been Solly. This should have been Solly. Sol might not be the flashiest gymnast on the planet, but he was the most consistent.
A petite woman with a blade of a nose and a wild aureole of curly dark hair approached him, her smile fading as she studied his face. “Mr. Thomas? I’m Ori Hirsch. Is this a bad time?”
Only the worst. “No.” His smile might be totally fake, but he knew it was convincing. Over the years, he’d had plenty of practice pretending his father wasn’t a manipulative asshole to perfect it. “What can I do for you?”
She smiled, her slightly crooked front teeth giving her narrow face a cockeyed sort of charm. “It’s more what I can do for you.” She handed him a business card. “I’m a sports agent. What are your plans for after the Games?”
Tony glanced over his shoulder, where his father was yukking it up with the bigwigs, probably trying to convince them to give Tony something else that he didn’t deserve. “Not much at the moment.”
“I know you’ve got one more year before you graduate from the University of Oklahoma. But…” The way she drew out the last word snapped Tony’s attention back to her.
“But?”
“Have you considered going pro? You’ll lose your NCAA eligibility if you do, of course. It would take your career in an entirely different direction.”
A different direction? Away from his father? Away from entitlement? Away from Solly? God, how could he lose Sol? But how can I face him now?
He grinned down at her. “Tell me more, Ms. Hirsch. I am all ears.”
Sol hadn’t stopped grinning since Tony had nailed his p-bars routine. He’d intended to escape the arena in time to catch Tony after he ran the gauntlet of the press in the mixed zone. That way they could catch the bus back to the Olympic Village together before Tony got dragged off to post-competition interviews.
But he hadn’t wanted to miss a single minute of Tony’s second medal ceremony, so he’d gotten caught in the crowd. By the time he’d fought his way outside, Tony had been long gone.
One way or another, this is happening. Tonight. Sol was determined to make use of the free condoms the Games had handed out like Halloween candy, although he doubted he’d get a chance to see Tony before the team’s publicity engine chewed him up and spit him out. When Matt had won his bronze medal on pommel horse two days ago, he hadn’t staggered back to the team suite until nearly three in the morning. I don’t care. I’ll camp out outside Tony’s door all night if I have to.
So when he finally caught the bus to the Residential Zone and returned to the team’s suite, he parked himself in the hallway next to Tony’s room. He’ll be back, eventually. It won’t be that long.
But hours later, his ass numb from sitting on the floor, he was startled out of a half doze by a teammate stumbling over his feet.
“Sorry.” Ron, Tony’s roommate, grinned goofily down at Sol as he wavered outside the door, his keycard nowhere near the lock.
Sol knuckled his eyes. “What time is it?”
“I dunno. Morning?”
“What?” Sol wrestled his cell phone out of his pants pocket. Almost six. Shit. I need to check my levels and eat. He pushed himself to his feet as Ron finally opened his door and staggered inside. A series of thumps had Sol peering inside to make sure he hadn’t tripped on the usual clutter the followed Tony anywhere and knocked himself silly.
But Ron wasn’t sprawled on his bed, waiting to be ambushed by a monster hangover. Instead, he was tossing things into a suitcase on one of the beds.
Tony’s suitcase. Tony’s bed.
“Ron? What’s going on?”
“Oh.” He blinked at Sol then squinted at the open suitcase. “Packing up Tony’s shit. Wait.” He snatched a T-shirt out of the case and tossed it over his shoulder. “That’s mine.”
“Why? Tony—”
“Gone.”
Sol clutched the doorframe, his belly jolting like he’d misjudged a dismount landing. “What do you mean he’s gone? He was fine.”
Ron gaped at him, then burst into giggles. “Not that kind of gone. I mean—” He hooked his thumbs together and flapped his palms to mock a bird in flight. “Hopped a plane back home.” He snorted. “With his new agent.”
“Agent? What? He’s going pro? But that means he won’t be NCAA eligible for his last year at UO. If—”
“Don’t ask me, man.” He snagged a pair of shorts and rifled them into the suitcase.