He’d made some progress with Spencer in the last few days, but it was only physical, which wasn’t enough. Athletes fucked around at the Olympics. Everyone knew that. There was a big bowl of condoms sitting right out in the lounge. He’d given it the stink-eye as he’d walked past it just now because apparently he wouldn’t be needing any condoms tonight.
He threw himself down on his bed with a dramatic sigh, reconciled to waiting another two days before he got the fuck he wanted. Chelsea had caught the highlights of the competition online, but he filled her in on the details, including Spencer’s run up the speed wall which hadn’t been considered a highlight by anyone except him and Spencer. The routes would be reset overnight for the women, but the holds might be re-used, so he told her about the big sloper with the helpful divot. The divot would be important for someone with hands her size.
Thinking about hands had his mind shifting back to Spencer, and he groaned aloud in frustration. Fucking cock-blocking parents. He was glad they’d come for Spencer’s sake, but come on. Did they have to show up just as he was about to get laid?
“Do you need some alone time?” Chelsea asked with a knowing air.
“That’s what showers are for.” And really, it was time he got in one. The sweat that’d been honest and fresh an hour ago was old and sticky now, and he was still in his team uniform—splattered with red, white and blue across his chest and ass. He took himself off to the showers but couldn’t work up the motivation to jerk off, not when it was supposed to be Spencer’s strong hands touching him instead of his own.
Chelsea had changed when he got back to the room, so they walked over to the cafeteria together and joined a table that was quieter than usual. The women were nervous, eating as if chewing took a lot of effort, and most of the day’s winners were out celebrating, which meant the men at the table were somber from their recent loss.
If Flynn hadn’t made it to the finals himself, he would crack some jokes, brighten the place up, but that might be seen as rubbing it in, and he was too busy feeling sorry for himself. He and Spencer could’ve been having a candlelight dinner right now. Or at least pizza between the sheets. Instead, he had to listen to Ashley, who apparently hadn’t gotten the memo about not rubbing it in. Since no one else was talking, he monopolized the conversation with a running monologue on how exactly he’d executed certain moves that certain other people at the table had failed to execute.
“Maybe that boyfriend of yours could work on your crimp strength, Flynn, since you seem to be teaching him a thing or two about speed climbing.”
“Boyfriend?” Mika repeated with a giggle. She raised her hand to cover the sound.
Flynn didn’t have a script for this. He and Spencer hadn’t said the word boyfriend, and he wasn’t out, not publicly. But Spencer was, and these were their friends. He wasn’t going to lie about it.
“I’m not sure we’re at the label point yet,” he hedged. Then, because that phrasing might be hard for a non-native speaker to parse, he turned to Mika and said, “Boyfriend if I’m lucky.”
She giggled again. “He very cute. You try hard please him.”
“I will. I promise.”
“Also, he good climber. Make finals.”
“Yes,” Ashley drawled. “We were all there.” He seemed put out by Flynn’s lack of reaction to the boyfriend gibe. “Spencer had an unexpectedly good day. It happens. But there’s no way he ends up on the podium.”
“He’s got as good a chance as anyone,” Flynn said with a shrug.
“You want the odds on that? Vegas has Spencer at a hundred to one.” Ashley held up his phone for Flynn to see. Flynn’s own name was listed at four to one, while Shino’s showed as two to one. Well, no argument there. If anything, two-to-one underplayed the likelihood of Shino winning.
“Those are the odds for Spencer to take gold, not medal. And your odds don’t look that great either.”
“I know who I’d put my money on, and it’s not Spencer. I’ve never been one for lost causes.”
Flynn was on the verge of launching himself across the table at the smug fucker with his pale pinched face and that British nose just begging to be broken. He’d never wanted to punch someone so bad in his life. Only the thought of what Spencer would say about him risking an injury to his hand kept him from doing it.
“Tell you what, I’ll give you even odds.”
“On what?”
“On Spencer medaling. I say he’s on the podium.”
Ashley snorted.
“Come on. What do you wanna bet?”
“You can’t bet money on an event you’re in,” Chelsea warned. “It’s probably illegal.”
“Not money then. How about… if Spencer medals, you have to wave a Canadian flag and sing O Canada to him.”
“I don’t know O Canada.”
“I’ll find you a link. How’s your singing voice?”
“Completely unconcerned about the prospect of being needed,” the smug face that really needed to be smacked said. “What do I get if you’re wrong?”
“I’ll quit climbing.”
Most of the other climbers had been only half-following their rapid-fire English exchange, but if the collective gasp that went up around the table was any indication, everyone had understood that last part.
“Professionally,” Flynn clarified, because he would never quit climbing, not even when he was eighty and could only climb stairs. “If you win, I’ll quit climbing professionally.”
“Don’t be a fucking idiot,” Ashley said.
“Really, don’t,” Chelsea agreed.
“There’s no way I’m holding you to those terms.” Ashley shook his head, because even he wasn’t that much of an ass.
“That’s how sure I am,” Flynn said, sticking with it. He would be grateful for the push to do what he wanted to do anyway. Besides, he had faith. “Spencer’s on the podium.”
“Fine.” Ashley dropped his fork onto his tray with a metallic clunk and reached across the table to shake. “If you want to throw your career away so you can get in his ass, it’s not my job to stop you from doing it. Your sponsors are all going to drop you when they find out you’re buggering the competition anyway.”
“Bugger?” Mika asked with a scrunch of her nose after Ashley had stalked off.
“Kama no horu,” Flynn told her, which literally translated into something like “digging in the cauldron” but meant anal sex. Those were the kinds of Japanese words he knew.
She started to giggle, then stopped herself. “You no quit,” she admonished with a wag of her finger.
“Men,” Chelsea proclaimed. “I thought you were better than that, Flynn.”
Usually he was. But making a bet had been a better choice than engaging in physical violence, which he still felt on the verge of doing. If things had gone his way tonight, he’d be basking in endorphins. Instead he was realizing that he’d just made himself the center of attention in a way he’d been trying to avoid. He didn’t want his sexuality to be a talking point but hoo boy, he’d just made it one.