Page 55 of Fly Boy
“What happens when you get the gold? What comes next? You’re still young. You’re at the start of your career. If it’s not this time, it will be next time or…”
“There might not be a next time,” she yells, throwing her arms wide before she starts pacing the room. “There are newcomers all the time, new competition, new people who are better than me.”
“You can’t compare yourself to other people, Pippa.”
Eyes blazing with defiance, her throat works on a swallow before continuing. “There are people betting against me, waiting for me to fail.”
“Who?”
She falters, losing some of her momentum. “Journalists. Other skaters on the team. Everyone who thinks I got here because ofmy last name. You have no idea how much harder I have to work just to prove myself…”
“You’ve already done that,” I tell her, and she side-eyes me dubiously. “It’s true. Look at where you are, Pippa. You’re in France, competing against some of the best athletes out there. Fuck what anyone has to say about that. You earned your place here. Besides, the articles about you aren’t as bad as you think they are.”
“How would you know?” she sneers, and I raise a hand placatingly.
“Because I read them.”
She looks at me, taken aback. “What? When?”
“After I was mistaken about you and Evan being romantic partners, not professional ones.” Her eyebrows jump up her forehead, and I run my fingers over my jaw. “Don’t read too much into that. All I’m saying is, stop thinking the worst. The commentators today were nothing but complementary.”
With a huff, she looks around the room like she’s trying to find more reasons to argue with me. But she appears less frantic now, more resigned than anything else as she says, “I could get an injury. And then what? It’s all over, and the best I ever did was bronze?”
She drops her head, and I move to stand in front of her, my hands clasping either side of her face, forcing her to look at me.
“Stop. You were fantastic out there. That lift?” My thumb lightly brushes over the apple of her cheek, our gazes unwavering as we look at one another. “I couldn’t breathe. You were amazing.”
“But I wasn’t perfect.”
I lower my forehead to hers, catching her eyes fluttering shut before we touch. “Perfect is an unachievable concept. Wanting perfection can spoil something already great.”
We stand there, pressed together, barely a whisper apart, sharing each other’s air.
“I want the Olympics so bad, Wyatt,” she whispers, vulnerability laced into her words.
Leaning back, I search her eyes. My heart stutters as I look at her, my mouth drying as the air between us becomes charged, the lust that constantly courses around my body mixing with a longing I’ve had since she walked out of my house the morning after.
I give myself a piece, a mere fragment of what I really want. Leaning forward, I press a kiss on her brow, the feel of her skin beneath my lips so fucking good. “You’ll have it.”
She releases a shuddering breath, playing with the buttons on the bottom of my shirt. My pulse pounds as she stares up at me, her gaze intoxicating, casting me under her spell.
“Wyatt,” she whispers, her fingers dipping under and brushing against my stomach.
I lick my lips while she bites on her lower one. “I shouldn’t be here. I didn’t come here for…”
“I know,” she says, somehow aware that my intention of turning up at her door was not for a repeat. Hearing that she was in her room reminded me of the fragile woman on the plane, the one who wouldn’t stop trembling after the storm. The one I felt like had to comfort then, but the one Iwantto comfort now.
“I should go.”Even though I don’t want to.
“Don’t. I like that you’re here.” Her fingers graze against my skin again, sending goosebumps across it. “You’re a nice distraction.”
“You can’t have distractions.” My eyebrows knit together. “Wasn’t it—”
“Shh,” she whispers. Reaching between us, she presses her finger to my lips. “Stop frowning like that. You’ll get more wrinkles.”
My hands move from where they still hold the side of her face, my fingers threading into her hair. “I thought you found wrinkles sexy?”
Her grin is slow as she grabs onto the top of my shirt and fists it tight. “Only yours.”
