The Thomas Flair - E.J. Russell Page 0,66
any missed element wouldn’t kill anybody’s chances but his own took a lot of the pressure off.
When he and Rahul got back to the team suite, it was empty. Sol tossed his bag inside his room. “I guess they must still be doing interviews or meetings.”
Rahul nodded. “Yes. Barry is encouraging them to maximize the opportunity for team visibility and PR.” He peered down the hallway, toward one of the two suite bathrooms. “At least we can have first chance at the showers. Then I have studying to do.”
Sol chuckled as he collected his own toiletries and towel. Trust Rahul to be able to compartmentalize the Olympics in favor of Stanford. Sol closed the bathroom door and tossed his towel over the glass shower stall wall. On the other hand, maybe having a way to mentally separate yourself from the competition mindset is good. Sol often got a little too focused on his training, let it push everything else aside. Well, everything except diabetes management. Maybe that was his own way of compartmentalizing—gymnastics disengaged him from monitoring his condition and monitoring his condition detached him from overtraining.
He held his hand under the water until it warmed up, then stepped under the spray. And apparently I’m not the only one who needs that kind of balance. Since he’d done the interview with Quinn about his diabetes, he’d lost count of the number of people—both kids and adults—who’d reached out to him via social media. Sure, there were a small percentage of trolls who lambasted him for imagining he was “just as good as a normal person.” But far more people sincerely thanked him for his example, either fellow diabetics who’d believed they couldn’t follow their dreams, or people with diabetic loved ones, who wanted to support them and encourage them in a full, healthy life.
He was rinsing the shampoo out of his hair when he heard the bathroom door open and close. He groped for his towel to blot the water and soap out of his eyes, but then somebody placed the towel in his hand—and a hand on his hip.
“That better be you, Tony,” Sol muttered as he dried his face.
Tony’s chuckle sent shivers down Sol’s spine. “Who was it who schooled me about locking doors?”
Sol turned off the water before his towel could get soaked. “I was distracted.”
“I’m not sure how I feel about that. I mean, I wasn’t here, so who was distracting you?”
Sol kept his towel draped in front of his groin because he was naked. And wet. And Tony was dressed in the blue blazer and red tie of Team USA’s official interview wear. “I take it you were off being the face of USA men’s gymnastics.”
“You’re dodging the question.” Tony reached into the shower stall—which didn’t have a door—and gripped Sol’s waist. “Who was distracting you?” He tugged Sol forward. “It wasn’t that Brazilian guy, was it?”
“I told you, he maybe hit on me one time. And I’m still not convinced he wasn’t after you.” He put his hand, which was at least marginally dry, on Tony’s chest. “Stop. You’ll get your outfit wet.”
“It’ll dry. Come here.”
“Tony. There are other people in the suite.”
“So? They all know what we are to one another by now.”
“But Danny was the only one who saw us.”
Tony raised an eyebrow. “You really think he kept his mouth shut? Besides, he said they’d all known for weeks.”
“One of them might need to use the bathroom.”
“There are two. They can use the other one or just hold it.” He tugged more insistently, so Sol didn’t resist—because why would I want to?—and relaxed into Tony’s arms, Tony’s muscles straining the ability of the team blazer to contain them.
Tony exhaled on a long sigh. “That’s better,” he murmured. “I’m sorry I barged in, but I needed to see you. It wasn’t right, you not being with me while we were paraded around for the press to poke and prod us.”
Sol chuckled. “I know. You’d rather be the one to poke and prod.”
Tony kissed Sol’s wet hair. “I wouldn’t mind if you wanted to do the poking and prodding. I’m versatile.”
“Good to know.”
“Maybe. But what I really want you to know is that while I can’t be on the floor with you tomorrow, I’ll be there in the stands, every minute. Look for me when you mount the podium, before you salute.” He kissed Sol’s temple. “I’ll touch my chest just for you.”
“Your mental preparation.”
“Exactly. It always works for me, so it’s bound to