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Chucking his goggles onto the deck, he peels off his swim cap and tries to lift himself out of the water. Halfway through the motion, something gives and he falls back with a splash. On his second try, he makes it to his feet and spreads his hands to indicate the empty room. “You’re right. I can’t see past all the people using this space right now. Oops, excuse me, sorry.” As he comes toward me, he pretends he’s bumping into people and shuffling through a crowd.
My world narrows to his arrogant drawl, the long, tan limbs, and the messy, summer-blond hair I’ve imagined wrapping painfully around my fingers. Darius Matthews and I recognize each other at the same time. His shockingly blue eyes widen, his cockiness fading for just a second. Water gathers along his strong jaw and trickles down his neck, between his sculpted pecs to the fine, pale hair around his belly button, then–
I force my gaze up to meet his as the disgusting, rotten mass of resentment, sadness, anger, and lust tears itself out of my chest and rises up into my throat until I can barely manage to say, “What the fuck are you doing here?”
2
DARIUS
“Since I’m feeling generous, you can have three whole guesses.” I swing my goggles between us like a hypnotist with a pocket watch. Water drips down onto the toes of his ratty sneakers.
“Why are you here?” Tate changes the question, refusing to play along. I still can’t believe he’s here, in the flesh, after three years of watching him through a screen. I’m just average-sized at 5’10”, and damn does Tate Vaughn make me feel small and uncomfortably warm as the tall, broad-shouldered man eye-fucks me with an expression like he wants to run me over with a car.
“Why are you here? Last time I checked, you weren’t a swimmer anymore.”
His jaw tightens, and his gaze follows my arms as I cross them on my bare chest. I only moved to Seattle six months ago for this new swim club, so we haven’t gone to many of the same events. When our paths do cross, one of us is always in the pool. I’ve pieced him together from pictures–smiling a little awkwardly, always standing behind someone else, fading into the background. They didn’t prepare me for his sullen, dark green eyes or the smoldering intensity behind them.
He cocks an eyebrow. “For someone who claims they’re not threatened by me, you put a lot of effort into stalking me.”
I pat his arm, because it’s so much fun to wind him up, but my brain derails when I feel the hard muscles he’s packing under that hoodie. “You’re delusional if you imagine I’ve ever given you a second thought.” That’s a lie. I’ve spent more time finding ways to hurt him than on any of my real-life relationships.
“I don’t believe you.” He says it so confidently, with that familiar know-it-all expression on his face, that I wonder if he’s talking from personal experience. If I’ve haunted him the way he haunts me. My entire world is made up of people who think they know what’s best for me, that I’m too defective and irresponsible to deserve a say in my own life. This man is the only one of them I can hurt. So I fucking will, and I’ll enjoy it, too.
“I’ll tell the team you said hi. Do you have a picture I can show them if they’ve forgotten who you are?”
The corner of his mouth tips up, but his eyes burn like ice. “Does it take effort to be this trashy all the time, or does it come naturally?”
I snort, ignoring the uneasiness crawling in my gut. He’s overwhelming in person–calm on the outside, but underneath it all a suffocating pressure that makes me start to believe every terrible thing he’s ever said about me. “It’s more fun than being bitter and lonely.”
Before either of us can find another insult to hurl, Alek’s voice drifts from the doorway. “Perfect timing.” When I glance over, Victor is holding the door open as Alek wrestles his crutches inside. I found this facility while looking for a quiet practice space to recover from my shoulder strain. After we talked a few times, Alek offered to help coach me through reconditioning my body. I’ve just about gotten over feeling intimidated by him, but Victor is another story.
Tate lets out an indignant sound of protest when he locks eyes with Victor. “Wait, is this… Is he… Fuck no.”
Victor’s bored expression doesn’t change as he holds up a flat palm and points to it. “We shook on it, my friend. I haven’t even washed my hand yet.”
I have no idea what’s going on, but I enjoy the sight of Tate’s shoulders collapsing. “You knew it was him all along.” He sounds as betrayed as if Darth Vader had just admitted to being his father.
Victor shrugs one shoulder. “I mean, obviously. You wouldn’t have said yes otherwise, and we don’t have anyone else.”
“Yes to what?” I look to Alek for answers. His dark, quiet eyes are always hard to read, but right now he looks worried about my reaction.
“Tate’s going to take you to Vancouver and help monitor your shoulder,” Victor explains cheerfully, like he’s the only person in the room having a good time. “And while you’re at it, ask him to help you with your dive off the block. Yours sucks, and he’s one of the best.”
It’s my turn to make an offended sound. “I don’t need a fucking babysitter.”
Victor’s smile turns a little dangerous. “Because your never-ending string of good decisions is how you ended up injured and stuck on the side practicing your kicks instead of, you know, actually swimming with your team.”
Tate muffles a laugh. A bunch of hot-as-sin veterans in my sport making fun of me while pain leaks through my shoulder like poison is exactly what I need to make my shitty day better. Without a word, I walk over to the pool and flip into the water. My eyes burn without goggles, and it’s fucking up my hair, but I swim along the bottom for a while so I can pretend I’m alone.
I should be in Vancouver right now, enjoying drinks with the team. They’ve been blowing up Instagram with pictures from some upscale waterfront gastropub. Ross told me they didn’t have room in the team van for everyone, but I can see that half of them brought their girlfriends. It’s that high school popularity bullshit all over again, and for the first time in my life I’m on the wrong side of it.
When I surface, only Tate’s still there, standing at the edge of the pool and holding the book of warmups and notes Alek has been keeping the last few months. The other two men didn’t even care enough to say goodbye. “I don’t want to do this, Darius, but I shook Victor’s hand, and I keep my word.”
I prop my arm on the edge of the pool, staring at him as he runs a hand through his tidy, dark hair. “It’s Dare. No one calls me Darius.” No one I’m still on speaking terms with.
“I am never calling you Dare. It’s ridiculous.”
“Aww, do you not dare2believe?” I cackle at the look on his face, like he’s going to puke. “My shoulder’s fine, and I’ll find my own way to the meet. I was only letting Alek come because I owe him.”
