Like Dev, Mikhail Reznikov was long and lean, though he was even taller than his husband. The male pairs skaters were typically the biggest of any skaters, and I’d often been attracted to them. As Misha greeted Dev with a warm, casual kiss on the lips, my belly somersaulted.

Dev and Misha had battled for gold, yet they’d ended up falling in love. When they’d gone public with their relationship, I’d devoured every interview and scrap of media coverage.

Though I’d met them before, it still gave me a thrill to see them together right in front of me. I’d kept a tab with their wedding photos open on my phone for longer than I should have.

“Hey, congrats on the book trilogy. Is it going to be translated into English?” Theodore asked. “I love fantasy stuff with dragons and all that.”

“I hope so,” Misha answered. “Spasibo.” He slipped his arm around Dev. “There is time to return to the hotel, yes? I need some quiet.”

Dev gave him a little smile. “Yes.” To Theodore and me, he said, “Good luck tonight, guys. Glad to see you’re not at each other’s throats. Honestly pretty surprised.”

Theodore laughed. “Well, Henry hates me, but I’m wearing him down with my irresistible wit and charm. Enjoy the quiet!”

I wanted to argue that I didn’t hate him. The denial was like a whirlwind inside me, a confusion of emotions and words, but Dev and Misha were already walking away.

A new truth settled through me, squeezing into nooks and crannies.

I didn’t hate Theodore Sullivan. Not anymore.

His breath tickled the shell of my ear, and I shivered as he whispered, “They are relationship goals. You know ‘quiet’ was code for sex.”

I followed his gaze to where Dev and Misha had stopped to talk to a journalist, their arms around each other’s waists. They were so comfortable and affectionate with each other even though they’d started as bitter rivals.

Theodore moaned softly. “Oh my god, can you imagine them fucking? So. Hot. I heard they had secret hookups in the Athletes’ Village at the Olympics.”

Yes, I could certainly imagine Dev and Misha together in the most intimate ways. But with Theo’s warm exhalations on my skin, his body leaning close, I could imagine far, far too much. I could imagine Theodore saying other things in my ear.

Filthy things.

Desire coiled in my belly, blood rushing south and threatening to expose me. We were standing backstage at the Grand Prix Final, and there was Kuznetzov and his coach, and were they looking at us?

Everyone was looking at us. What was I doing? How had I allowed this distraction?

I jerked away and fished my noise-canceling headphones from my bag. “Time to prepare.”

He was my rival. My enemy. I had to focus. I had to go back to ignoring him. It didn’t matter if Theodore wasn’t the villain I’d always relished imagining him to be. He’d gotten under my skin for years as a competitor, and I couldn’t allow him to get to me now with his kindness and dimples and whispers.