Page 30 of Back Outside Edge

My smile at him this time is, perhaps, a little sappy. People always ask me these questions, but it's rote small talk, the kind they’re required to ask and will forget the answers as soon as I give them. With Stefan, though, it's different. I think he wants to know. Like the answers matter to him. “Next year. I’m on an Olympic cycle schedule.”

“Oh, sure. That makes sense.” He smiles back at me, then his eyes drop again and his fingers start picking at his sweats. When he glances back up at me, he’s all but peering at me from underneath his fringe. Is he doing this on purpose? Does he have any idea how adorable he is?

Whatever he’s thinking makes him hesitate. Takes him back to the shy version of himself that contradicts the public Stefan Petryk persona in almost every way. “I have a really invasive question for you. If it's ok. If it's not, that's totally fine.”

“Sure.” His hedging makes me want to laugh, but I keep my face steady. Between keeping his panic at bay and general Stefanness, is there anything he could ask me right now I wouldn’t answer?

“Ok.” He takes in a deep breath, then blows it out on a long count. “You don't have to answer. Really. If you don't want to.”

“Stefan, it's fine. I won't take offense, I promise.” It's harder to keep the laugh out of my voice, and his head snaps up a bit, eyes meeting mine with their full intensity. I guess I failed at neutral.

"It's just—" Another slow breath, in and out. "I know that a lot of skaters are in the closet or whatever, and it's fine. I don't blame anyone. But—are you—" Another pause, as if he's hoping I'll fill in the blanks for him.

I could; it’s obvious now what he’s asking, but something in me wants to hear the words. For him to actually ask me. "This sounds so cringe, but what's your sexual orientation? Again, you don’t have to answer. It's ok."

Chapter 13

Stefan

"It's fine, really. You don't have to—" Evan interrupts my attempt to let him off the hook with what sounds like a smothered laugh. I glance up at him again. His face is still pinched, but his eyes are dancing. His mouth is quirking, but it's not anger, thank fuck. In fact, I'm pretty sure he's trying not to laugh. “Are you laughing at me, Evan Marquez?” I feign an outrage I don't feel. Because all that's going through my mind is abject relief. He's not offended. That's all that matters.

Even the closed-in space, the dark, doesn't seem as terrifying anymore. The space goes from a horrible, pressing presence to a cozy little bubble of privacy in a moment.

"No," he says, but his voice quavers, an undeniable crack in it. He is laughing at me. "It's just—you're so adorable when you're flustered."

Adorable. At the word, a whoosh of air leaves my lungs. He thinks I'm adorable? That has to be a good sign, right? Another glance up at him through my bangs, trying to look a little less flustered. Undoubtedly unsuccessfully. The pinched look has left his face, replaced with a broad smile. With that beautiful, perfect Evan smile I am becoming addicted to. Seeing me watching him, his smile quirks a bit. “Wait, what was the question again?”

I am going to kill him. I am going to choke him with my sweatshirt. “I hate you.”

The smile brightens further, if that's even possible. “I don't think you do.”

“I absolutely do. You are the worst.”

“Am I though?” he asks, and there's something behind the teasing. Something darker, more seductive. Something I'm desperate for. He inches closer, and now our knees are pressing into each other. My throat tightens. My skin tingles. Currents of electricity shooting out from that slight contact. I look down, and—oh, fuck. He's hard. It’s impossible not to see with those tight jogging pants highlighting it.

And he smells amazing. We've been stuck in here long enough that his scent has permeated the space, or maybe he's just so close I can smell him everywhere. Like soap, but with an undercurrent of—of something. Something that must be Evan himself, because he’s using the same soap I am. Warm, like vanilla, but not. I dart my gaze up to his face. To that teasing grin.

“I thought I was sweet,” he adds, as if the world hasn't changed in every single way possible. As if I have any idea what we're even talking about.

I swallow hard. Not sure how to answer, not sure where to look. I feel like some kind of blushing virgin, and it's ridiculous. I shouldn't feel like this. This isn't new territory to me. I mean, yes, it is, of course it is, but...

But this is Evan. And this desire is so much more than I've ever felt. I'm as hard as he is. Hard enough that I think a touch would be enough to set me off, if he was the one to touch me. I only realize I've licked my lips when his eyes dart down to them. Kiss me. Please, please kiss me. I think I'd do just about anything if it meant Evan would kiss me.

“Nope.” The word comes out a croak, my subconscious doing the heavy lifting of keeping this conversation going. I am astonished sound even manages to make it through my tight throat. When I realize I'm staring at his crotch again, I raise my eyes to his face. He's still smiling, but it's changed, too. I can't quite see it, but I can feel the heat in his eyes radiating toward me. “Not at all sweet.”

"Want to test that theory?" Oh, fuck, his voice has dropped an octave. I already thought his voice was sexy, but now I'm going to come in my pants untouched. I don't think I've ever been this turned on.

“Do you have a test in mind?” How am I still talking?

He's barely touching me. No skin against my own. Just knees, through two layers of fabric, with us sitting cross legged across from each other in the middle of what should be my nightmare. He leans forward, a few inches, his mouth closer to mine, but still too far away. I sense him everywhere, the aura of his presence enough to keep me frozen. And when I look up into those dark, dark eyes, the world stops.

He's staring back at me. “Stefan,” he whispers, “you have to tell me you want this.” All of the teasing has left his voice, replaced by something close to solemnity.

Why? Isn’t it blatantly, painfully obvious? Everything inside me is screaming at him. Please, please, take me! My brain is gone, incapable of keeping up. With supreme effort, I manage to get two words out. “Kiss me.” It's all but inaudible, but maybe he reads it on my lips.

Because a moment later he's leaning in even further. Our mouths now only inches apart, and he's cupping my cheeks in his hands. His pupils are so wide, his eyes look black. But he's still staring at me. Watching me. No more movement. “Are you sure?”

I have never been more sure of anything in my life. My cheeks are blazing under his fingers. I don't think I'm breathing. So why am I waiting, unable to make the move? I’ve never been shy like I am with him. Never this hesitant. I take what I want.