Page 123 of Crease Collision

Later, after we get more bruise cream, we take up residence on the roof of Kai’s building. It’s only the first week of June, but the temperature’s already in the nineties, so we alternate between swimming and resting in the shade. Currently, we’re lying in chaise lounges like two beached whales.

“We have practice tomorrow,” he says.

“Who’s we?” I ask. “Not me.”

I shouldn’t have said that. It’s not that I’m bitter, but… well, I’m a little bitter.

His voice is soft. “I’m sorry you’re out of it, Ozzy. I won’t say ‘there’s always next year’ because that sucks. But after five years with the Condors, this is my first trip to the Cup Finals. You’ve got time.”

My stomach does a fluttery thing before it twists into a knot, and I work hard to keep my tone even. “I wanted it so much, but that doesn’t mean I am not thrilled for you. I will be at every game if you’ll let me. Mercer’s biggest fan.”

He turns onto his side to face me. “Nothing would make me any happier. I’m just glad we’re not playing against each other anymore.”

With that, I decide to leave it alone for a while. I can’t deny how I feel, but today isn’t about that. I point at him. “I can do ten laps faster than you can. Ten round-trip laps.”

“Bullshit.” He narrows his eyes. “I was a champion swimmer in high school.”

“And I’m the best swimmer at my parents’ lake house.”

They probably hear his scoff in Stockholm.

“Ten laps? You’re on.”

The fucker is running toward the pool before I’m on my feet.

We complete the first lap together, but by the end of the second, I’m ahead.

“Touch and turn, Mercer,” I yell back at him. “Stop cheating.”

“Fuck you,” he yells, splashing behind me.

I pull a little farther ahead with each lap, and his trash-talking becomes less talking and more gurgling. By the time I begin my last lap, he’s turning at the other side of the pool. As we pass in the water, all I hear is, “Bluh-buh-buh-buh,” followed by a cough.

I complete the lap, pull myself out of the water, and sit on the edge, watching him flounder his way back. He finally makes it, and I do my best to act like I’m not still out of breath while he gasps and spits water.

When he’s able to speak, he gives me a look that would set fire to a tree in a rainstorm. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. You cheated.”

“Did not.” I can’t keep a snarky grin off my face. “I took it easy on you.”

The truth is somewhere in between. I didn’t cheat, but I gave it everything I had.

“Damn playoffs wore me out,” he says.

“I had playoffs as well.” I try not to sound too smug.

He frowns for a moment, then his face lights up. “I’m saving myself for the next round.”

“Keep telling yourself that, baby.” I extend an arm to help him out of the water. “You did well.”

He glares at me. “Another ten? I’ll show you what I’ve got.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Do you really want to do that now?”

His shoulders sag, dragging him down until the water reaches his nose. After a struggle, he gets his mouth back above the surface. “Help me out of here.”

We laugh on the way back to our lounges.

“Must be some lake house your folks have,” he says. “Were there fifty other kids there in the summer to compete against?”