Author's Note: Chris is 16 and Victor is 18 here

When he said "We should hang out sometime", I didn't think he was serious.

Lot's of people say "We should hang out sometime". Rinkmates. Dad. The guy who works the rental skate booth with the pretty eyes. (But whose counting?)

"We should hang out sometime" is a good sign that hanging out is probably never going to happen. It's an etiquette thing. Something you say when you're feeling antisocial, but you don't want people to think you hate their guts. I get it.

I don't know that the Victor Nikiforov, junior gold medalist and figure skating prodigy, does.

He says "Hey Chris."

I think, 'Oh my God, Victor's talking to me!'

He says "You busy?"

I say "Wow!" Then I say "Not really."

He says "Let's go to Dairy Queen!"

I think "Holy fuck."

I say, "Wow."

I'm very eloquent.

Victor is stunning. He dresses like a Vogue spread and smells like Tiffany's. His hair moves in time with his hips when he walks. If they gave medals for walking, he'd take another gold, easy.

He knows all of this. I think he knows I know too. I could be less obvious. Oh well.

I'm ecstatic.

"Do you like tequila?" he asks in the back of the cab.

"I love tequila," I say.

I had a sip of wine like once on a dare.

Victor pulls a flask from his Louis Vuitton bag. Classy. He winks at me like we have a secret. I wink back like there's dirt in my eye.

He doesn't ask if I'm okay. He takes a swig and then hands the flask to me. I feel like I've been issued a challenge.

I chug the contents of the flask. It doesn't work. I choke and gag all over Victor's Louis Vuitton bag. It burns anyway.

I fucking hate tequila.

He laughs and I feel like a child. "Chris," he cradles my cheeks and touches his forehead to mine. "You have to take it slow."

Kiss me, I think.

We don't go to Dairy Queen. We find a boutique shop on a side street uptown.

"We can't go out like this," Victor says.

I look down at my team jacket and slacks, still sweaty from the final skate.

"Right," I say.

'Where is 'out'?' I keep to myself.

Victor tries on crop tops and pants with words printed across the rear. Fishnets and thigh high boots with three inch heels. Victor likes to look at himself in the mirror. Then he likes to look at me looking at him through the mirror.

"Can you zip this?" he asks and I oblige. I know he's flexible enough to reach it himself. I don't care.

I choose a mesh shirt and ripped jeans. It looks good. It looks even better when I pose like him. I decide I like it. I peek to see if he does too.

He's not looking at me. He's applying makeup with a Kate Spade compact. He tells me I should wear some. I poke myself in the eye twice before he figures out I don't know what the hell I'm doing.

"Eyeliner looks good on you," he says, straddling me against the wall as he moves the pencil overhead. His breath still smells of tequila. Maybe I don't hate it that much.

He scoots up so close I know he feels it. "You'd be hot with facial hair."

I make a vow to never shave again.

Victor knows people. That's how we get in. The beat is so loud my body aches with it. There are too many lights to count. Bodies wall us in a maze that changes shape by the second. This is crazy, I think.

"This is awesome!" I say.

Victor wants to drink again. This time it's pink and fruity with a cherry on top- courtesy of a creeper with a goatee. Goatee is probably about Coach Karpisek's age and really likes Victor. Victor laughs at all of Goatee's jokes and gives him our next drink order. I start to worry about Goatee, but Victor loses interest as soon as the drinks arrive. We avoid him for the rest of the night.

"Let's dance!" Victor says and he presses his hips against me. I go hard instantly.

"Chris!" he screams with laughter, spinning around and draping his arms over my shoulders. "You're so bad," he whispers into my ear.

I've died and I'm in heaven.

I can barely stand it. I scan the club walls for a lonely corner. Or like a bathroom.

I scold myself.

Victor wears Armani sunglasses. He carries a Louis Vuitton and keeps Patron in a flask. I can't fuck him over a shit stained toilet. It just isn't done.

Also what the hell am I doing? Porn never prepared me for this.

Victor isn't looking at me anymore, but his shoulders still sway to the beat. He presses his hands to my mesh shirt and grinds the air in front of me.

'Closer', I think.

"Victor," I say.

Victor isn't looking at me. He turns his back to me again and dips until his hips touch the space between his thigh high boots. He rides back up, his ass pressing against my erection and I cry out.

He doesn't hear me, his fingers caressing up his body and lifting his hair from the back, pushing it in silver waves over his eyes.

Victor isn't looking at me.

"Hey." He says. A twenty something with dark hair, wandering brown eyes and an undercut. I hate him immediately.

"Hey," Victor says. He stops dancing.

Victor likes Undercut more than Goatee. He continues talking to him after we get our drinks and seems genuinely amused by his sketchy music career.

"Victor and I are ISU certified skaters," I say. "Do you have any albums?"

Victor gives me a look and it's not like the rest. I don't like it.

"I have a Soundcloud account," Undercut says.

Victor acts impressed.

I say nothing.

I don't want Victor to look at me like that again.

Undercut starts singing.

It's horrible.

"Let's go back to the hotel," I say.

"We just got here," Victor says.

"Do you want to dance again?" I say.

"You should find someone to talk to," Victor says.

I don't say "I want to talk to you."

We finally get to Dairy Queen. Undercut's here too.

I'm ecstatic…

Victor and Undercut order a sundae for two. I get a fudge cone.

Victor pulls his hair back and dips down to take the cherry from the top. He sucks it between his lips. I don't know why he takes so long. I don't know why he has to look at Undercut the entire time.

"Oops," Victor says, wiping the cream from his lips and swiping his tongue over his finger. Undercut grunts.

They're not looking at me.

I want to cry.

"You can stay at my apartment tonight," Undercut says.

"How nice of you," I say. I hope he can hear how much I don't mean it.

"We can drop the kid off first," Undercut adds.

I squeeze my cone so hard vanilla trickles down my fingers.

I will cut a bitch tonight in this Dairy Queen.

"Do you pay rent with your Soundcloud account?" I ask instead.

I decide not to cut a bitch. I actually have a career to worry about.

Victor almost laughs. Then he gives me that look again.

"I had fun," Victor says.

"Don't go," I say.

"He's waiting for me," Victor says.

'He doesn't deserve you', I think.

"Stay the night with me," I say.

"Chris," He cradles my face and I feel like a child again. "You're so sweet."

Victor kisses me. He tastes like tequila and cream and I think I love him. He winks and shuts the door.

I stay up crying until the sun rises.

We're in the hotel lobby. The skating season is officially over. I'm exhausted.

Victor is glowing.

Coach Feltsman is not.

"Where were you last night?!" he asks again and again.

Victor never tells.

"Let's go to Dairy Queen again." I wink and it's better this time. "In the Fall."

Victor laughs.

"Maybe not so soon," he says.

"We have to stay sharp," he says.

Of course. Victor is a serious athlete.

"Maybe during the summer then?" I say

"Aw, Chris." Victor smiles and I hate it about as much as tequila.

"I had so much fun with you," he says. "I'm glad we're friends."

It hurts. More than the liquor burned. More than the club's pulse or the looks.

Victor leans in to me.

"Stay in touch," he breathes against my ear.

Coach Feltsman is yelling again. Victor smiles at him too. I stare after them.

"He's got his hands full with that one," Coach Karpisek says.

I feel like I've been issued a challenge.

"I have an idea for my next free skate."

FIN

Thanks for reading. Almost done editing my next chapter to The Last Dancer just in case anyone was wondering :)