Chapter 11

Unlike some locker rooms, the one at Irina Mischen’s rink had waist-high walls separating each individual bathing space. If one was tall enough—like say, maybe six-six—the walls did little to hide the guy beside you. Someone Milo’s height, however, couldn’t see Tom Alan, even if he’d been in the next stall in the line. He wasn’t. Tom Alan had chosen the one farthest away. He was shy in the shower as well, which was about to become a problem, since Milo Fisher came over to join him.

Athletes shower together. Gay, straight, it’s no big deal—unless, there’s some sort of attraction involved, or maybe another reason a guy might want to hide his nakedness. In Tom Alan’s case, both were true.

“My dad…” Milo began, washing his pits with a handful of gel he’d brought over with him, the hair there as wild as that on his head. “I have two, you see. One’s almost right famous. You, um, ever hear of him?”