Page 42 of Whistle

A broad-shouldered guy with black hair, an eyebrow piercing, and a leather jacket scowled. “You think you can show up with Malibu Barbie and us not be here?”

“It’s a team meeting, Max. You aren’t Elite.”

“That hurts my feelings, Coach,” the guy right beside him said. “I was an intern all last semester.” His chestnut-colored hair was only contained by the aviators pushed up on his head, and his smile was unbothered.

Win was his name. He’d threatened me more than once last semester, and he was dating him.

“An intern is not a swimmer,” Coach argued.

“This affects us. Speedo or not. We’re staying,” the leather jacket dude declared.

A swimmer with curly hair moved in beside him. Wes. And the angry one was… Max. They were dating.

I’d only met these guys twice, and both times was a shitshow. I hated all of them. They hated me. But I still learned their names. I still filed away all the info I could because… well, because.

Know thy enemy.

Yeah, that.

My eyes strayed to another black-haired guy. One who didn’t look familiar at all. He had a double piercing in his lip, an ear full of earrings, and plaid chinos with a chain draped between the front and back pockets. I liked his style instantly and wondered where he shopped. As I looked, a hand snaked out and wrapped around his forearm. It was closely followed by another, and those two hands drew his arm closer, nearly wrapping around it.

Stylish guy rotated toward the other holding his arm hostage and reached up with ring-covered fingers to cup the side of his dark head and kiss his temple. The recipient was wearing AirPods, and I remembered his name was Prism. But the guy he was clinging to, I still didn’t remember.

Win walked past them and draped his arm around the shoulders of a swimmer with hair so blond it was practically white. Blistering irritation burned me as I stared at his pale skin and pale eyes. He was my least favorite person in this entire room. Feeling my glare, he looked over, and our stares locked.

Lars. Rush’s new bestie. Blond-haired. Blue-eyed. Gay. My replacement. Just looking at him made my lip curl and limbs fill with the urge to throw a punch.

“Whatever,” Coach said. “Stand over there and keep your traps shut.”

“Haven’t even been here five minutes, and I’m already drawing a crowd,” I drawled, ripping my eyes from Lars to stare at Rush who was nearby.

“Don’t let it go to your head, bro. It’s hard not to look. Faces like yours belong in the zoo,” quipped a brown-haired swimmer standing next to the one who always wore AirPods.

“I smell smoke. Were you thinking too hard?” I asked him.

“You wanna swim extra laps, Kruger?” Coach snapped. Then he turned to me. “Do you?”

I already told him I wasn’t swimming. I meant it.

“How about you just tell us what’s going on?” A guy with dark hair and an air of confidence cut in. Everyone around him nodded.

Ryan Walsh. The unofficial official captain of Elite.

Squeeeeee! My ears rang even after he dropped the whistle. “Everyone, sit!”

I started forward to sit as well, but Coach caught the hem of my shirt and kept me at his side. “Not you, Lawson.”

Oh, he was referring to me by my last name now. Instant hate.

“New semester starts today. None of you are new, so you all know the drill. Practice hard and keep your asses out of trouble. No partying. No excessive drinking and no drugs. Mandatory testing whenever the hell I feel like it. You got a problem, my door is always open. We’re the best. I expect you to act like it. Do not embarrass me.”

Everyone remained silent, so he plowed on.

“Training and meet schedules have been emailed. If you didn’t get it, let our assistant coach, Landry, know.”

I snorted. His daughter was the assistant coach. Freaking nepo baby.

“You got something to say, Lawson?” Coach challenged.

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