“Shit,” I mumble, my fingers shaking, rattling the paper as I scan it. The reporter even quoted Susan Kennedy, who said, “Levi Lucassen is on his way to becoming a star, and Roxy Coulter is one to watch.”
I find a sentence where Levi said I’m the one to beat, but the paper doesn’t mention me otherwise.
“How did this happen?” I ask. “Why wouldn’t they feature me? I won 200 back at the Summer Sizzler!” Of course, Roxy couldn’t compete because she had a strained shoulder…
Coach comes around the desk and places a hand on my back. Together we stare down at the front-page feature. The picture of Roxy shows her standing next to a blue swimming pool, but no one will even notice the shimmering water because she’s so gorgeous. She has black hair with purple and pink streaks in it, she’s tan, and her diamond nose stud makes her appear exotic. The article mentions how she has ten thousand Twitter followers, and how people love watching the swimming videos and swimsuit pictures she posts. I only have about five hundred followers, and they’re mostly people from school and the pool.
Seeing her picture next to Levi’s cute face makes me feel sick.
Coach wads up the newspaper and tosses it in the trash can. “I wanted to talk to you about the article before you saw it on your own because you need to hear this from me—the media always gets it wrong. She’s not the best swimmer in this state. You are.”
I bite into my lower lip. If I’m the best swimmer, why was her time better than mine last weekend? Why do I have problems with my starts?
It’s as if Coach reads my mind because he says, “She swam faster than you because you didn’t stick to your training. You wasted your energy at the start of the race instead of building steadily. And we’re going to nail your starts. Susan Kennedy asked that I keep her updated on your progress.”
A smile begins to form on my face. “She did?”
“You bet she did. We’re not going to think about this article again, understand?”
“Yes.”
I leave his office to hit the showers. A tear slips out of my eye as I stand under the hot water. It rolls down my face. If I could only travel back in time to that day I met her at Normandy Lake. Instead of encouraging her to try out for New Wave, I would go back to playing poker with Levi on a towel on the sand.
I come out of the locker room to find Levi’s already dressed in his usual hoodie and running tights with athletic shorts on over them. His blond hair is wet and slicked back, and he’s wearing headphones. When he sees me, he slips them off and dangles them around his neck. I don’t even care who sees, I walk straight into his arms and hug him tight.
“I didn’t know,” he whispers.
“I know. They probably chose her for the article because she looks interesting.”
Levi edges slightly away from me and glances around the empty hallway, then kisses my cheek. “If we didn’t have to go to school right now, I’d show you just how much more interesting you are. You’re a minnow and I’m a shark.” He playfully growls in my ear.
That night at his place, it sure does get more interesting.
Once we’re positive Oma and Opa are zonked out, Levi has me in his bed. He was totally holding out on me when he said I didn’t need hookup lessons. Because it turns out I do. I really, really do.
“Do you own Superman underwear?”
He gives me a look. “No. I do not own Superman underwear.”
“Oh.”
“Do you wish I had Superman underwear? Do you have a fetish?” He starts tickling me.
“Ahhh! Stop. No, I do not have a fetish I just…I just…I don’t know!”
He pulls me on top so that I’m straddling him. “Is this your way of saying you want to see my underwear?”
How can he be so up front? Yeah, I’m talkative out of bed, but in bed my voice clams up. I decide to go for it. I reach for the waistband of his athletic shorts.
He pries my fingers away. “Nope. You gotta tell me what you want first.”
“But why?” I whine.
“If you aren’t comfortable enough to tell a guy what you want, you shouldn’t be in bed with him. Okay?”
“Okay…well, I want to do whatever I want without having to ask.”
“Maggie,” he chides, teasing me.
“Fine. I want to take off your shorts.”
He releases my hands from his grip. I tug on his waistband again and he helps me to edge them and his running tights all the way off. He’s wearing a pair of dark navy boxer briefs. Underwear are not that dissimilar from swim briefs if you think about it, but this still feels super different. It’s more intimate.
With a shaky hand, I reach down to touch him through his boxers, carefully exploring where he’s sensitive, and as his breathing begins to race, his mouth captures mine.
“Maggie,” he breathes between kisses. Hearing him pant my name excites me, and I reach past the waistband to wrap my fingers around him. His hand covers mine, to stop me from moving. “You don’t have to.”
“I want to,” I say quietly, and after a long look in my eyes, he releases my hand. With a hot flush gliding over my skin, I begin to move up and down again.
“You can grip me a little harder,” he pants with a heated stare.
“Won’t I hurt you?”
“You feel amazing.”
I’ve never touched one before, and it’s not what I expect at all. It’s hard and silky…and big. I sneak a peek at it. “Oh no.”
He jerks himself to a sitting position. “What’s wrong?”
“How in the world would that ever work? You know, with sex…and fitting?”
With a small smile, my best friend reaches out to touch my flushed cheek. “Don’t worry, when you’re ready to do it with somebody, it’ll work.”
“Are you bigger than everybody else?”
He smiles again. “I don’t think so. I’m normal, I guess.” But I notice he puffs his chest a little at the compliment. Boys.
We lie back down on the bed together. He runs his hands across my back, soothing me.
“Don’t be scared of it,” he says as I take him in my hand again. “When you’re getting ready to have sex, make sure you do plenty of foreplay.”
My body catches on fire at that word. “Like, handcuffs and whips and stuff?” I tease.
He drops his face into the crook of my neck, cracking up. “No! Not that kind of foreplay. I’ll show you what I mean.” He flips me onto my back and pushes my arms above my head, circling my wrists.
I free myself from his grip and say, “Nope. You have to tell me what you want. You can’t just show me.”
“You’re evil.”
I wink at him. “I learned from the best.”
“I’ll tell you what I want. I want you wearing Catwoman underwear,” he says, making me die laughing. “Are you wearing Catwoman underwear?”
He lifts my shirt over my head and tugs my leggings down. Tonight I made sure to wear panties to match my lacy blue bra, which draws a gasp out of him. His eyes scan me appreciatively. He lies on top of me, fitting his warm body to mine, and I wrap my trembling arms around his neck, my legs around his waist. I can’t believe we’re kissing in our underwear. Being physical with a guy is a part of my life now, and I love it. I feel like a woman.
As I continue to explore his body, he uses his hand to pleasure me again like the other night until a shockwave jolts through me. I gasp at its intensity.