TRYING TO SLYLY check out Freddie in his swim shorts should have been an Olympic sport in itself. The moment he stood up and shed his towel, I turned my head but simultaneously developed one lazy eye, which pointed at Freddie regardless of which way I looked.
When he stretched by the edge of the pool, I lost motor function and suddenly couldn’t remember how normal people stood. Do they hold their weight on both legs or just sort of casually lean on one? Crossed arms? No that looks angry. Wait, what are arms for again? I let the now meaningless limbs fall limply to my sides and pretended to listen to Freddie as he went on about proper freestyle form. I didn’t care about swimming form, I cared about his form. He had the most powerfully fluid body I’d ever seen, like a modern day gladiator. Every square inch of him was made up of layers of tight, coiled muscle. Thick biceps gave way to broad shoulders. His defined upper back and strong shoulder blades tapered to a slimmer waist, but my gaze had to stop there. He was wearing those tight spandex shorts Olympic swimmers wear. The navy material sat low on his hips, slicing his Adonis Vs in half when he twisted around to make sure I was paying attention. To maintain my own sanity, I kept my gaze on the top half of him—though even that wasn’t really a safe zone.
“See how my head stays at 45 degrees?” he asked.
I shot him a thumbs up and tried to ignore the feeling of my heart pounding against my breastbone.
The spandex shorts were basically a form of cruel and unusual punishment. He paused then, noticing the color in my cheeks. I assured him I was paying attention but I wasn’t. I was staring at his butt. I’M SORRY OKAY. It was just there, testing the elastic capacity of the spandex, and I couldn’t help it. It was the most glorious butt I’d ever seen and I couldn’t take it for another second. My self-control had reached its limit, and like the clownfish in Finding Nemo, I thought, I’m going to touch the butt. My hand twitched and started to drift toward him.
“All right,” I squeaked, clasping my loyal hand around my traitorous one. I was going to lose it soon if we didn’t jump in the water. “I think I’ve got it; let’s get in.”
“I haven’t gone over the mechanics of the full stroke,” he argued, glancing back at me over his shoulder. Every time he moved, I caught a new angle, a glimpse at his quadruple abs or his strong biceps. A woman can only handle so much.
“I’m going to be honest,” I said, propping my hands on my hips. “We can be honest with each other right?”
He nodded and for a second I almost told him how fucking good-looking he was, how much I wanted to maul him at that very moment, but I caught myself before the words slipped out.
“This is literally the most boring thing I’ve ever had to sit through.”
He frowned.
“Sorry, I know form is really important, but I just want to swim.”
I walked toward the pool and glanced down at the water, trying to ignore the tight tension radiating through my body. This was supposed to be a fun afternoon. I’d told Kinsley I knew what I was doing, but I felt anxious and hot and awkward. I couldn’t be my normal self while he was standing there nearly naked.
“Andie?” he asked, taking a step toward me. I caught movement out of the corner of my eye and I knew he was going to touch me, maybe try to brush my shoulder with his hand. I acted first, bent my knees, and dove into the water. If he touched me, it’d be game over.
Freddie
I WATCHED ANDIE dive into the water and then slipped into the lane beside her. Her mood had changed in the last few minutes. Had I actually bored her? Maybe I could have laid off the form talk a bit. Not everyone was trying to win gold, after all. I surfaced and looked out to find her halfway down the pool, swimming a lap faster than I’d expected. I inhaled and kicked off the wall to catch up to her.
“I’m faster than a gold medalist!” she taunted once she’d reached the other side.
I smiled and picked up the pace. My workout had been longer than usual, but being with Andie had reinvigorated me.
“No! Slow down,” she shouted, kicking her feet faster to get away from me. She was making exaggerated splashes and I slowed, acting as though she really was beating me. Every few strokes, she’d swirl onto her back to see how close I was to passing her, and each time she did, I had to slow down more and more. Once we’d reached the starting point, she clung to the lane divider between us and shook her head.
“Oh god, this is hard.”
“That was only one lap,” I said, treading water beside her.
I dipped beneath the lane divider so I could see her properly.
“I’m in good shape,” she promised once I’d surfaced again a few feet away from her. “It’s just that I’ve already worked out today and my legs are a lot stronger than my arms.”
I made a show of studying her biceps bobbing up and down in the water. “They look fit to me.”
She grinned. “So, did I make the team?”