weren’t there.” Sol tried to keep the accusation out of his voice, but it was a struggle. Guess I’ve got a little residual resentment.
Tony shot him a surprised glance. “They did? I didn’t realize— But I guess that makes sense. I took time away from the tour a couple of times for other commitments. I never asked who they got to come in to replace me.”
“It was me, at least that time.”
Tony gripped Sol’s thigh briefly. “I’m sorry. You know that by now, right? Sorry that I was an asshole. Sorry that I ghosted you.” He grinned wryly. “I can’t promise that I’d do it differently if I could, because let’s face it—I am an asshole.”
“You’re not,” Sol said fiercely. “You’re just larger than life.”
Tony’s grin lost its wryness. “The Thomas flair? That’s not an excuse, you know. It never should have been. And it won’t be again. Not with you. I promise.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
They gazed at each other for what felt like forever. I wish we weren’t in an arena full of people, because I really want to kiss him. Then Tony cleared his throat and faced the podium where the first rotation was beginning. “So the tour. But afterward?”
Sol settled back in his seat, his shoulder still pressed against Tony’s. “I’m taking the whole year off before I start grad school. I’ve got a couple of options of where I’ll go.”
“Biochem?”
“Yup. What about you?”
Tony slid down in his seat, letting his legs fall apart so his knee bumped Sol’s. “Oh, I’ve got a few… ideas.”
Sol elbowed him. “So tell me.”
“Shh.” He pointed to the balance beam. “Show some respect. Our USA sisters are about to kick some serious ass.”
Tony tossed his cell phone on his bed and ripped off his tie. If he didn’t get his hands—and mouth—on Sol tonight, he was going to jump out of his skin without benefit of a springboard. The last few days had been intense, the coaches relentless in the lead-up to event finals and the PR guy—what the fuck was his name?—booking them for press appearances in every minute the coaches would allow. Since Tony and Sol were competing on different events, even their training schedules hadn’t coincided.
I thought the fucking Olympics were supposed to be the fucking Olympics. Either that rumor was completely overblown, or else the Tokyo organizers had figured out a way to minimize athletes boinking at every opportunity. You’d think we’d have managed something in our own suite, for Chrissakes. But no.
They’d barely managed to see each other except at meals, and no matter how much he’d wanted to sneak into Sol’s room at night, he didn’t want to disturb his rest.
But Sol’s competition was over, now that he’d added vault gold to his floor ex silver and—yes, I knew it—gold on pommel horse. Tony had high bar tomorrow, but he could get by on grit and adrenaline. He could risk his own performance—he refused to risk Sol’s.
His cell phone vibrated with an incoming call. Solly? Is he finally done with whatever the fuck they had him doing tonight? But it was only his father. Again. His dad and Andrei had been bombarding him with increasingly frequent calls in the last two days. Tony had ignored them, of course. He’d have turned off the fucking phone except he didn’t want to miss a call from Sol.
Tony stripped off the rest of his official Team USA interview suit. He’d earned a bronze on still rings today and had taken his turn in front of the cameras, but Sol’s medal count was higher, and those two golds guaranteed more interest.
Because Sol deserved every bit of the attention and adulation—and more—Tony couldn’t have been happier. Other than it’s kept us apart for too fucking long.
The message alarm pinged on the phone as Tony was pulling on a pair of sweat shorts. He grabbed it, grinning, because his XBL fans had been sending him congratulations since before the medal ceremony.
His grin faded, though, because the text was from Andrei. It was a picture taken at the media center after today’s events—a picture of him and Sol.
Sol was smiling for the camera, his neck draped with all five medals. Tony, wearing his team silver and newly minted still rings bronze, was smiling too, but not at the camera.
At Sol.
And nobody who looked at that picture could doubt what he felt.
Heat built behind Tony’s eyes as he typed in a response. If he didn’t need his hands in top shape for