The Thomas Flair - E.J. Russell Page 0,8

their gender identity or orientation—because none of them were ever the one he wanted.

But I burned that bridge long ago. Maybe it’s time to move on.

Despite the cushy sofa, Tony shifted uneasily, the heat of the studio lights making sweat prickle on his nape. Moving on wouldn’t be so easy if his plans played out. And if they did—

“Tony Thomas.” Quinn turned to him, smiling and regal, her chin tilted at the perfect photogenic angle. “Welcome back to Quinn’s Ringside.”

Tony pushed aside his worries and grinned back at her. “Great to be here, Quinn. Thanks for having me.”

“Believe me, it’s my pleasure. You’re one of my favorite guests, on any and all of my shows.”

“How many is it up to now, Quinn?” Tony winked at her. Always give your host a chance to hype their own stuff.

She lifted an impeccable eyebrow. Oh yeah. She knows what I’m doing. “Well, since you asked…”

Quinn turned to the camera and launched into a charming spiel about her impressive information dynasty, well-rehearsed yet still fresh because the woman was a pro. Yeah, she knew how to market her brand, and the material she delivered was high quality all the way.

She turned back to Tony. “You’re no slouch yourself, Tony. You’ve got over one million subscribers on your Xtreme Bucket List channel—”

“One point two million. But who’s counting?”

Quinn laughed and crossed her legs, flashing the red soles of her Louboutin pumps. “Who indeed? Maybe by the end of this show, it’ll be one point three.”

Tony shook his head, shooting her one of his patented get-real looks. “Don’t sell yourself short, Quinn. With your viewership, XBL may break two million easy.”

“Flatterer.”

“I tell it like it is.”

“Then tell me this…”

Oh boy. Here it comes. Tony steeled himself for a hard question, because as fair as Quinn was, she was still a journalist who depended on readership and viewership to keep her relevant.

“Have you gotten any flack for… this?” One of the images from his shoot with ESPN’s Body Issue flashed on the screen behind Quinn—the color shot of an L-sit on the parallel bars. He was naked, of course—a requirement of the Body Issue—although given the lighting, and with the camera angled from below and to the side, the muscles in his arms and legs were thrown into relief, the tattoos on his shoulder and chest shadowed, the curve of his bare flank gleaming in the light.

The studio audience ooohed.

Tony grinned at them. “Not that one, no.” He quirked an eyebrow at Quinn. “You’re not going to show the other—”

The projection changed, and the audience hooted and clapped. Tony put his hand over his eyes and pretended to be mortified, because this one—the one that had gone viral—was a full back shot, his bare ass on display as he did a swing on the pommel horse.

“I can’t believe you went there, Quinn.” He peeked at her from under his hand. “Isn’t this a family show?”

“I think pretty much everyone who’s ever opened a social media app has seen that one, Tony. And it’s a beautiful shot, you’ve got to admit that. Perfectly embodying the beauty of the athletic form, which is what the Body Issue is all about. I do have a question, though.”

“Only one?”

She leaned forward, a wicked glint in her coffee-dark eyes. “How long did it take them to get that shot without any naughty bits swinging into view?”

Tony laughed, because that had been a problem. “Long enough.” The audience groaned. He pointed at them. “Hey. That wasn’t a double entendre, folks, so minds out of the gutter.” He faced Quinn once more. “Seriously though, the equipment in men’s gymnastics can be, shall we say, tough on the body? We had to work to find skills that wouldn’t cause undue trauma to my more delicate bits.” He nodded at the screen. “For instance, I couldn’t do scissors over the horse dressed like that.”

Quinn winced. “No, I don’t expect you could.”

“And high bar as a photographic subject was right out.” He waggled his eyebrows at the audience. “Centripetal force can’t be fought, am I right?”

Half the audience clapped and the other half booed good-naturedly. Tony saluted them with a grin and turned back to Quinn. “Any more tough questions, ma’am?”

“Always.” She leaned back in her chair and folded her hands on her knee, a sure sign she was getting ready to pounce. “Ringside is all about the Olympics, and you’ve got two medals from Rio.”

Tony managed to keep his smile in place. Because I’ve had four