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“Maxi?”
That fucking nickname was terrible. But the way he said made me melt.
I grunted acknowledgment, and Wes looked up at me through lowered lashes. “Say it again.”
Judging by his burning cheeks and the bashful glint in his half-hidden stare, I knew exactly what he wanted. “You are such a praise whore,” I mused.
He gave a huff and pushed me back so he could stand. “For so long, I thought you would hate me,” he muttered.
Ahh. I caught him around the waist, towing him against me before he could rush off. “You’re my best boy,” I whispered, and he turned to putty in my hands, soft and willing to let me mold him into any shape I desired. But he was already exactly what I wanted, so I didn’t have to do anything at all. I stroked the side of his head, loving the silky feel of his curls. “You are so good for me. I love you so much.”
His lower lip stuck out, and then he turned, capturing my mouth with his. We kissed languidly, tongues twirling together intimately. I poured all the feelings I had no words for into that kiss, into him hoping he would taste them long after our lips parted.
When at last we separated, I patted his sticky ass and smiled. “Go start the shower. I’ll be up after I clean up the art you put all over the wall.”
“You’re the one who told me to do it.”
“And you listened like the good boy you are.”
His lips curled in.
“Go on. I’ll be right up.”
When I had the dining room back in order, I gathered up all our discarded clothes and went upstairs to slip into the shower behind him.
31
Wes
Freaking finally.
I was free of the stitches in my head and cleared to be back in the pool. It felt like forever since the last time I’d dove into the crystal-clear, cold-as-ice depths of the Elite pool. The shock to my lungs and system was more than I expected for someone who, up until a week ago, lived in the water.
I welcomed it, though. Even if my fingers and toes stung with the low temperature and my body seemed sluggish and uncoordinated, I kept at it until my limbs were warm and my movements became more coordinated.
Coach’s whistle was shrill when he blew it overhead as I came up for air. Water dripped off my goggles when I glanced up. His face was pinched, and if he were green, he might pass for the Grinch. I steadied myself for his sure-to-be grim assessment of my performance. “Could be worse, Sinclair.”
I blinked. Blinked again. “What?” I echoed, clear disbelief in my voice.
“Look at that, Coach. You’re normally so mean to us that he probably thinks his head injury isn’t as healed as they told him and he’s hearing things,” Jamie cracked, swimming up beside me.
“No one asked you, Owens,” Coach muttered.
The lane rope disappeared beneath the water when he draped his massive upper body over it to smile at me. “Not bad for a fish who had to stay on land for a week.” Jamie heckled.
I scoffed.Has it really only been a week?The car accident seemed so long ago, probably because so much happened since then.
“I said not bad. That didn’t mean your performance was great,” Coach intoned, making me look up once more. “You got work to do. You better do it.”
I nodded. “I will.”
Ryan popped up from underwater inside my lane. I was so used to seeing these guys with swim caps and goggles, it wasn’t even startling. “I’ll swim with you every afternoon,” he offered.
“Thanks, bro,” I said.
Ryan could easily view me as his competition, especially since we both swam freestyle. But he didn’t. He always offered to help me, and he was always happy when my time got better instead of worrying I might swim better than him.
It was probably why the entire team considered him team leader even though we weren’t technically a team.
