At least Ms. Acker was being chill about it and letting me and my friends leave early today to attend Ben’s swim meet. Normally, she would stress and want everything torn down in the first week, but she was tired and ready for a holiday, same as us.
Kim, Caroline, Harris, Jordan, and I stopped by the bathrooms near the art hallway to get changed into what Kim dubbed our “school spirit gear.” Everyone donned a mix of crimson and gold, Kim and Caroline sporting fluffy boas around their necks. I wore the tank top I’d decorated to support Ben. With red and gold fabric paint, I’d written,‘Ben is #1’beside the silhouette of a figure diving.
It was a bit much, but I never was one for sport events and wanted to make this count. Ben had helped with the play, and yesterday, he’d come after practice to assist us in breaking the set down. It was only fair we showed him our support. Plus, there was no way our getup would not embarrass him, and embarrassing Ben was too much fun.
Kim streaked all of our faces with red and gold paint like we were marching to war. We weren’t even swimming against our rivals tonight, but it didn’t matter. We brimmed with school pride and planned on raising hell for Ben because we could, and it would be hysterical to watch him blush.
We entered the pool room, the humid chlorine atmosphere hitting me like a brick wall, and for a moment, I was the one self-conscious at our overzealous enthusiasm. No one else was remotely dressed up, the bleachers filled with mostly parents and grandparents.
The moment I spotted Ben, however, my self-doubt melted away. He was going to self-combust from embarrassment, and it was going to be funny as hell.
He was sitting on the opposite side of the pool from where we stood, wearing a huge red swim parka. His blue eyes met mine when his bespectacled friend—Ronnie?—nudged his shoulder and pointed our way. I grinned like a fiend as his face brightened in happiness only to fall into an expression of horror.
I wiggled my torso to bring attention to my shirt, and Caroline and Kim raised their boas like pom-poms. His skin darkened until it matched his parka, and he buried his face in his hands as we burst into laughter. Kim started a chant spelling Ben’s name while we made our way to an unoccupied section of bleachers.
Ben stood from his seat and rushed around the pool, his parka billowing open. I tripped over my own feet as I got my first view of him in nothing but a Speedo. And here, I’d assumed seeing him shirtless was enough to melt my brain.
Did anyone else think it was hot in here? No? Just me? Okay, cool.
As he strode toward us, I couldn’t help but admire the blond hair covering his long legs, and, of course, the perfectly proportionate bulge in the front of his suit. His hip bones were sharp against his skin, and my blood buzzed to life in my veins as I imagined tracing the jutting peaks with my fingers. Or my tongue.
Honestly, I wanted my tongue on any part of him that he’d allow, and I sighed wistfully when my brain reminded me that it was never going to happen.
“Did you just sigh longingly?” Kim asked.
“No,” I lied.
“He sighed longingly,” Caroline confirmed.
“I hate you both,” I lied again.
They beamed at me.
“What in God’s name are you wearing?” Ben demanded as he came to a stop in front of me.
Pointing at the unfair Speedo, I said, “Says the guy in nothing but a Speedo.”
He smirked like he could read every dirty thought running through my head.“What were you expecting?”
“I could ask you the same question. Did you really think we wouldn’t show up in style?”
Kim, Caroline, and I struck an entirely unrehearsed pose, and Ben snorted.
“You didn’t have to dress up.”
Kim and Caroline pouted as Jordan agreed with a shouted, “That’s what I said.”
I flipped my head like a model in a shampoo commercial as I purred, adding flair to my inflection, “Bitch, please. We look fabulous!”
Ben bit his bottom lip. “I can’t take you seriously when you talk like that.”
Dropping my voice extra low, I said, “Sorry, bro.”
“That’s somehow worse.”
I stood with my shoulders squared, chest puffed out like I was a lame gym bro. “You don’t like my straight guy impression?”
“Are all straight guys supposed to be constipated?” he asked around a laugh.