you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I want.”
He took my hand. I grabbed my bag then we headed down the dim, hushed hallway, not speaking. We went down an echoing flight of stairs then another hallway.
And with one last kiss in front of my room, he turned and walked away, back to Alexi. I watched him go.
I sighed.
Three forty-eight in the morning.
What the hell did I just do to myself?
I let myself into the room.
The lump under the covers that was Soraya didn’t move. I shut the door as quietly as I could—the tiny click it made wouldn’t wake a mouse—and slipped off my shoes before padding across the floor. A thin light shone under the bathroom door, casting shadows over everything. I sat down on the bed, drew my knees up to my chin, draped my arms around my legs and closed my eyes. I ought to feel pretty damned good after so much sex, but I didn’t.
Coach Bob would be furious.
Coach Debbie would be disappointed.
Benson would be alarmed. And he’d be angry with me, with good reason.
Soraya would feel left out.
I’d think about my mom later. Perhaps—just maybe—I had overreacted.
And me…how did I feel? I studied the machine-made lace blanket on my bed. I traced its airy lines with my index finger. How did Ifeel? I wasn’t sure. I knew I’d screwed up. The fact I’d had fun didn’t even come into it.
I wanted this gold medal more than anything else in the world—yet look what I’d done. I wouldn’t get a lick of sleep tonight. Not one minute. What had I been thinking? I was at the Olympics! Tomorrow I’d be competing against the best athletes in the world and I would do it tired and cranky and sleep-deprived and very, very annoyed with myself.
How was that for self-sabotage?
Never mind the question of whether sexual gymnasts belonged in the Olympics. Did I belong there if I couldn’t demonstrate one ounce of self-control? Maybe I did need to be managed after all, like my teammates thought. A tear tipped out of my eye and rolled down my cheek.
Soraya sat up. “You’re back.”
I didn’t answer. I just plucked at the bedcover.
“Where were you?”
I sighed. “With the Russians.”
“Dmitri?”
I nodded. “And Alexi.”
“Did you couple?”
“Yeah.”
“ Okay. You just made my chances of getting a medal go up. Way up.”
I smiled. Soraya could do that.
“Come here,” she said, “you need some girl love.”
She patted the bed next to her and threw back the covers. I unfolded myself and took the four steps across the room. She scooched over. I slid in next to her and she put her arm around my waist, spooning with me. I snuggled into her warmth.
“I really fucked up,” I whispered.
“Yeah.” She was quiet for a minute. “But you came back. You might have sat up this late anyway, knitting. You know you do sometimes.”
“Maybe. But that’s different.”
“And you enjoyed yourself tonight, didn’t you? It wasn’t a total loss.”
“I have to tell you about this crazy game the Russians play. You’d like it.”
“Later.” She nuzzled my neck. “We should try to sleep.”
“I know. I can’t just yet.” I took a breath. “Soraya. My mom and Coach Bob are screwing.”
“I know. She told me. When she was looking for you.”
“That’s why I ran off with the Russians.”
“I figured.”
“She’s allowed. I want her to have a sex life! So why does it piss me off so much?”
Soraya sighed. “It’s like everything else that sets you off, Leah.”
“Tell me.”
“You’re overreacting. We’ve already discussed all this.”
“Tell me again. Please. I need to hear it.”
“Fine.” She took a breath, thinking. “You take things the wrong way. You can’t see the whole picture. You jump to conclusions. You think everything is about you. You think the world is out to get you. And then you run off and prove it to yourself.”
I was silent for a long minute. “I’m really screwed up, aren’t I?”
“Not all the time.”
We lay
“You don’t have to.”
“I want.”
He took my hand. I grabbed my bag then we headed down the dim, hushed hallway, not speaking. We went down an echoing flight of stairs then another hallway.
And with one last kiss in front of my room, he turned and walked away, back to Alexi. I watched him go.
I sighed.
Three forty-eight in the morning.
What the hell did I just do to myself?
I let myself into the room.
The lump under the covers that was Soraya didn’t move. I shut the door as quietly as I could—the tiny click it made wouldn’t wake a mouse—and slipped off my shoes before padding across the floor. A thin light shone under the bathroom door, casting shadows over everything. I sat down on the bed, drew my knees up to my chin, draped my arms around my legs and closed my eyes. I ought to feel pretty damned good after so much sex, but I didn’t.
Coach Bob would be furious.
Coach Debbie would be disappointed.
Benson would be alarmed. And he’d be angry with me, with good reason.
Soraya would feel left out.
I’d think about my mom later. Perhaps—just maybe—I had overreacted.
And me…how did I feel? I studied the machine-made lace blanket on my bed. I traced its airy lines with my index finger. How did Ifeel? I wasn’t sure. I knew I’d screwed up. The fact I’d had fun didn’t even come into it.
I wanted this gold medal more than anything else in the world—yet look what I’d done. I wouldn’t get a lick of sleep tonight. Not one minute. What had I been thinking? I was at the Olympics! Tomorrow I’d be competing against the best athletes in the world and I would do it tired and cranky and sleep-deprived and very, very annoyed with myself.
How was that for self-sabotage?
Never mind the question of whether sexual gymnasts belonged in the Olympics. Did I belong there if I couldn’t demonstrate one ounce of self-control? Maybe I did need to be managed after all, like my teammates thought. A tear tipped out of my eye and rolled down my cheek.
Soraya sat up. “You’re back.”
I didn’t answer. I just plucked at the bedcover.
“Where were you?”
I sighed. “With the Russians.”
“Dmitri?”
I nodded. “And Alexi.”
“Did you couple?”
“Yeah.”
“ Okay. You just made my chances of getting a medal go up. Way up.”
I smiled. Soraya could do that.
“Come here,” she said, “you need some girl love.”
She patted the bed next to her and threw back the covers. I unfolded myself and took the four steps across the room. She scooched over. I slid in next to her and she put her arm around my waist, spooning with me. I snuggled into her warmth.
“I really fucked up,” I whispered.
“Yeah.” She was quiet for a minute. “But you came back. You might have sat up this late anyway, knitting. You know you do sometimes.”
“Maybe. But that’s different.”
“And you enjoyed yourself tonight, didn’t you? It wasn’t a total loss.”
“I have to tell you about this crazy game the Russians play. You’d like it.”
“Later.” She nuzzled my neck. “We should try to sleep.”
“I know. I can’t just yet.” I took a breath. “Soraya. My mom and Coach Bob are screwing.”
“I know. She told me. When she was looking for you.”
“That’s why I ran off with the Russians.”
“I figured.”
“She’s allowed. I want her to have a sex life! So why does it piss me off so much?”
Soraya sighed. “It’s like everything else that sets you off, Leah.”
“Tell me.”
“You’re overreacting. We’ve already discussed all this.”
“Tell me again. Please. I need to hear it.”
“Fine.” She took a breath, thinking. “You take things the wrong way. You can’t see the whole picture. You jump to conclusions. You think everything is about you. You think the world is out to get you. And then you run off and prove it to yourself.”
I was silent for a long minute. “I’m really screwed up, aren’t I?”
“Not all the time.”
We lay
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