Stupid Christmas. Fourteen more days.
Sergei watched Ridley with the most wondrous look of admiration Rocco had ever seen—at least until Mikolas Whatever-His-Name-Was came and stood beside the ice. Ridley immediately zeroed in on the handsome Czech’s face, and his jaw dropped. Then so did he, coming down on his ass from a jump. From Rocco’s tutorial on the plane trip, he guessed it was maybe a Lutz.
“Your axel was going so well,” Mikolas said. “But I think you missed the landing.”
Ridley was red-faced. It was hard to tell whether it was from exertion or embarrassment. Maybe it had something to do with the semi-hard dick showing through Mikolas’s clingy, white mantyhose. Rocco was a little uncomfortable with that himself.
“Mikolas Kavivitch…” Ridley came over, his hand extended, his own bulge quite showy in the stretchy red fabric pulled across it. “I’m Remington. It is such a pleasure to meet you.”