He entered, and I motioned to the king-sized bed, suddenly glad my room didn’t have a sitting area and that the one chair in the corner was piled with my stinky practice clothes. He looked at the neat bed, which housekeeping had made up.

“Ah! Let me…” With a flourish, I peeled down the coverlet and pushed it on the floor, shoving it half under the bed. I managed to avoid talking about cum, but I knew we were both thinking it, which made me flush hot again.

As Henry perched on the edge of the mattress, I wrapped the end of the terrycloth sash around my hand, my stomach fluttering. “Can I get you a drink?” I asked, like this was a date. No, I was only being polite. “We should order food. You must be hungry.”

Henry watched me warily as I grabbed the room service binder and shoved it at him. I opened the mini fridge and started rattling off the contents out loud. I zipped with nervous energy, and what the fuck was the matter with me? Mr. Webber was gone, and here I was crushing on Henry.

Shame spiraled through me, and my voice broke on, “Stella Artois.” Shit. I blinked away fresh tears.

“It’s all right.” His low voice was soothing. He didn’t say anything else, just waited for me to get my shit together.

I shut the fridge and gingerly sat beside him on the end of the bed, leaving a good two feet between us. Henry opened the menu and held it between us, slowly turning the pages. This was an English version, but the words danced in front of me like they were foreign and unintelligible. My bare foot jiggled.

“Are you starving?” I asked. “You should treat yourself. Have pasta.”

“Mmm.” He turned the page.

“We’re in Italy, after all. What’s that saying? When in Rome. You should eat all the carbs.”

He turned another page. “As long as you eat them too.”

I laughed. “So we both pack on a few pounds? That’s fair.”

“So you eat,” he said simply.

My chest flushed with warmth. “I guess I should. I’m hungry, but not. You know? I should be too sad to eat.” I should have been too sad to jerk off. More guilt flooded me. “My mom would be yelling at me if she was here. She says I’m too emotional. God, I’m so glad she didn’t come.”

My laugh was a little too loud now. “That sounds horrible. But she’s just a lot. I can’t stop her from coming to Nationals or the Olympics, but at least my sister had an important piano recital this week. Frankly, my mom would have ditched it in a heartbeat to be here, but I made sure I brought it up at a family party in front of a bunch of people so she was stuck doing the recital. She never paid as much attention to my sisters’ stuff growing up. Veronica is studying music now at Julliard. Do you play the piano? I could see that. Not because you’re Asian! Since you have such musicality on the ice. You look like you feel every note. I’m performing to the audience and shaking my ass to the beat. And with Kuznetzov, I don’t think he even hears what’s playing.”