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I’d already medaled at the games, back eight years ago at 18. I’d won a bronze and a silver, accomplishments to be proud of, for sure, but I wanted more. These games were my time to claim the ultimate prize.
Towel thrown across my shoulders, still in my swim briefs, I headed back to my suite. To see Emma. It nearly brought a smile to my face, and I wasn’t the type of guy who walked around smiling all the time. Had she been up long? Was I on her mind like she was on mine?
I knew I was intense, in and out of the pool. I had an insatiable appetite and a strong dominant streak in the bedroom. I was never violent or aggressive, but possessive? In charge? Relentless? Yes to all of the above.
I didn’t do casual. I wasn’t into quick, meaningless hook ups. When I went in, I went in deep.
Yes, I knew it was slightly crazy to already be thinking about Emma this way when I’d only just met her. But sometimes you just knew. The attraction between us was nuclear.
She was standing there waiting for me when I arrived, 8:55 a.m., looking sleek and fit in high-cut running shorts and a tank. San Antonio in mid-July didn’t require much clothing. I’d like her wearing even less.
“You’re early.” I slipped my card into the door and opened it for her. “I’ll have them get you a room card, too, so you don’t have to wait for me outside.”
“Oh, that’s not necessary.” She stepped in before me and I caught her scent, light and teasing. I bet the taste of her would make me lose my mind.
“I’ll get you a card,” I insisted, following, the door closing behind me. “My first race is August sixth. We only have 21 days left.” The amount of time I wanted to spend with her, I basically wanted her to move in.
“Three weeks from today.” She looked up at me. “How are you feeling?”
I gave her the rundown, right shoulder slightly tight, left hamstring twinged on and off during my swim. An athlete had to strike a fine balance between gutting through pain and listening to it. I hadn’t struck the right balance prepping for the last games in 2012. Too much gutting it out had cost me my opportunity to compete. I wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice.
“I meant in general,” she clarified.
“How am I feeling? In general?” I had to admit, I felt mystified. Was she asking me about my emotions, like I was a person and not a well-honed swimming machine?
“Yeah.” She chuckled a little at my confusion. “You know, are you feeling good? Excited? Nervous? It’s the Olympics.”
“I don’t let emotions sidetrack me, Emma.” I stepped toward her, reaching out to touch her ponytail, twisting it around my finger. Would she like it if I pulled her head back and kissed her? Would she be shocked at first, but then get turned on if I fisted my hand in her hair? “I go after what I want. I stay focused on my goal until I get it.”
Her lips looked so soft and she parted them slightly as she looked up at me. Her breathing picked up a notch. So did mine as we stood together, inches apart.
“OK,” she snapped us out of our spell, stepping away and toward the massage table. “First let me work on those two problem areas. Then we’ll stretch.” With me up on the table, she got right to work. I let her do what she did so well, not speaking so I wouldn’t interrupt her flow.
I wondered what I should say to her when she was done. The whole talking-to-women thing wasn’t a skill I’d devoted much time to cultivating. Women didn’t seem to mind much if I wasn’t a great conversationalist. Being a world-class competitive athlete gave you all kinds of advantages, but I wasn’t exactly well-rounded in my skills. I could perform better physically than most other men—on many levels—but I hadn’t exactly flexed my “get to know you” muscle with a woman that often.
I talked to women every day, but they were my teammates, my comrades-in-arms as we all trained for the fight. We talked shop and strategy. We didn’t exactly have heart-to-hearts. Some of them were nice, some of them were pretty, and I’d fight like hell to defend any one of them if anyone tried to mess with them. But I’d no more start up a romantic relationship with a woman on my team than I’d jump in front of a speeding train. I’d seen far too many go down that path and regret it almost immediately. When shit went bad between a team couple, everyone felt the pain.
So here I was, Mr. Magazine Cover Model, a conga line of female fans waiting to jump me, feeling somewhat tongue-tied as Emma rubbed my shoulder. No-nonsense, focused, she didn’t say anything, either. Until she was satisfied with her work.
“That’s it for now.” She patted my arm. “Let me stretch you.”
I had a yoga mat already laid out for the purpose. Stretching was my friend. It didn’t used to be, but I’d learned over the years the advantage it could provide, and the pitfalls it could avoid.
She had me lying flat on my back in no time. Cheesy lines came to mind, stupid flirtations about liking her moves or letting her have her way with me. I kept my mouth shut as she knelt at my side and brought my leg up and back, pressing on the back of my thigh.
“Hot enough
for you?” I asked as she leaned on me with her body weight.
“What?” She looked up like she had no idea what I was talking about.
Damn it. That’s what I’d come up with, talking about the weather? Man, I had no game.
“I mean this Texas heat,” I explained, into the perfectly air-conditioned hotel room.
“I guess I’m used to it.” She kindly engaged with me, instead of pointing out the lameness of my comment. “I’m from Florida.”
“What part?”
“Vero Beach. Mid-Atlantic.”
“Do you like it there?” Now she pressed against my shoulder, twisting my thigh across my body, a deep hip stretch. Just what I needed.
“So many questions.” She smiled at me, her light brown eyes teasing and amused. Damn she was gorgeous, in such a simple, understated way. “How about I get to ask you some?”
That made me tense up. I didn’t like questions. I didn’t mind the spotlight, so long as it focused on my swimming performance. Personal investigations? No thank you.
“We’re going to be spending a lot of time together over the next four weeks,” she persisted. “It only seems fair.”
“What do you want to know?” I didn’t mean to, but I nearly snarled at her. I was pretty accustomed to fencing myself off.
“Where’d you grow up?”
“Outside Boston.” Honestly, I was surprised she didn’t know that. I figured she’d read a few profiles of me before getting this job. But maybe she was one of the few who kept her nose out of the press? Another reason to like her.
“Do you like it there?”
“It’s been a long time since I’ve lived there.” I’d basically moved out when I’d gone to Stanford, then lived in Arizona to train after graduation. My parents had split when I was around 14, a real banner year in my life. I’d nearly died drowning after a boating accident. Plus, all the yelling.
“Do you miss it?” She turned me around, chest facing the floor, then kneeled on the backs of my thighs and grabbed my wrists to give me a shoulder stretch. As small as she was compared to me, she was impressively athletic, strong and flexible. She and I could really have some fun together.
