The urge to tell him I used the same sleeping aid was huge.
Dean laughed, the sound loud and bright in the small room before he quieted hurriedly. “Don’t we all?” His grin widened before his gaze slipped again. “Better than a sleeping pill any day.” His thumb grazed my cheek. “Trust me, Olympic Village statistics support my theory.”
I seemed unable to stop staring at him. “There are statistics?”
“Oh, absolutely,” he declared, his voice deadpan. “Somewhere out there is a deeply traumatized official counting empty condom boxes and wondering what happened to athletic discipline.”
A startled laugh escaped me, and I didn’t try to hold onto it.
Dean’s expression warmed in a heartbeat. “There you are,” he murmured. “I was starting to think Velkarya had outlawed fun completely.”
“Maybe it did.”
“Good thing you’ve defected temporarily, then.”
I shook my head, still laughing under my breath as he pulled me against him.
“Sleep.” He pressed another kiss to my forehead. “Tomorrow you win gold.”
I closed my eyes, letting myself settle against him.
“And after that?” I asked, my voice low.
Dean’s arm tightened around me.
“After that, we continue your education.”
Chapter Nineteen
February 6
Dean
The roar movingthrough the arena carried enough force to vibrate through the boards beneath my gloves. Floodlights swept over the ice, catching every blade mark carved into the surface.
The Kiss and Cry sat at the end of a long row divided into ten boxed sections marked by national flags hanging overhead. Each space held coaches, team staff, extra jackets, skate guards?—
And nerves.
The tension sat low and constant, threading through every conversation, every warm-up lap, every glance toward the standings monitor already waiting to begin filling with scores.
I folded my arms tighter against the cold and looked across the rink, finding Luka without consciously choosing to.
He stood beside Mila near the gate waiting for their introduction.
From a distance he looked exactly as he always did before a competition, calm, focused, controlled. The difference only became obvious when he smiled at something Mila said.
A week ago that smile wouldn’t have been there.
Then his gaze lifted, scanning the faces in the US section—and finding mine.
The contact lasted maybe two seconds.
It was enough.
Luka’s expression didn’t change, but I saw the smallest shift in his posture, the loosening of his shoulders.
Then the announcer’s voice rolled through the arena.
