AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“You know I have no interest in sleeping with women.”
“I didn’t mean jealous of me.”
The way he drawls the words, stretched out in my car with his limbs everywhere and his shirt riding up his abs, almost makes me miss our exit. As we enter a maze of local streets to search for our hotel, I’m happy for the excuse to end the conversation.
Alek must have felt guilty, because he booked us in a four-star hotel near the event facility. A tiny part of me dreaded showing up to find ourselves sharing a room, but the receptionist hands me keys for two rooms on separate floors. Darius hangs back, looking bored and dragging his sneaker along the intricate pattern in the carpet until I toss him a key card. Since neither of us wants to take the stairs, he ends up awkwardly following me into the only elevator. We stand on opposite sides, the silence growing thicker until there isn’t any air left to breathe.
“See you in the morning?” I call as he gets out on the fourth floor, my need to organize taking over my desire to never speak to him again. “Say 9 o’clock by the front door?”
He doesn’t answer, but just before the doors slide shut his hand shoots through the gap and forces them apart again. Darius reaches around and bangs the open door button, then braces them with his good shoulder. He narrows his eyes at me, his lip curling slightly. “There’s nothing wrong with my dives.”
I blink, taking a second to remember the conversation earlier this week. It’s been eating at him the whole time? A chuckle slips out of me. “So that’s what you think?”
His nostrils flare, his stunning eyes darkening. “Fuck you. You’re trying to mess with my head.” The door butts his shoulder, but he just jams his weight against it.
I spread my hands. “Am I?”
“You don’t have anything better to do with your time than fuck with athletes who still have careers. That’s sad, Tate.” But we both know he slipped up, showed weakness, and now I have the advantage. He shifts, agitated, as I cross the elevator and stop with our faces only inches apart. I rest a hand flat against his chest, fingers splayed across his powerful pecs, and his breathing hitches. “You’re going to practice tonight, right?” The hotel has a competition-style pool to accommodate guests from all the swimming events hosted down the street, and I noticed Darius ogling it as we walked past. “Film yourself diving and send it to me. Then we’ll talk.”
Eyes fixed on mine, he shakes his head slowly.
“If you’re too scared, you already know the answer.” I give him a slow, firm push back into the hall. “Now did you bother to think some other guest in this hotel might be waiting to go somewhere?” The words slip out, in a tone I haven’t used for a long time. Instead of snarking back as the doors slide shut, Darius just gawks until his bewildered eyes are cut off by my own reflection.
* * *
Darius
A rush of water wraps around me as I launch myself from the starting block, streamline my body, and pierce the surface as cleanly as possible. Halfway down the length of the pool, I slow down and tread water, panting. I’ve dived so many times in a row that I’m starting to forget how, like when you say a normal word over and over until it turns into nonsense.
My shoulder throbs, a dull ache laced through by harsher pain when I move wrong. On my second dive, I twisted it too hard and made everything worse. Ever since it started six months ago, the hurt has crept up on me like darkness, swallowing one piece of me at a time as I try to outrun it. I haven’t forced my body to full competition speed in a long time, and I’m scared of what might happen tomorrow.
I paddle over to the ladder to spare my shoulder any more strain. My phone is propped against my backpack, pointed at the end of the pool. I stop the recording, then drop onto the nearest plastic chair and wipe my nose on my shoulder as I flip through the footage, replaying each dive.
They’re not bad.
They’re not.
But are they good? I don’t know. People seemed annoyed when I asked for help, like a pro should know better, so I tried to work it out on my own. Tipping my head back, I close my eyes and listen to the pool water slosh gently. I don’t want to do any of this. But what I want doesn’t matter. If I let people down, I might as well not exist.
But god does it sting, flipping through my video app and splitting up the footage, sending each one to Tate, imagining his face when they come through. Sure enough, a text pops up before I’m even finished. It’s the same kissing emoji I added to the end of the last tweet I sent him. I’m not the only petty bitch here.
I haven’t felt this out of control for a long time, exhausted and in pain, trapped with a smug asshole who would love nothing more than to kick me while I’m down. As I prep the last few clips, my eye catches on an earlier video in my reels, one I made for Ali while she was on vacation a few months ago. One I really should have deleted. Before I can stop myself, I throw it in with the others. Hope he chokes on his room service when he sees it, maybe even dies of a heart attack.
Part of me regrets it as soon as I hit send, but I can’t take it back. I fidget in the uncomfortable plastic chair for a full twenty minutes, waiting for him to text or call. Something. Anything. But my phone screen stays blank. Eventually, I give up and head for my room, avoiding the elevator.
4
DARIUS
I didn’t realize I dozed off sideways on the hotel bed until my phone vibrates next to my ear. My shoulder throbs as I gingerly sit up and squint at the screen. The sender of the text is a single shit emoji, because I’m incredibly mature. Are you still up? I want to talk through your dives.
My chest clenches as I read the message again, then check for any others. No word about my little bonus video. I don’t know if I’m relieved or disappointed.
He’s never going to leave me alone otherwise, so I answer Sure.
He texts me his room number, nothing more. I can’t be bothered with the snarl of laces on my sneakers, and this is a nice hotel, so I just walk out the door with no shoes. It isn’t until I look at my reflection in the elevator that I realize I didn’t fix my hair, deal with my puffy eyes, or put on anything nicer than a tank top and ratty shorts. I should be more careful, given that I might run into someone who recognizes me. But no one will, because that Dare is like a skin that goes over this one, and I’m just too fucking done with everything to put it on tonight. I lean against the wall and close my eyes until the door pings open.
When I knock at Tate’s room, the door opens slightly under my fist, like he left it unlatched for me. “Hello?” I push it a little wider, craning my neck.
