Page 73 of Dire Straights

“And if anyone says anything mean to me, you’ll kick their ass, right?” I asked, trying my best to give him puppy eyes while I poked my lips out in a stupid pout.

He chuckled, but nodded. “I’ll do my best.” I didn’t really want that from him, anyway. I loved what a genuinely nice and friendly person he was.

When I brought my hands up to rest on his chest, he reached out and caught them, lacing our fingers together.

“I’ll just be really glad when you quit,” he told me seriously, giving my hands a little squeeze. “They seriously don’t deserve you. That coach should be fired.”

He was probably right about that, but I didn’t want to be involved anymore. Someone else could be the hero and dismantle the oppressive establishment. Or whatever.

“Well, then you’ll be glad tonight. Because after this meet, I’m 100% done,” I swore.

“We should celebrate by getting a bunch of, like, ice cream and junk food,” he suggested.

I gave him a wry look, but I couldn’t stop the smile from tugging up the corner of my mouth. “I’m quitting the swim team, not abandoning the concept of fitness altogether. I still need to be in shape to work in sports medicine,” I reminded him.

“Oh, right.”

“And I don’t think you’d want me totally dropping that, anyway,” I said, bringing my fingers down the front of my shirt to rest on the hem before teasingly pulling it up a few inches.

His eyes instantly dropped down to my exposed skin, his eyebrows perking up with his appreciation. “Well, yeah, there is that.”

Biting down into my lower lip, I tilted my head when I felt his dick stiffening and pressing up into where my ass was resting on him.

“So how long do you think Aspen’s going to be making himself scarce?” I wondered.

“Um… Probably a while.”

“You sure about that?”

“Uh, yeah,” he said, nodding eagerly. “Pretty sure. Definitely sure, actually.”

Chuckling, I leaned forward to slant my mouth over his. “Okay, as long as you’re definitely sure.”

I took an Uber to the convention center, because I didn’t want to ride with anyone. I just wanted time to myself, to think. I knew Ren and Cyprian were coming to watch, which was nice. Since I’d shown up just before the events were supposed to start, they might have already been in the stands, waiting to see me.

There were tons of people in the parking lot, already heading inside. As I made my way back to the restricted area for the teams only, I passed by lots of guys from other teams, clowning around and goofing off. They looked happy and excited. I’d never felt that way about swimming.

I checked the time sheet, discovering that my first heat would be in about twenty minutes, before heading back to the locker room area to get changed. I’d brought my equipment with me in a duffel bag.

As I slipped out of my street clothes into the stupid little speedo that I actually hated, I thought about how annoying it would be to have to listen to Coach Larson’s repetitive, droning speech about DQ’s and pacing.

A sudden sense of relief washed over me, as the fact that after this I’d be really and truly free from this activity that I’d come to absolutely despise. I let myself sit on the bench in the empty little area designated for the Byron Bay Barracudas, and made a brief mental apology to the cartoon barracuda mascot. Nothing personal, buddy. Barracudas seemed kind of cool, based on my shallow research on Google.

When I only had a few minutes left, I headed back out to the main area with the pools, toward the banner with our team’s name on it. Several of the guys on the team looked surprised to see me, but not the three assholes, or Coach Larson. But they didn’t say anything. I was starting to get the idea they didn’t want to be around me any more than I wanted to be around them. That was fine. I wasn’t expecting an apology or an acknowledgment. I just wanted to get this over with.

When the time for my heat rolled around a few minutes later, I got up onto the diving block. To my surprise and extreme annoyance, I saw O’Conner walking towards me. Biting down on my tongue to keep from telling him to fuck off, I just closed my eyes and took a deep breath, trying to channel every ounce of my inner zen. If I even had any inner zen.

“What do you want, O’Conner? I’m about to race.”

“Just thought I’d come wish you luck, Holmes. You’re going to need it.”

“Actually, I won’t,” I corrected him. “Maybe you should spend your energy wishing yourself good luck. Then you might actually place.”

“I can’t believe you went whining and crying to Coach like he was going to give a shit about us joking around. I hope you’re better at taking a dick than you are at taking a joke.”

The reality of the moment, of what I was about to do, and all the hours I’d spent dealing with this bullshit came crashing down on me in that moment, obliterating the tranquility I’d felt in the locker room. Why did I give a shit about one last race? None of this ever meant anything to me in the first place. I’d only been doing it to please my dad.

Ripping off my goggles and swim cap, I chucked them down onto the stone floor, and took a deep breath. I’d need a lot of breath for everything I had to say.

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