Focus. Head back in the game, Sailor.

Two weeks without training weren’t going to kill me, right? I could use them to finally answer the emails from Crystal, the bloodthirsty PR lady Gerald Fitzpatrick had sent my way.

I chanced a look at Hunter, who was recording a voice message on his phone.

“Nah, man, I’m straight. Just keeping my head down and waiting for shit to blow over. Celibacy is going well, too. I’m really getting in touch with myself. Especially my right hand.”

Pause.

“Thank fuck the girls here are no match for the Cali produce. My dick would be on suicide watch.”

Hunter killed the engine in front of the archery club, his face still illuminated by the light from his phone. I didn’t know whether to laugh or to maim him. That’s what he had to say after making out with me? That the girls here weren’t worth his hard-on? Because I had sufficient evidence to prove otherwise.

“Thanks for the ride and the delightful conversation,” I mumbled sarcastically at the same time he addressed me, his voice taciturn. “You have ten minutes to break it to Master Dudebro that your ass is on a two-week sabbatical. Non-negotiable. If he gives you trouble about me, just tell him you were too smashed on painkillers, so I had to take matters into my own hands. There is also a sexual innuendo there, CT.”

“Shocking. Taking a tour in your mind is probably like visiting the Playboy mansion.”

“Please. Playboy is tame. And dead. Try Xnnx.”

I realized with a sinking feeling that I was CT when Hunter was in a sour mood, and aingeal dian when he wanted to cop a feel. God, I hated him.

We stared at each other. He raised his eyebrows, as if to say, Are you waiting for the messiah? Leave.

I had a million things I wanted to say to him.

I said nothing.

“When I agreed to become your trainer, I thought you cared about archery more than boys.” Junsu’s white, pointy teeth flashed in menace, eager to draw blood. He stood behind his desk, tan fingers spread against the light wood like talons. We were circling around the same two subjects: my going to urgent care to treat my inflamed shoulder without telling him, and Hunter. It’d been fifteen minutes, and I was growing tired, hungry, and frustrated. Junsu was the one who’d insisted I continue training after I complained about my shoulder. Now he was upset he hadn’t been there to monitor the checkup?

As for Hunter, Junsu went ballistic when he heard the boy was the one who’d taken me to urgent care. He even implied Hunter must’ve taken me to a doctor who misdiagnosed my injury purposefully to hinder my training.

“I do care about archery more than boys!” I glowered at him, the accusation cutting into me after the make-out session this morning.

“Then what were you doing with him yesterday?”

How was it his business? I decided to humor him, for no other reason than the fact I knew Junsu wasn’t some perv who had ideas about me. He never saw me that way. I was certain of that. And although I’d promised Gerald Fitzpatrick to keep our deal under wraps, I figured I could trust the one person who was the closest to me outside my friends and family.

After all, Gerald had no qualms about spreading the rumor I was dating his son.

“I’ll tell you something about Hunter, but you can’t tell anyone.” I let out a short breath, looking around us, even though I knew we were alone.

Junsu half-nodded, dragging his fingers along his desk. Sweaty pads, I noticed. He was nervous. Why?

“You need to promise not to repeat this.” I stabbed my index in the air, feeling my armpits dampen with guilt. I was breaking a promise by telling him, and I never broke my promises. But I couldn’t lose Junsu. My Olympic dream was drifting away from me, one inch at a time, sailing into the arms of Lana Alder, who’d promised to take the Olympics from me for no other reason than she could.

She’d never cared for this sport, for the craft, only about ruining it for me.

“Promise,” Junsu spat the word like it filled his mouth with sand. “Now talk.”

I told him about my agreement with Gerald Fitzpatrick, about Hunter’s sex video, how Hunt and I were becoming friends, but not lovers. I omitted the kiss, because it was a part of a one-off agreement I now considered fulfilled. Junsu pinched the delicate skin of his temple, mulling the information in his head.

“It is not exactly, how to put? Ethical.”

His phone lit up with an incoming call. He flipped it over and scowled at me.

“It’s kosher. Fitzpatrick offered to take me under his wing, like many businessmen do with politicians and sportspeople. It will be mutually beneficial. We’re not breaking any rules.”

I was big on rules—celebrated them. I had a chip on my shoulder from being bunched together with my dad and brother.

“But you sold your soul.” He frowned, his expression like a loaded gun.

“Hunter is a good guy who needs a break. I’m helping him.”

Truth be told, right now, he was the one doing most of the helping.

“I don’t like it,” Junsu said. “At all. I want you out of his apartment.”

“No,” I heard myself answer. My career was on the line—everything I’d ever wanted—and here I was, refusing the number-one archery master in the country. “I already made this deal, and I’m not going to bail on the Fitzpatricks. We’ll agree to disagree on that point.”