Page 28 of Wicked Serve

I doubt I’ll get any time at setter when they do watch me play. I’ll just have to do the best I can at opposite hitter and hope I have a good match.

I lunge into my first lap, doing the breaststroke from one end to the next. I work up a rhythm quickly, flipping against the pool wall to launch into each lap. After a few minutes of going as hard as I can, my limbs start to burn, but I keep pushing. My mind remains stubbornly crowded with thought after thought, and there’s one I can’t shake.

Nikolai. Cooper’s rival, now his teammate. So much for state lines separating us.

It doesn’t matter anyway, because I’m not letting what we did in the library happen again. Even if it helped distract him from whatever was going on, Shona’s right; I need to let the summer be the summer. Eventually, I’ll feel fond when I think of him. Probably.

There’s too much chlorine in this pool. It’s making my eyes sting.

Only a silly girl would let herself get distracted by a boy.

I accidentally swallow a huge gulp of water and start coughing. I stop mid-lap, rubbing my chest. I’m definitely crying a little, and not from the chlorine, but fuck it. It feels like I’m treading water in my actual life, trying to balance everything on my head while I keep it high enough to breathe.

The door behind me clicks open and shut, echoing loudly in the high-ceilinged room.

I whirl around, stiffening when I see who just interrupted. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Chapter 13

Nikolai

I swipe my access card to open the athlete gym. It’s still dark out, the sun struggling to make its way over the tops of the trees.

The door shuts with a click as I stride down the dark hallway. This early, no one else should be around, and that’s what I’m banking on. I ease my way into the men’s locker room, settling on one of the benches to open my bag.

By our apartment in Moscow, there was an indoor pool. On the rare days I didn’t have hockey, Mom would dig out my bathing suit, grab a book, and bring me there to play for a few hours. No Dad, no hockey, just Mom watching with a smile while I showed off how fast I could swim from one end to the other. I started playing hockey with the older kids from the time I was five, and even then, I was one of the best on the ice. A break to do something just for fun was a treat.

Swimming isn’t an official part of my training routine, but it’s as relaxing to me now as it was when I was little. During hockey games, my mind races with constant decision-making. Swimming involves no thoughts at all.

And right now, I can’t stop thinking about Isabelle. The library, the party, the whole goddamn summer races through my mind on repeat.

When I left her sleeping, I stood by the bed for the longest time. She looked beautiful, her dark hair spilling down her bare back, her pink mouth curved like a bow. She had orange nails—Creamsicle, she called them—and little diamond studs in her ears. Her favorite stuffed animal, a worn-out pink bunny, stood guard on the nightstand.

I nearly climbed back into bed beside her.

Instead, I brushed a kiss to her forehead and eased out the door.

I told myself she deserved a clean break, and I knew if I stayed, I’d selfishly try to convince her to keep things going. I must be even more of a bastard than I realized, because now, I can’t bear the thought of letting her go. The moment I see her, my desires take over. I spark like a match.

True attraction is magic. I’ve slept with plenty of women whose beauty I could recognize without it actually doing a thing for me. I’d get turned on just fine, but it wouldn’t be bone-deep and irresistible. It wouldn’t leave me needing more. I never daydreamed about them, or wondered how they were on a random Tuesday morning, or bought their coffee just because.

And I know part of that has to do with my own guardrails. I’ve been reckless plenty of times in my life, but never when it comes to romantic feelings. If I took things too far, and it spiraled out of control the way my parents’ relationship did, I’d have no one to blame but myself.

Isabelle is in a category all her own. When I’m around her, I can’t focus on anything else. We could be in the middle of a hurricane, and I’d just stand there like a goddamn fool, cataloging the raindrops on her face.

All the more reason to stay away. No more parties, no more coffee, no more closet hookups. She deserves so much better than an asshole like me, no matter my feelings.

I throw my bag into one of the lockers, even though I’m sure no one else is going to come in, and open the door to the pool.

I freeze as I stare at the girl in the middle lane. There’s no mistaking that pink one-piece. Not when I peeled it off her myself one June night.

The universe must seriously hate me.

The door slips from my hands before I can decide whether to leave, shutting loudly enough that Isabelle turns her head.

So much for escaping.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she says.

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