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“What do I get if I win?” he asks, his gray eyes narrowing.

I laugh. “Pride? Bragging rights?”

“Me,” Aldo says.

Both of us turn to stare at him and he swallows audibly.

“What?” Doug asks.

Aldo shrugs, that bright smile creeping onto his face, even as he lowers his voice to a breathy whisper. “Whoever wins gets to fuck me.”

Nice play,I think as I grin at him. It might be considered a low blow to tempt Doug with sex, but I’m not above stooping to get what I want. Whatwewant.

“Well, then,” I say, pulling off my shirt and dropping it on the side. “Guess we know who’s helping you stretch out before your flight.”

I’m already wearing jammers because I was planning on exercising after practice, so I shuck off my sweats and pile them on the side, too.

Doug’s gaze travels the length of me before returning to my face, his eyes narrowed. “You two fucking planned this.”

“I swear we didn’t,” I say, holding up my hands again. “I was going to swim after practice. You know I do most days, McMann.”

His eyes narrow further, and he grunts in admission. “Well, I need to get changed. I’m not racing you in my fucking underwear.”

“Five minutes, Coach,” Aldo teases. “I’ve got a flight to catch, so we’ll have to make it quick.”

The way Doug’s eyes darken with heat almost has me needing to rearrange myself, so I move away under the pretense of stretching. I grin to myself as Doug grumbles all the way to the door, waiting until he’s gone before turning to Aldo.

“You sure about this?” I ask.

His answering smile is a little sadder than I’d like. “Yeah. I mean, it was never going to be rose petals and wine with Doug, was it? But it feels inevitable.”

“You want rose petals and wine?”

Aldo punches me playfully in the shoulder. “You know what I mean. Besides, the old man might not win.”

I step a little closer. “As much as I know he wants you and you want him, I’m not going to let him have this. You know that, right?”

Aldo looks up at me, a smile on his perfect lips. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

“Right!” Doug barks as he marches back through the doorway. “Let’s get this over and fucking done with.”

Despite being the swim coach, I’ve never seen Doug in swimming gear, other than when I’ve stalked his Olympic past, and he looks hot as fuck. I’m still gawking when Aldo prods me, bringing me back to the moment.

“Shit,” I mutter, jogging over to where I’ve left my bag and fishing out my goggles before joining Doug at the blocks. “What are we doing? Freestyle? Distance?”

“Freestyle, two-hundred meters,” Aldo calls.

I nod and pull my goggles on, crouching into position, ready to swim for my fucking life.

“On your marks!” Aldo shouts. “Go!”

It’s a different feeling diving from the block when you’re competing. I still love swimming with all my heart but plowing down the pool for exercise is a hell of a lot different than when you’re trying to beat someone. I’m surprised at how much I’ve missed it. The adrenaline. My heart pounding in a completely different way.

If I win, it’s two-fold. I get bragging rights over Doug, but I get Aldo, too. I mean, I already have Aldo, but I love the idea of winning him like some fucking knight. Something about that man has my inner caveman beating at his chest. At the same time, however, I can’t get the image of Doug with Aldo out of my mind. His rough, with Aldo’s smooth . . .

It takes an insurmountable amount of effort to pull my focus back into the race. By two laps, there’s not much difference between us, and I can’t tell if Doug is being a Sally save-up: holding back and waiting until the final two laps to switch to full power.

Turning underwater, I push off, putting everything I have into the final two laps. There’s a good chance Doug will beat me, but I’m going to try my damnest to make sure it’s not by a lot. The next time I come up for breath, I catch a glimpse of Aldo at the side of the pool with his phone in his hand. Whether he’s timing us or filming us, I have no idea. I kind of hope it’s the latter. I want to see Doug in his element, and by competing, I’m missing it.

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