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“That doesn’t leave a lot of room for dating.” Now she sounded more sympathetic. I guess honesty had its benefits.
“I’ve always dated the pool,” I confessed. “And I’m not into three-ways.”
She laughed again, soft and light.
“I don’t share.” My voice came out low and gravelly, and again, we fell into silence, this time a heated one. I mulled over my choices, what I could say next. I knew I should take
the conversation into a polite, clear goodnight. But I didn’t want to. I wanted to take the conversation from phone to in-person to not so much talking at all.
“Would you—” I started inviting her back over to my suite at the same moment she said, “Guess I should be heading to bed.”
“Right!” I covered my ass. I hadn’t just been about to say something wildly inappropriate. Something that might make her run in the other direction instead of stay on as my physical therapist for the next month.
“What were you going to say?” she asked.
“Would you like a berry smoothie tomorrow?” Quick thinking. I had a feeling she didn’t totally buy it.
“You don’t have to, Chase. But, yes, I do like berry smoothies.”
“Berry it is.”
Sitting there off the phone I kept thinking of her. What did she sleep in? A little T-shirt and shorts? Just a tank top and panties? It was hot in San Antonio. Maybe she wasn’t big on air conditioning. Maybe she had the window cracked for a breeze in the hot night and wore a whole lot of nothing.
It wasn’t fair. She’d seen me nearly naked. She got to touch me all over. I’d gotten to touch her hamstring. I’d liked it, but it was like getting just a taste of an amazing meal. It only made you want more.
She devoted herself to helping others, figuring out their needs and tending to them. Did anyone do that for her? What made her tick? I wanted to find out.
But I didn’t exactly know how to go about it. I wasn’t kidding when I’d told her I’d dated the pool. I’d never had time to devote to a girlfriend. In my early twenties, one too many relationships I’d thought were causal had escalated, at least on the woman’s side, and blown up in my face. I’d learned my lesson. It was far easier to fly solo in pursuit of my golden goal.
Despite what the tabloids said, depicting me and some of my teammates as the bad boys of swimming, I didn’t enjoy hurting people. I mostly just devoted myself to my sport. I’d spent a lot more nights alone than I had with company.
Right now was a hell of a time to rock the boat. Any coach worth his salt would tell me, “don’t try anything new before a major competition.” And what was more major than the Olympics? That was as big as it got for a swimmer. Emma was right. Better to keep this simple.
I remembered the dish-throwing episode. I didn’t want any more of that. How could I honestly even be thinking about starting something a month before the biggest, most intense competition of my life? A casual hook up, sure, that would make sense. A night of fun, blowing off steam.
But that wasn’t me. And for some reason I just knew, that wasn’t Emma, either. Something in her seemed both fragile and still, like a bird, watchful, curious, observant. I wanted to get as close as I could and find out more about her, but it would take time and patience.
The thing was, I didn’t have time, not right now. And I certainly didn’t need anything messy or complicated in my life. So over the next month, I’d just get to know her better in a professional colleague-type capacity, athlete and therapist. No big deal.
At least that was what I told myself.
CHAPTER 5
Emma
The next day I saw him swim.
I hadn’t really planned on it. I woke up early, so I decided to go for a walk before meeting him at his room at nine. My entire body buzzed with anticipation. I tried to tell myself it was just that I was excited about this assignment, on my way to the Olympics, scooping Chase.
But it was the man, himself. I loved being around him. Of all the problems I’d expected to run into, I was completely unprepared for that.
I’d heard that Chase was cold, so focused and driven and intense he bordered on inhuman. I’d wondered how I could make him notice me, get on his radar and then gain his confidence and trust. But the man I’d met seemed to genuinely want to get to know me. He’d even offered to make me a smoothie of my choice.
I’d heard that he slept his way through women, taking full advantage of his God-like physique and celebrity status. I’d wondered if I’d see him acting like an ass, throwing away women like used dishrags, kicking them out of his hotel room crying. But I hadn’t seen that. Granted, this was only the fourth day I’d spent around him so it wasn’t as if I could vouch for all of his past behavior. But the man I’d met didn’t go out picking up random women at night. If he’d had a woman in his bed from a one-night-stand, I’d know. We spent a lot of time together.
I could tell that was exactly what some of his teammates did. They constantly hit on members of the team’s entourage. Interestingly, they never hit on me. It wasn’t exactly shocking, but I did find it curious. I didn’t look like a swimsuit model by any stretch of the imagination. My strictly B-cups and slim hips were more made for running than enticing men like Jessica Rabbit. But I was a fit 25-year-old woman, accustomed to a certain amount of attention and interest. When I walked into a bar it wasn’t as if every man’s jaw dropped to the floor, but usually a few made their way over with a cheesy line or two.
From Chase’s teammates? Nothing. Even from the lady-killers of the bunch, the ones I realized I’d had on my client roster before Chase had taken me all to himself. They hit on most anything that moved, and a fair number of women moved right up close to them in very short skirts. To me, though, they had only a polite smile and a nod. Like I was their sister. Or like I was already taken. By Chase.
I didn’t know how I felt about it. Add it to the long and growing list. Last night on the phone with Chase I’d practically been ready to hang up and run over to his hotel room to have hot and sweaty, pounding sex all night long. Good thing we’d ended the conversation before I’d slipped on my running sneakers.
Already warm enough early in the morning for a thin tank top and shorts, I made my way around the hotel complex adjacent to the sports center. It was huge and hosted teams from all over the world. I didn’t have time for a run, but stretching my legs felt like a smart thing to do with all my restless energy before I saw Chase.
Except I realized I didn’t have to wait. I could see him now, couldn’t I? I saw the natatorium in the distance, with the gigantic Olympic-sized swimming pool, 18-lanes wide. You could probably see it from the moon. Texas liked to do things big.
I couldn’t resist. With a new spring in my step, I beelined it to the pool, excited about getting a sneak peek at Chase. This was when he did his first swim workout of the day. Not to be confused with his dry-land exercise program, or his afternoon swim workout. No wonder the man had a reputation as intense. He had to be.
Opening the door, I didn’t hear much, just a few voices over by the pool. I snuck my way over to the side, then closer where I could grab a seat in the viewing area. There were about 12 swimmers doing laps. Which one was Chase?
The minute I spotted him, I knew. There were people swimming in the pool, and there was one flying.
Breathless, I watched him part the water, his long, powerful arms carving out a straight and true path. He barely seemed to exert any effort, gliding through the lane as if propelled by an unseen force. A rocket, maybe? I knew he’d explained to me that these early a.m. workouts weren’t even for speed. They were laid-back. Relaxed.
If that was what Chase Carter looked like when he kicked back, I couldn’t imagine him going for it. A shiver traveled down my spine. How many hours had he devoted to reach that kind of peak physical performance? How much effort had it taken to push himself to the absolute limit and beyond? I’m not going to lie, I felt awed.
And a twinge of something else. Unease? Guilt, perhaps? It wasn’t as if I were there trying to dig for a story to ruin his good name. The kind of pieces I liked writing for our blog were feel-good stories, celebrating the best in people. There was enough mud-slinging and hatred in the world without my contributing to it.
But I was spending the next month with him trying to do something he’d very much tried not to do: uncover and share his past. What had happened all those years ago in the boating accident? Why did he never t
alk about it? Was it just because it was a difficult memory? Or was there more?
How would he feel if a story ran about his past? I’d have anonymity, so I could do it without him ever knowing it was me. But even if I focused on his strengths, how he’d overcome adversity, he still might feel violated and upset.
I could talk to him before I wrote it, ask his permission. And risk him saying no. Or I could quit. I could pack up my bags and be on the next flight home. I was sure the team managers could find someone else to take care of Chase in the coming weeks. I’d had to use every connection I had and then some to get into this job. Everyone wanted to have a part in securing Olympic victory.
But sitting there watching pure magic happen in the pool right before my eyes at 8:30 a.m. on a Thursday morning in July, I knew I couldn’t leave. I was part of it now, for a whole bundle of reasons I couldn’t even try to untangle. For one, I didn’t have the time. I had an appointment I needed to keep with a superhero, right after I slipped out from the pool undetected and crept out the back to go meet him at his suite.
“What’d you think?” That was the first thing he said when he sauntered up to meet me. Hotel staff had given me a card to his room, but I still felt awkward about using it so I stood outside the door. It seemed too intimate to let myself in.
“About what?” Nice work playing dumb, I congratulated myself. Now maybe I could divert his attention. Where was something distracting when you needed it? And, no, the ripples of his ab muscles didn’t count. They were most definitely not helping.
“I saw you watching me swim this morning.” He flashed me a crooked smile. And if that weren’t enough to make my knees weak, he gave me a sly wink. “I won’t tell anyone that you’re a fan.”
“How do you know I was there to watch you swim?” I managed a saucy retort. “There were a bunch of people in the pool. Maybe I was there to watch one of your teammates?”
