Fuck.

Maybe because I was an athlete—regardless of what other people stupidly thought—I could appreciate all the different forms male athletes held. I’d never been a big fan of male models with their perfectly sculpted tiny muscles that had to be worked on regularly, one at a time. I liked raw strength in all its shapes. I really did.

But Ivan’s in particular had been basically painted by a master. The caps of muscle at his shoulders were drawn by pen, the lean, rigid muscles of his forearms and biceps were strong. Then there were his firm pectorals, the flat abs with eight small square shapes at them. The detailed muscles at his hips from all his lifting, and the long, lines of muscle striations at his thighs and calves.

I didn’t need to look at his ass to know that it was high and tight.

And I’d be a fucking liar if I said I hadn’t glanced at his penis, but like me, he’d decided to cover something. That something was hidden by what looked like a nude-colored sock that covered his junk, leaving only trimmed hairs at his groin there.

I wasn’t going to bend down to see if I could see his balls.

I glanced all over Ivan again and barely held back a head shake. He was seriously a work of perfection. Honestly. Truly.

But I would die before I told him that, so I needed to stop thinking about it. We needed to get this shit over with.

“Come on then, shy boy, before your balls start receding back into your body too,” I told him.

That had him snapping his eyes open to glare at me, his face scrunched up. “Hopefully my hand doesn’t slip.”

“Hopefully I don’t lose my balance and my foot goes up your ass—”

“Okay! All right! Let’s start you two,” Coach Lee hollered, and I didn’t need to look at her to know she was shaking her head.

I blinked at Ivan, as I stood there fucking naked and said, “Come on, Socks. Let’s do this. Maybe we’ll end up on the cover.” And I felt zero nausea or worry as I said it.

Chapter 11

I should have known something was going on when I got home that evening and found my mom in the kitchen, a plate of food sitting in front of the stool I usually sat at, waiting for me. She hadn’t served me dinner in years. I couldn’t actually remember if she had ever prepared any of us plates in advance… with the exception of Ruby. It was usually a free-for-all. Mom always said she wasn’t our maid, and that we should be grateful she cooked to begin with.

So, I should have known something was up. The problem was that I was exhausted following the photo shoot that took all damn morning. Don’t smile. Look natural. Do that pose again. Can you hold it a little longer? Hold your leg in this awkward, unnatural position for one more minute. Stand there and freeze your ass off. Tilt your head this way—no the other way—and hold it there. Ivan, put your freezing fucking hands on Jasmine’s body and hold them there for two minutes.

Fuck, fuck, and double fuck.

He didn’t laugh every time he touched me, and I’d have to suck in a breath because it hurt, but I knew he wanted to.

My nipples were still hard from being on the ice, covered with only the tiniest pieces of tape, and I was pretty sure my vagina was never going to be warm again. My clit had probably turned into a raisin. I hadn’t even glanced at the sock covering Ivan’s dick after the first time because it had been cold as hell. I wasn’t going to judge a man for what his junk looked like in the cold.

Plus, there had been other things to look at.

Everything north of the Equator and everything south of the Equator. Muscles, muscles, and more beautifully carved muscles. It wasn’t exactly difficult, even though every time his hands touched me, I wanted to punch him in the gut.

And once, I’d accidentally caught a glimpse of huge balls dangling between his legs that had for one second, made me wonder what the hell he did with those things in his costumes.

But it was none of my business, so I’d shoved that question aside for later.

The important part was, we’d gotten it done. At the end of the day, that was all that mattered. We had gotten it done, and we hadn’t killed each other or made fun of one another. It had just taken way too long. Luckily, I had thought ahead and taken the day off, even though my bank account didn’t need that kind of loss. Especially not when we were going to be competing in so many events.

Things hadn’t been awkward during our afternoon practice, but I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t glanced at his upper body once or twice and not remembered what he looked like without a shirt on. Just as quickly as I’d thought about it, I’d forced myself to stop. Luckily, he hadn’t had anywhere near the same amount of trouble; Ivan hadn’t actually said anything to me directly during our afternoon practice, even after he’d been so weirdly nice that morning.

“Hi, Grumpy,” my mom greeted me the second she heard me come into the kitchen.

“Hi, Mom,” I said, coming up behind her to kiss her cheek. I’d already dropped my things off. “How was work?”

She shrugged her thin shoulders as she turned off the water to the sink and reached for a towel to her left. “Fine. Eat before your food gets cold. I stuck it in the microwave when I saw the light in the driveway.”

“Thank you,” I said, still not paying attention, but turning to take a seat. I dug in to the baked chicken, jasmine rice, sweet potatoes, and side salad like I was going to collapse if I didn’t. I’d eaten lunch six hours ago between the shoot and the one hour break we’d taken between it and afternoon practice, but it felt more like a hundred hours since then. Ivan and I had worked on throws and side-by-side spins for three hours, and afterward, I worked out at the LC’s gym for three hours, including some high-intensity interval training on the treadmill to get my heart ready for the 180-200 beats per minute it was going to be pumping for close to five minutes during our free skate.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my mom take a seat at the island too. When we were both home at the same time, we always ate together, or at least kept the other company. So I didn’t think much of it.

Until she looked up, holding a mug of tea to her mouth and ruined my whole day.

My mouth dropped open the instant I got a good look at her face, and I pretty much yelled, “What the hell happened to your face?”

Mom’s blink was completely unimpressed.

And I didn’t give a shit as I took in the tape over her nose and two puffy, reddish-purple circles around each of her eyes.

And was that her fucking lip busted or was I imagining it?

She didn’t say anything as I looked all over her face, a thousand scenarios going through my head at what the hell had happened to her, when I asked, “Who did that to you?” I was going to kill somebody. I was going to fucking kill somebody, and I was going to enjoy the hell out of it.

“Calm down,” she said easily, like there was no reason in the world for me to flip out over the fact that half her face was bruised.

Of course I ignored her. “What happened to you?”

My mom’s blue-blue eyes didn’t even move over into my direction as she said, word for word, right before taking another sip of what I knew was tea, “I was in a car accident. Everything is fine.”

She was in a car accident and everything was fine.

I blinked at her as she picked up her phone from the counter like everything was no big deal and started reading something on the screen. Me on the other hand, I just sat there and tried to process her words and their meaning… and wasn’t able to. Because I understood what an accident was. What I didn’t understand was why the hell she hadn’t called to tell me about it. Or at least send a fucking text.

“You were in a car accident?” The words were out of my mouth, as slow coming out as they’d been going in for me to process them.

She had been in an accident. My mom had been in a vehicle and it had been bad enough that she looked like hell. That’s what she had said without even looking in my direction to do it.

What. The. Fuck?

My mom still didn’t look at me. “It isn’t a big deal,” she went on. “I have a concussion. They set my nose again. My car was totaled, but the other driver’s insurance will cover it because he hit me and there were witnesses.” Then, the woman who even with two black eyes didn’t look like she’d given birth to five kids, and definitely didn’t look like her youngest—me—was twenty-six years old, finally did glance in my direction. My mom was totally unfazed as she pursed her lips in that way I’d become familiar with as a teenager when I’d talk back to her and she’d almost whooped my ass. “Don’t tell your brothers or sisters.”