said something about his phone’s lousy screen resolution, but Sol wasn’t listening anymore.
Why would Tony be on Quinn’s Ringside? True, Quinn Urquhart had practically made a second career out of following Tony from one outrageous exploit to another. Not that Sol would know much about that (as long as he kept his denial firmly in place). But Ringside was about the Olympics and Olympians.
Tony’s an Olympian. A double silver medalist. Maybe the show was about past Games. Yeah, that must be it.
It couldn’t be because Sol had put flairs in both his pommel horse and floor routine and conjured Tony back into Sol’s consciousness.
Get over yourself, Ashvili. Everything Tony does is not about you.
Sol snorted, startling some of the kids into glancing at him wide-eyed. If Tony had cared about their friendship, about Sol, about the more that Sol had been starting to believe their friendship was evolving into, then he wouldn’t have bailed four years ago, with no word since.
Maybe it’s time to let everything I do—or don’t do—not be about him.
But despite the need for his protein shake, despite Xiao waiting for him upstairs, once the last of the kids trailed out the door, leaving the lobby empty, the itch that was constantly with Sol, the itch to know more about what Tony was doing—even though Tony’s antics made Sol cringe most of the time—grew until he had to scratch.
Just like I always do. Damn it, why couldn’t he leave Tony in the past where he belonged?
Sol’s heart whispered the answer, but his brain refused to listen. Nevertheless, he slunk back through the shadowed gym and pulled out his cell phone.
As he straddled the bench in front of his locker, he rationalized his pathetic lapse like he always did. It only makes sense to keep up with Quinn’s Ringside. Somehow, Quinn always got the earliest news about Olympic competitors. Maybe she’d spill something about how the new rules were predicted to change the competition. Get real, Ashvili. If that was the only reason for the episode, why would Tony be the featured guest? He hasn’t competed since—
Sol froze, his finger about to touch the Ringside app. Tony had competed, although not at any of the meets that Sol had attended. UO finals and graduation had derailed Sol’s Tony Thomas obsession for a few months, but he’d heard Tony had signed on with the notorious Andrei Nicolescu to get back into competition form after three years of training for other activities altogether. What if, under the new rules, Tony had qualified for the Olympics not by team, but by name?
That won’t matter. The other guys on the national team had been training for this for years, the program at the US Olympic and Paralympic Training Center molding them into a unit, into Team USA. Bringing an outsider like Tony in, even if he had picked up a qualifying berth, would be disruptive to the point of disaster. The coaches wouldn’t do that.
Would they?
Sol braced himself and launched the app just as the opening credits ended.
Quinn’s wide-cheeked face, crowned with her signature braided locs, filled the screen. “Good evening, everyone. And welcome to Quinn’s Ringside.” She grinned, teeth blinding white against her crimson lipstick. “Have I got a treat for you tonight.”
And there was Tony—his laughing eyes, his fade tipped with a shock of tight platinum curls, his glowing brown skin a match for Quinn’s—so beautiful he made Sol’s heart stutter.
Sol had to pinch his quad—hard—to remind himself that Tony didn’t give a good goddamn about Sol, or their friendship, or gymnastics. If he forgot that—Tony’s abandonment, his obvious thirst for the spotlight, the way he chased one risky stunt after another—Sol would be in danger of falling in love with Tony all over again.
Too bad I’ve never really fallen out.
Seated across from Quinn in her high-end studio, Tony stretched one arm along the back of the leather couch as she finished her intro. He winked at her assistant, a seriously cute guy with a geeky hipster vibe who’d always had a bit of a crush on Tony—not that Tony would do anything about it. He valued his relationship with Quinn too much. She’d been a stalwart supporter, sympathetic yet fair, ever since Ori had set up that first post-Rio interview.
So Tony naturally delivered good content for her every time. But even good content wouldn’t offset being a dick to her staff, and Tony knew himself. He’d definitely be a dick. He was always a dick to anybody he dated—whatever