Sol nipped at Tony’s lip as he drew away. Damn. Kiss dismounts should not be allowed. “I’ve got to go. My parents will be here any minute.”

“You said they were coming in an hour.” Tony forced himself to release Sol’s ass, but couldn’t let go altogether. He threaded his fingers through Sol’s silky hair. “It hasn’t been that long.”

“Yes, but we’re talking about my parents. They’ve never been less than forty-five minutes early for anything in their lives.” Sol