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Kruger
Not even the frigid temp of the Elite pool could cool the boiling blood in my veins. I was overheated, distracted… undeniably in love.
There were a lot of nights I doubted, hell, even hated myself for the hard line I’d drawn.
Her or no one.
My final girl.
There were nights when alcohol thinned my blood, diluted my patience, and I watched through seething, jealous eyes as my friends pounced and bounced their way through high school and college. Being a swim god at Westbrook basically gave me a pass with all the girls. The barnacles of Elite (as Rory and Madison named them) were plentiful, and I could have crooked my finger at any of them and had my way.
Sometimes when hormones clouded my brain and my body was pissed, I denied it so much I wondered, How can you even know she’s your final girl when you’ve never had a sample of anything else? Hell, of her?
Easy. I wasn’t a manwhore. As much as I sometimes wanted to be. I’d come close a few times, but in the end, I always pushed them away. My heart was stronger than my hormones, and my heart knew exactly where it and my dick belonged.
After last night, nothing whispered with doubt. Everything inside me bowed down to the loyalty my heart demanded she deserved.
Worth the wait.
The cold showers. The nights where my hand and thoughts of her were all I had. My brain was near short-circuiting this morning as it replayed last night over and over again.
God, the way she looked all sleepy and warm in bed. The way she clung like she didn’t want me to go.
I kissed her. I told her I loved her. It would have been easier to die in that moment than not to.
It was because of this I knew.
I couldn’t keep lying. I had to tell her.
And yeah, being with her was like whoa. I couldn’t keep taking everything I always wanted. Not unless she gave it willingly.
The ear-piercing yet now familiar whistle competed with the splashing waves and heavy breathing as I neared the end of the lane. Instead of popping right up, I sank beneath the surface, letting the water buffer everything for one blissful moment.
Above the surface, I breathed deep and slapped my hands on the sides of the pool as water slid over my cap, goggles, and down my cheeks.
The whistle was still squealing, and I glanced into the lane next to me at Prism. “Bro, Coach has unmatched lung capacity.”
P grimaced and slid under the water away from the sound.
Tugging the goggles off, I laid them on the edge and swiped at my face. Coach dropped the whistle against his chest, his body appearing on the deck above me.
“What the hell was that, Kruger?”
“That was you murdering our eardrums, Coach.”
“You were swimming so hard it was the only way to get your attention,” he grumbled.
“Since when is that something you complain about?”
P popped up from down below, flinging an arm over the edge.
Coach squatted, smacking a clipboard onto the tile with a hard slap. “You swam good today.”
“Again, I have to wonder why that seems to piss you off.”
“Watch your mouth,” he warned. Then, “Is everything okay? How’s my lifeguard?”
“She’s not your anything,” I muttered. “And she’s fine.” Except for the fact someone is trying to hurt her.
