In Deep (All In #1) - Callie Harpe

IN DEEP by callie harper

Copyright © 2016 Callie Harper Cover Design by Perfect Pear Creative All rights reserved. This book is a work of fiction. Any similarity to real events, people, or places is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced or distributed in any format without the permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations used for review. If you have not purchased this book or received a copy from the author, you are reading a pirated book. The author acknowledges the trademarked status of products referred to in this book and acknowledges that trademarks have been used without permission. This book contains mature content, including graphic sex. Please do not continue reading if you are under the age of 18 or if this type of content is disturbing to you.

CALLIE HARPER’S BOOKS The Beg For It Series Note: these standalone novels can be read in any order Book 1: Unleashed (Declan & Kara) Book 2: Undone (Ash & Ana) Book 3: Untamed (Heath & Violet) Book 4: Unbelievable (Colt & Caroline) Book 5: Undeniable (Dom & Gigi) The All In Series Book 1: In Deep (Chase & Emma) Off Limits: A Stepbrother MMA Romance

CHAPTER 1 Emma

I’d thought I was a pretty experienced physical and massage therapist. I’d earned my dual degrees and worked full time for a few years now. I’d dealt with a wide range of clients. I thought I’d seen it all. I was wrong. An Olympic swimmer’s body was next level, with defined muscle everywhere you looked and huge, broad shoulders tapering down into an insane V. Abs to make Superman cry with envy. Long, strong thighs and slim hips which were currently wrapped in nothing but a tiny white towel. “Mrph!” I greeted my new client. I’d meant to say “hello” but the words weren’t forming right. He stood there, all six foot three glorious inches of him, scrutinizing me. We were going to be spending a lot of time together over the next four weeks, leading up to and then through the Olympic Games in Rio. I would be responsible for keeping him injury-free, relaxed and ready to push himself to the extreme physical limit. I just hadn’t planned on him being so freaking hot. “You’re my physical therapist?” His head tilted slightly to the side, his brow furrowed. He looked confused by my role. I cleared my throat. “Yes. I’m Emma Nelson.” I stuck out my hand with the intent to establish professional control over the situation. But then he slowly wrapped his large, warm hand around mine. I honestly had to lean a bit against the countertop at my side. Casually, I hoped. Swooning was not in the guidebook of establishing good client rapport. I drew my hand away, looking down, trying to focus. Deep breaths. I could do this. I’d better be able to do this. I’d spent the better part of the past six months wrangling for this job. Everyone and their cousin wanted to be a part of the Olympic Games. It was the ultimate athletic competition. Nothing could match the excitement, the dizzying emotional highs and the triumphs over incredible obstacles. I’d been a fan my whole life. Now I had the chance to actually be right in the middle of it, working side-by-side with one of the world’s most famous athletes in peak physical condition, rumored to win up to nine medals in the games. That was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. And it wouldn’t just be a huge break for me as a therapist. It would also take my blog to the next level. My best friend Tori and I had started it years ago, back when we were in high school: Scoop’d. We told stories, interesting ones about interesting people. She specialized in the trashy ones that, I’ll admit, brought in the readers. I liked the feature pieces, the focus stories on good people doing good deeds. You could say our blog showcased the best and the worst of people. Together, it worked, and our little endeavor now had about 250,000 followers. Tori dreamed of quitting her day job and blogging for a living, and I could see the appeal. Set your own hours, work from home in your PJs, choose your stories and write them however you wanted. I liked

working as a physical therapist, but when she talked about it, I could get caught up in the fantasy. We both agreed—covering the Olympics could be our tipping point. If we did it right, it would launch us over the top. We were going to cover the games, and we were going to do it in a way no one could match, from the inside out. Tori had gotten herself a job in PR, so she’d have access to all of the athletes at all hours. With her social butterfly personality, she’d be in on all the dirt in no time. And me? I was going to go for the gold. The story everyone wanted. The scoop on swimmer Chase Carter, the gorgeous, mysterious favorite to win again and again in Rio. Everyone knew the rough sketch of his backstory. At 14, already a promising competitive swimmer, Chase had almost drowned in a boating accident. But he’d overcome the setback, training relentlessly, driven toward one goal. He’d won a silver and a bronze at just 18 in 2008. In 2012, when he’d been expected to ascend to the throne, he’d had to sit out the London Olympics due to an injury. Now, at 26, he was ready. But how had he almost drowned? Rumors abounded. I’d heard one about drunken partying, another about him getting into a nasty, violent fight with a friend. What had really happened that night on the boat? And why had Chase returned to swimming with such a vengeance, spending hours in the pool every day enduring legendary, punishingly long and intense workouts, after having nearly died in the water? With Chase poised to win big, I wanted to find out the whole truth. The truth he never gave interviews about, had never shared with anyone else. We’d capture the ultimate human interest story, the boy who almost drowned and then grew up to become an Olympic gold medalist. Who didn’t want in on that? We’d have an audience of millions if I pulled it off. I had four weeks to scoop Chase Carter. This week we’d be at the U.S. Olympic team’s session in San Antonio, before traveling to the Georgia Tech Aquatic Center in Atlanta. Then Rio, baby. And during those four weeks I’d take care of him, of course. He was a national treasure, practically able to fly through the water. I’d do my best as a licensed and trained massage therapist to help him achieve his Olympic dreams and make history. But also, along the way, I would try to get to know him. Befriend him, even possibly gain his trust. I wanted to learn his secrets, on or off the record. I didn’t want to do anything capital-W Wrong, like lie to him about my real identity to get under his tough exterior and learn the real story. But desperate times required desperate measures. Chase Carter didn’t like reporters. He didn’t do interviews, stayed notoriously tight-lipped during team press conferences. He focused on his swimming and swimming alone. He couldn’t help it that most of the world’s population had a massive crush on him and treated him like a rock star. At the last team press conference, a woman had tossed him her bra. He’d watched it fall to the floor, then looked up with a coolly arched eyebrow. That photo of him had made it onto a whole lot of covers and front pages. It only served to make people more wild about him. The unattainable, inscrutable, superhuman athlete Chase Carter. Standing before me in a tiny towel awaiting a full-body massage. Right. “Why don’t we discuss your preferences and past injuries,” I said, tapping a stack of papers on the countertop as if I needed to do it. The papers had nothing to do with him. I just needed a prop, something to do with my hands instead of fanning myself. “Didn’t my coaches provide you with my health history? There’s a file about this big.” He gestured with his large hands. It made me wonder what else might be that big. “Yes.” I cleared my throat. Bad girl. “I’ve reviewed your files. I know your health history. But I also like to get to know my clients. Especially ones I’ll be working with every day for the next month.” We looked at each other, the strange feeling of a face-off between us. Why did it seem like he was having reservations about me as his physical therapist? I must just feel paranoid. I had all the credentials and plenty of experience. I knew I could do this job well.

“You want to know my preferences?” he asked, and I swear his voice dropped a notch lower. Yes, I did want to know how he liked it. His massage and more. His eyes were such an incredible shade of vivid blue, the type of color you saw on the cover of a magazine and had to wonder if the shot had been airbrushed. Meeting him in person, it turned out he really did have eyes the color of an aquamarine tropical sea. “I like it hard,” he said. I knew he was talking about the type of hand pressure he preferred in massages, but my breath caught in my throat. “I don’t like it light and gentle. You have to know how to get in deep.” “Yes!” I tugged at my tank top, fidgeting. “Of course. I specialize in sports massage, so…” I clapped my hands together. The sound echoed in the room. I’d never felt so awkward with a client. And he hadn’t even taken off his towel yet. That itty-bitty white thing he had wrapped around his completely naked, utterly perfect body. I turned to straighten out the sheet on the massage table, giving myself a talking to. I tried to picture my toughest teacher in one of my degree programs. She’d lectured all of us sternly about the importance of professionalism in client-therapist relationships. I tried to picture Tori warning me that I had the worst instincts when it came to men. And she had evidence to support her claim. Who’d trusted not one but two sleezeballs sleeping around behind her back? Who’d lent money to her hustler boyfriend always chasing the next big thing that never materialized? That would be me, guilty on all counts. You’d think I would have learned by now. When everything in me said, “Wow, this guy seems amazing!” that was exactly when I should run in the other direction. But I didn’t run. I couldn’t. I’d been hired to work with Chase every day of the next four weeks. More than that, I didn’t want to run. I might try to remind myself of the many reasons I should not get pulled in by Chase Carter, the man, the myth, the legend. But all I could picture was Chase Carter’s glorious body, about to be bared completely for me to rub from head to toe.

CHAPTER 2 Chase

I left the towel on. I couldn’t tell you how many times I’d stripped down completely in front of strangers. When your body performed like mine, you were used to being treated like a racehorse. Doctors measured your heart and lung function, physical therapists poked and prodded at you, coaches give you pointers and corrections even while you stood buck naked in the locker room. Not to mention the tiny swim briefs I sported all of the time. Modesty was not my middle name. But I also wasn’t used to sporting random, massive wood. I was 26, not 16. The time of inappropriate sprung-into-action moments had passed. Except obviously it hadn’t. Because when I walked into the physical therapy room at the swim center and saw her standing there, I stood right up at attention, too. She wasn’t wearing anything suggestive, not like some of the fans I attracted. Even then, I was notoriously good at blocking out temptation. You didn’t get to the top of your game by getting easily distracted. If I stopped and got a phone number every time a woman flashed some cleavage at me, I’d never even get into the pool. Emma wasn’t showing any cleavage. But I’d like to see it. She wore a simple white tank top, fitted enough so I could see she was slim and fit. I wondered what she did to workout. She didn’t have the classic swimmer’s build, with broad, powerful shoulders. She looked petite, slender and lithe. A runner, I’d bet. But I didn’t ask her. I kept to myself a lot of the time, mostly out of habit. But there was also logistical reality. We had a constantly circulating crew of professionals working with our team. It simply didn’t make sense to strike up conversations all the time with every person I met, especially when I knew they’d likely be right on out the revolving door again within days or weeks. It was true, I’d earned my reputation as driven and relentlessly focused. I devoted my energy, all of it, toward one goal and one goal alone: gold. Which was why I found it strange that I hesitated before climbing onto the massage table to ask, “How long have you been working here?” I was sure team management had hired only the best to work with us. Three weeks before the games began, we now needed a crew who’d be with us every step of the way, traveling with us, managing the final countdown. But there was something hesitant, maybe a bit shy in her manner. “I don’t work here in Texas,” she clarified. “I’m from Florida. Your manager hired me for the next month.” Then she straightened up, shoulders back, posture erect. Like something else under my towel. “But I assure you,” she continued. “I’m fully qualified. I’ve been a licensed physical therapist for three years and now have my license for sports massage therapy, too. I’ve worked with a lot of athletes. I’m going to make sure you’re ready for the games.”

“Is that right?” I cocked an eyebrow, feeling the impulse to tease her a little. There was something sweet about her attempt to reassure me, as if she were trying to reassure herself as well. I didn’t doubt her credentials. What I doubted was my ability to stay cool, removed and professional while she put her hands all over me. “Absolutely.” She nodded her head, so serious. I almost expected a military-style salute. “So I can just put up my feet and relax for the next few weeks? No more workouts? You’ve got it covered?” Her eyes widened, taking me seriously for a moment, before her face relaxed into a smile. She had toffee-colored hair with all sorts of sunshiny highlights blending in, plus golden flecks in her eyes. “Glad to know I’m in good hands.” I smiled back at her. “All right, then.” I climbed up onto the table, lying on my stomach. It seemed like the least X-rated option. “We only have a half-hour today, so would you like me to focus on your back and shoulders?” I grunted my “yes” as she placed her hands at the center of my back, starting with slow strokes. “I’ll give you medium pressure to begin, and you tell me how much more to give. I want to get to know exactly how you like it.” That sounded good to me. I closed my eyes and tried to release my tension. All the pressure, the years of training, the eyes on me, all leading up to eight days in Rio. Nine events, five individual plus four relays. I wouldn’t let the thought of failure enter into my mind. I could see it all playing out exactly as planned. I ran it like a video in my mind, before I swam, before I slept, on a constant loop, visualizing my success. Always on, always going, always targeted toward my goal. I groaned as she kneaded the tired, sore muscles of my upper back. My rhomboid, deltoid, trapezius, how well I knew them all. And she seemed to know them intimately as well, her hands intuitively seeking out all of my aching spots, digging in with exactly the right touch to give me release. “More,” I groaned, a few times, guiding her, letting her know exactly how I wanted it. She was good at taking direction. She seemed to know exactly what I needed. Over the years, I’d actually had to send some physical therapists packing, usually due to their annoyingly whisper-light touch, but sometimes because they verged on re-injuring me with rough, misguided pressure. A good physical therapist was part art, part science. They needed all the training, the understanding of anatomy and techniques. But they also needed the skill to read their clients, being guided by not only verbal instructions but physical cues. Emma fell into sync with me instantly, seamlessly, seemingly without effort. I could feel myself relaxing with her, giving myself over to her ministrations, letting my mind go free as she pressed and stroked, kneaded and coaxed the pain and tension from my overworked limbs. “OK, that’s all we have time for today,” she said what had to have been only five minutes after she’d began. “Yeah?” I asked, uncharacteristically disoriented. I didn’t usually lose track of time. Time, down to the fraction of a second, governed my life. “Sorry, tomorrow we have 45 minutes. But today I’m doing sessions with some other members of your team.” “No.” The word came out before I realized what I was saying. I hadn’t planned on it, but I knew instantly I did not want those other sessions to happen. “What?” she asked, glancing at me, confused. I sat up, keeping my towel wrapped around my hips as I looked down into her eyes. “Tell me everyone you’re supposed to be working with.” I knew I could be commanding. Authoritative. Type-A. Show me a top-tier athlete with a passive personality. There weren’t many, and I certainly wasn’t one of them.

“Um…” After a last, hesitant glance at me, she grabbed a clipboard with her schedule. I took it from her and looked down the roster. Chris, I knew it. He was supposed to be on this table next. And Matt. No goddamned way. They were my teammates and like brothers to me, but they fucked their way through women like it was their job. They’d get one look at Emma and it would be all over. They’d be turning on the charm, conning her like snake oil salesmen, doing anything and everything to get inside her pants. Fitted yoga pants, to be exact, hugging her lithe, shapely legs. Her round, tight ass. Damn it. I moved the clipboard down into a more secure location, covering up like a high school kid with a math textbook. “I’m going to need you a lot more than planned.” I stood, towering over her, close enough I could tell she’d drawn in her breath. Did I startle her? Scare her a little? Or something else? I couldn’t read her, but I wanted to. “I’m going to go make some changes to your schedule.” I strode toward the door, waiting to put down the clipboard until I’d turned my back to her. “I’ll be seeing you later tonight.” “What?” I could hear her say before the door closed behind me. Whatever the male form of a diva was, sure, you could call me that. But I had a lot riding on this next month. And it wasn’t just me. My teammates were relying on me, countless companies wanting product placements, the PR crew working the games. Hell, millions of fans worldwide were counting on me to win. All eyes were on me, the boy who’d almost drowned, now the man swimming for gold. I knew exactly what I needed to do to reach my goal. My coaches, my teammates, my rigorous, relentless training schedule. And Emma. All to myself. Any time. Morning, noon or night. I wasn’t going to share. She would not be working with any other members of the team. I didn’t expect much pushback from our team managers, and definitely not from the coaches. The fact that I’d found a physical therapist so good I wanted her all to myself? They’d probably high five each other. Especially since I could bankroll any additional expense. I’d cover the cost of hiring on a replacement for the remaining team members, no problem. Emma was mine.

CHAPTER 3 Emma

I didn’t know what, exactly, I’d expected from meeting the famous Chase Carter, but that wasn’t it. I stood in the therapy room re-folding towels, waiting for my next client. The towels didn’t need rearranging, but I needed something to do instead of pace the floor while I tried to take stock of what had just happened. No, Chase wasn’t warm and fuzzy. He did not give me a big bear hug and welcome me into the swim family. Nor did he tell me how excited he was to be working with me. That all fit with his reputation for being cool and laser-focused on his goal of gold. But he hadn’t struck me as a jerk. I hadn’t felt treated like a menial hand-servant, beneath his notice. Instead, I’d felt as if he were intensely aware of me, hyper-observant of everything I said and did. And he’d seemed deeply appreciative of the work I did on him. So much so that he wanted more time with me on his schedule. Why did that make me shiver with anticipation? I told myself it was just nerves. I’d have to put that time to good use. Extracting secrets, getting into his past, searching for the exclusive story he’d never told a soul. But it felt like more than that. The way he’d looked at me, so possessive and hungry, as if he were going to devour me. I must have been imagining it. It was probably my nerves, struggling with feeling duplicitous. I was who I said I was —a licensed and experienced physical and massage therapist fully capable of working with him over the next month. But I was also more than that. It wasn’t as if I were after a smear story. Tori was the one who was all about the colorful splash. I wanted a story with depth and heart. I’d only spent a half hour with the man, and I could already feel he had a lot of both. The powerful charisma he radiated was almost palpable. What made him tick? Why was he so passionately driven? Why had he kept on with swimming, every day taking the plunge into water after almost drowning? Now I wanted to know more than ever. My phone blipped with a text. Tori: How’d it go? You just met him, right? Oh, so now she started paying close attention to time! I rolled my eyes, but as much as Tori exasperated me with her typically laissez-faire, party-till-you-drop attitude, I loved her. Together, we’d been through thick and thin. We were both 25 now, but I still saw the scrawny nine-year-old inside her, wide-eyed and freaked out as her parents screamed, threw things and ultimately divorced. Technically, Tori had lived two doors down from us in Vero Beach, but she’d pretty much moved in with us that year and never

looked back. My mom got in the habit of setting an extra place for Tori at dinner without even asking, and the two of us had been joined at the hip ever since. Even if sometimes my hip hurt from it. Like when Tori drank too much and needed a ride from some guy’s house but didn’t know exactly where she was. Or when she dragged me into one of her schemes, usually involving a guy she was after, or mad at, or both. But Tori was just Tori and I couldn’t imagine my life without her. We shared a little apartment together, as we had for the past three years. Sometimes other roommates got into the mix as well, but the one constant was always Tori. I texted her back. Emma: I think OK. He wants more time with me. She sent me a few thumbs-up emojis. Tori had never met an emoji she didn’t love. A few more popped up on my screen, a flexed bicep muscle, a tongue lolling out of a mouth, a guy swimming. Then she asked the question I knew she had on her mind. Tori: How hot is he???? A strange possessive growl formed in my throat. Back off, Tori, my fingers twitched to write. I didn’t want her all up in his grill. But that made no sense. First, he wasn’t mine to warn her away from. Second, even if Tori wanted to jump him—and that’s exactly what I knew she would do the second she got the chance—I shouldn’t care. Tori was just being herself, young and fun and after a good time. She couldn’t wait to get her hands on the international parade of hotness known as Olympic athletes. And holy hell was Chase hot. I still felt all tingling and alive, the pheromones rushing through my body. The feel of massaging his broad back, those incredible, powerful muscles. He’d felt so good under my hands, so warm and hard and right. I’d wanted to keep right on going, rubbing him, giving him exactly what he needed, taking such good care of him. Only the 30-minute timer I’d set had started flashing at me. I usually didn’t lose track of time, but rubbing Chase I could have gone on and on for hours. I finally texted back with an honest answer. She was my BFF, after all. She’d see right through me in a heartbeat if I tried to deny it. Emma: Off the charts I waited for her reply, half expecting her to tell me she was on her way to San Antonio. We weren’t supposed to see each other again until Rio in three weeks. She was traveling there before me as part of the PR team, but she’d been known to make a change in plans for a hottie before. Especially a hottie of epic proportions. But the next text I got wasn’t from her. It was from an unknown number. Extra session tonight at suite 18. 7pm. Who was it? What did they mean by an extra session? Was someone trying to ask me if I was available at the end of a long day of clients for another session? Emma: Who is this? My phone rang in my hand and I clicked it on. “Emma, it’s Chase.”

“Chase?” I dumbly repeated. Obviously it was. He’d just told me that. “Yes. I’d like another session with you at seven tonight.” “Um...” Flustered, I reached for my clipboard, trailing my finger down my schedule. “I’m not done seeing other clients until seven.” “You’re done now.” “Excuse me?” “You’re only going to be working with me from now on. I’ve spoken to the team managers. It’s all arranged.” “It’s…what?” I had been hired to work with six members of the U.S. Olympic swim team. Now I was only working with him? “You’re good at what you do. I’m going to need you on call over the next month. Your compensation will remain the same, regardless of the change. We can discuss details when I see you tonight.” Confused, I managed an “OK” before hanging up. So, I guess this was what people meant when they said Chase was a classic Alpha, calling all the shots. But, again, it wasn’t exactly rude, was it? Unexpected, but it wasn’t as if he was giving me more work to do. In fact, I’d be paid exactly the same amount of money but only have one client for the whole month. Piece of cake! But it sounded like we’d be spending a lot of time together. On call? What did he mean by that? He didn’t exactly strike me as the relaxed and casual type. Being on call with Chase might be fairly demanding. I’d have to clarify it all with him when I saw him tonight. What exactly was this new agreement? I still had a few hours before I saw him again. I walked the short distance to the hotel adjacent to the swim complex where we were all staying. Up in my room, instead of making myself crazy with questions I didn’t have answers to, I fired up my laptop and clicked onto our blog. Tori was keeping Scoop’d alive, thankfully. She always did. I was a much less frequent contributor. For one, my regular job at the Center for Sports Medicine kept me a lot busier than hers. She waited tables at a local restaurant. When it was crowded—which wasn’t that often—she was full-on crazy. But during the frequent down times she could fold silverware in napkins and post to social media. Plus the kinds of blog posts she specialized in were quick, typically hilarious responses to just-breaking celebrity scandals. Tori knew how to zing off a one-liner like nobody else. We’d started blogging in our senior year of high school, an anonymous and entertaining way to offer commentary on our little world. Right from the start we’d made a good team, with her unearthing fun tidbits that intrigued readers and me profiling the people who made our school amazing. I did all my interviews by phone, and though I was pretty sure everyone in our town knew we were the ones behind our blog, it became easier to preserve our anonymity as our audience grew. Now, seven years into it, Tori still kept the constant drumbeat of posts alive, and she’d really perfected a zingy, sassy writing style perfect for blogging. I’d gotten better over time, too, figuring out which details to feature, understanding how and when to ask the right questions to elicit a great story. I typically read a bunch online, looking for interesting leads, and then I’d follow up with an interview. You’d be surprised how many people were willing to spend an hour talking on the phone with a random blogger. I always enjoyed the conversations, capturing every element of feel-good stories about little old ladies who’d left unknown millions to local charities, five-year-olds who’d managed to dial 911 and save their dad’s life after a heart attack, or dogs who returned home after getting lost on a family vacation hundreds of miles away. But today, I just read through Tori’s posts. She hadn’t flown to Rio yet, but she was working the hype already, posting hot pics of athletes, starting contests over “hottest abs” and “best shoulders.” So far, Chase was winning both polls.

I didn’t have a story of my own. Not yet, anyway. I needed to scoop it first. And it looked like I was going to have a lot more time to do exactly that, as his personal “on call” physical therapist. Would he want me to be available to him 24/7, all hours of the day? And night? And why did I feel excited about that prospect? § I knocked on Chase’s door at six fifty-eight p.m. I really was my parents’ daughter. They’d raised me on the saying, “if you’re early, you’re on time. If you’re on time, you’re late. If you’re late, it’s as if you didn’t show up at all.” Slightly dorky, yes, but I couldn’t help it. They’d baked it deep into my DNA. I’d gone for a run in the late afternoon, grabbed a salad and then taken a shower, so my hair was still slightly damp. I’d thought about blow-drying, or putting it up, but stopped myself. I wouldn’t start changing everything for Chase Carter. Every day I woke up and pulled my hair into a quick ponytail. It stayed like that until my late afternoon or early evening run, depending on my schedule with clients. Then I took my shower and let it air-dry. I wasn’t a primper, and Chase would just have to deal with that. This wasn’t a date, anyway. Even though butterflies flew around in my stomach exactly like it was. He opened the door wearing a T-shirt and shorts, not tight but draping along the definition of his muscles. Damn the man had muscles. At five feet five inches, I wasn’t short, but he made me feel small standing next to him, like he could pick me right up, swing me over his shoulder and carry me into his bedroom. Which was what it seemed like he was thinking of doing when he looked down at me. That heat I’d seen in his eyes earlier, it was still there as he stood in the doorway. “Your hair’s down,” he observed as he stepped to the side to let me in. “And a little wet.” He reached out and took a strand between his fingers. “Did you go swimming?” “No.” I gave him a slightly flustered smile, and took a step away. I didn’t know why I felt so exposed around him. “I showered after my run.” “Thought so,” he murmured, almost to himself, and then went on to ask me questions like the athlete he was. “What kind of a runner are you? Short course or long?” “Distance.” I knew what he meant, even though he used swimming terminology. “What’s your favorite race?” “10K.” I didn’t have to think a moment about that. I’d run a marathon, once, and decided that would be my one and only. The first guy who’d run it had died at the end, anyway. Even a half marathon became a slog to me. But the 10K? That fit me just right, long enough I could push it the whole time, but short enough I could still walk to a bar and celebrate afterward with friends. “What’s your best time?” “45:23.” “Did you run in college?” “Yes.” I held up my hand, signaling to him to give me a moment after all those rapid-fire questions. And I had to tease him a little. “So, you don’t like interviews. But you don’t mind giving them?” “I do want to get to know you.” The intensity in his aquamarine eyes made me catch my breath. As did his next question. “How do you know I don’t like giving interviews?” “Everyone knows that.” I shrugged, averting my eyes. It wasn’t because I was trying to interview him! Besides, what I said was true. Everyone did know that he hated interviews. He’d grown famous for his swimming, of course, but his avoidance of the spotlight had played into his star status, too. Everyone wanted what they couldn’t have.

I looked around his suite and realized while all of us were staying in the same hotel near the swim center, we clearly weren’t all in the same type of room. Chase had a lavishly decked-out suite with what looked like a full kitchen and living room large enough to accommodate a massage table, already all set up. “Would you like something to drink?” he asked, heading toward the kitchen. “Water? Pellegrino? I’ve got some sports drinks, too.” I smiled, in spite of my nerves. It was kind of nice to not have to explain myself. I’d never been a big drinker, and after my last boyfriend’s tendency to get stumble-down drunk more nights than not, I’d cut way back. But I wouldn’t have to explain that to Chase the uber-athlete, now would I? “I’ll have some water, thanks.” I followed him into the kitchen. He handed me a glass, then started fixing himself a whole wheat bagel with peanut butter. His short brown hair looked a bit wet. I bet it usually was. I wanted to run my hands through it. “Want one?” he gestured to the bagel, an overflowing gooey, sticky mess. “Thanks, I just ate.” “So did I.” He gave me a goofy smile I couldn’t help but return. “Hard to get enough calories?” I asked, understanding. I’d worked with athletes before, though none of his caliber. Even for top-tier athletes, his workouts were legendary, five or six hours a day of swimming over two separate sessions. He probably had to take in around 8,000 calories every day. “Never enough,” he agreed, giving me a hungry look. Insatiable, huh? I took a sip of my water and looked down. “Why did you become a massage therapist, too?” He gazed at me with those bright blue eyes, his head tilted slightly with curiosity. “In addition to being a physical therapist?” “Well,” I reflected, “probably because of my mom.” “Is she one?” “No, she’s a nurse. But she works in this great senior facility with a lot of different physical and massage therapists and I guess I grew up understanding how much they could both help people.” “You like to help people?” That struck me as a strange question. I looked at him, and he shrugged, munching on the last bites of his bagel. “Not everyone does,” he clarified. “I think it’s more…” I struggled with the right words to express something I wasn’t sure I ever had before. “So many people walk around in constant pain. My mom used to be one of them.” Without realizing I was doing it, I started telling him all about it, how my mom had developed rheumatoid arthritis at the early age of 40 with crippling pain every morning. Eighty-five pounds overweight and sedentary, she’d had high blood pressure and faced a scary downhill slide into her future. “So she changed.” I brightened up at the memory. I’d only been 11 at the time, but I could still remember how she’d started walking in the mornings, lifting first two-pound then five-pound weights as she hustled around before breakfast. She’d met with a nutritionist, physical and massage therapists and low and behold she’d made that illusive, long-term lasting whole-scale change. “It’s so inspiring,” I gushed, thinking about how healthy she was now in her 50s. She and my father went biking and swimming together almost every day, enjoying life like they never had before. “Pain is so debilitating for so many people. I like doing what I can to lift it.” “You’re a good person.” He made the statement as if it were a done deal, the final decision on the subject. I looked up and met his eyes. Not a hint of a smile, he wasn’t teasing. He really thought I was a good person. “Um, thanks.” I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and left the kitchen. I didn’t usually start talking about myself and my family with someone I didn’t even know, let alone someone who was supposed to be

my client for the next month. But all of this was new. I’d never had just one person I was working with at a time before, for an entire month. As we practically lived together in hotels. “So, the on-call thing?” I started. “Can we talk about what you have in mind for the next month? Just working with you?” “It’s simple.” He walked into the living room over to the massage table. “I’m going to be pushing myself to the limit over the next month. I’d like to work with you on an as-needed basis, starting the day, ending the day, sometimes in the middle, too.” I nodded. That was a lot. But he’d be my only client. “I have a chance to make history at these games, win gold medals and maybe even break a world record. I think I can do it, especially if I work with the right team. I’d like you to be a part of it.” My breath caught in my throat as I looked up at him, feeling a sudden rush of excitement. I’d always loved the Olympic Games, the triumph of will and athleticism, the inspiring moments of personal achievement and victory hovering over the risk of heartbreak and failure. I usually watched them with my parents, holding my breath, jumping up to cheer at a perfect vault or record-breaking sprint. Watching athletes fly through water had always been our favorite. Swimming was huge in Florida where the weather made it a year-round sport. I’d done some recreational team swimming as a kid, enough so I really understood what a Herculean impossibility it was to swim that fast. Chase was one of the greatest swimmers of all time. He’d missed the last Olympic Games in 2012 due to an injury, leaving the spotlight to others. Now he had his chance. As a part of his team, Chase was offering me a chance to make history. “Let’s do it.” I smiled up at him. “Thank you.” He reached out and gave my shoulder a brief squeeze. The contact buzzed through me as I nodded, my stomach doing a slow flip. I didn’t know what kind of a ride we’d be on for the next month, but I knew I wanted to be on it. Wasting no time—that precious asset—he pulled off his shirt and shorts, standing before me in just boxer briefs. I think I managed to keep a calm, professional mask on my face but inside I was leaping around and freaking out. Those abs! That V! He’s hung like a horse! “Tonight, focus on my right shoulder and left quad.” He climbed onto the massage table, lying on his back. I asked him a bit about each, making sure he didn’t perceive any recent injury or aggravation. He had general muscle fatigue, plus some symptoms of overuse. I would have to talk to his coaches and get the full plan on how he was going to taper. Somehow I didn’t think “scaling back” was a frequent phrase used in Chase’s vocabulary. He might need some help with that. Zeroing in on the task at hand, I worked on his thigh, focusing on my every touch, making sure I applied enough but not too much pressure, easing his tension. I could feel some grittiness in his quad, maybe scar tissue, and he needed care and attention. I could lose myself in my work, and I did just that, but right as I gave his warm and relaxed muscle a pat and said “turn over,” something snapped me right out of it. His cock, long and hard and fully aroused, strained against his briefs. Fully covered, I still could see every impressive inch of it pressing against the thin, form-fitting cotton. My mouth fell slightly open as I noticed the ridge around his crown. So huge. What would it feel like to be with a man that big? And in his kind of athletic condition? He could probably fuck me all night. He flipped over, not saying a word. I hadn’t even met his eyes. I was too busy staring at his cock. I took a deep breath and tried to calm my racing heart. Every professional massage therapist had a story about a client becoming aroused. It was only natural when a man was getting a rubdown with warm oils and stroking hands. It was the masseuse’s responsibility to maintain strict professional standards, not drawing attention to the potentially

embarrassing situation but also clearly shutting down any alternate scenarios. There would be no happy ending from a professional masseuse. Thankfully, I’d never had a client make an inappropriate advance. That wasn’t even happening now. Chase lay there on his stomach as I began working on his back and shoulder, breathing deeply, silent. I was the problem. I was the one having inappropriate thoughts. Wondering what it would feel like to slip his briefs down and slide my hand along his thick shaft. How good it would feel to take him into my wet mouth and suck. How deep he could fill me if he drilled into me, looking down with his intense iceblue gaze as he spread my thighs and entered me to the hilt. I did my best to focus my thoughts, steer them toward safer subject matter. And once I finished, I nearly ran to the door of his suite. He hadn’t even fully sat up before I was at the exit saying over my shoulder, “See you tomorrow!” “Nine, after my first workout,” he called after me. Of course, nine a.m. would be after his first workout session. Back in my hotel room, I paced around like a nutjob. Why was there never anyone to massage the massage therapist? I felt so wired, but it was too late to go for a run. Maybe I could call up one of the women I’d met yesterday? We’d had a welcome meeting with all the staff members working with the team in various capacities through the Olympic Games. We were all staying at the same hotel, and I’d exchanged numbers with a few. I bet one would be up for going out for a drink. Maybe there’d be a chance of running into Chase if we went out to a bar? True, I had just run out of his hotel room which would imply that I wasn’t interested in spending any more time with him. But that whole nervous jackrabbit thing? That was because I didn’t know what to do with myself. I’d been in a hotel room with him nearly naked in a professional capacity. But I’d wanted it to turn into much more than that. I had to fan myself at the memory of him lying there in his briefs. His body was absolute perfection, every inch. And how many inches was he? His cock looked enormous. How did it even work with a man that large? I felt a throb at the prospect, something primal in me responding to the challenge. I bet he’d get me so wet I could take him all the way in. Blip! My phone sounded off with a text. Maybe it was Chase? Tori: Don’t fall for him. With a groan, I smacked down the phone. How did she know me so well? Damn it. That was the problem with old friends. They knew everything about you to such a frustrating degree that they could predict your every move. Or mistake. Grumbling, I headed to the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. Maybe it would be better to have a quiet night in, watch something dumb on TV or read a bit. Tori was right. I wasn’t even one full day into this assignment and I was already fantasizing about my new client. I had to watch myself. I had a terrible track record with guys. You know how some people had a bad sense of direction? When the correct choice was to head left, they always decided to go right? That’s how I was with guys. Send a creep my way and I’d no doubt decide he was fantastic. My first love in high school? He’d cheated on me. My second love in college? Yup, him too. But my latest boyfriend had really taken the cake. Pair heavy drinking and occasional drug use with gambling and what did you get? Hint: the answer was not a fantastic boyfriend. I should learn my lesson. When I found myself feeling a spark of interest in a man, I should head right in the other direction. And when the attraction was of epic proportions? I should run. As I lay in bed, drifting off, I tried to keep all of the warnings in mind. All of the train wrecks I’d called relationships. Oh, and what was I forgetting? Perhaps the fact that I’d been hired as a professional to work with Chase as his physical therapist? I was not there to develop a wicked, panty-melting crush.

But the mind was a funny thing. Mine, like a magnet, kept getting pulled toward the sight of him laying before me like a magnificently sculpted erotic masterpiece. Irresistible.

CHAPTER 4 Chase

Flying through the water, arm over arm, kick after kick, I didn’t even feel like I was exerting myself. I may have been a dolphin in another life. Sometimes I felt more at home in the water than out, the rhythm, the balance, the effortlessness of it all. And this morning’s workout wasn’t about speed. It was about stamina. My daily two hours in the morning was just to maintain my baseline. The rest of the day was devoted to strength and flexibility in the gym, plus technique and speed back in the pool later in the day. But morning laps were the time to zone out and relax into the activity. I’d done some reading on Zen philosophy over the years, with an eye toward how it could help me compete—yes, I got the irony—and there were some moments I almost experienced flow. That perfect harmony between brain and body, the two acting seamlessly, in perfect integration, without that hamster wheel of thought constantly churning and turning. No interruption of past or future, just now. Except for Emma. That morning I kept thinking about Emma. I wouldn’t say she had me rattled. I didn’t feel off my game. It was almost as if I felt more focused, now on two goals instead of one. There was something about her, quiet and still and so appealing. I couldn’t put my finger on it. I really wanted to put my fingers all over her. Sometimes when I swam I had the mental visual of a racehorse wearing blinders. Trainers used them to keep horses focused on what was right in front of them. No crowds or noises interfering, just the course ahead. A great swimmer didn’t get distracted. It didn’t help performance to get knocked off course by events, letting my mind buzz with external distractions and activity. I had strong blinders. I could filter out almost anything, honing all of my energies and attention toward one goal. But then there was Emma. I liked the way she smiled, the way she touched me, the way her features melted into a laugh. I wasn’t always an observant person—and many people who knew me might have just spit out their drink had they heard that understatement—but I’d noticed Emma. Lying there on the table last night as she’d worked my sore muscles, she smelled like vanilla and lavender, clean and feminine. I wanted to bury myself in her. I’d gotten so hard while she’d rubbed my quad. It was such a rookie move. I almost couldn’t believe it had happened. But no sobering thoughts had quieted the raging storm wreaking havoc in my body. The way she stroked me felt so good, so sure and intuitive, firm but gentle at the same time. She really knew what she was doing. Like she’d had a lot of prior experience. And, just like that, a wave jealousy washed over me. Which made absolutely no sense. Experience was crucial to becoming a good physical therapist. Plus, jealousy wasn’t an emotion I’d often experienced. In fact, I’d had plenty of women in the past try to make me jealous and I’d barely even noticed, let alone cared. Yet yesterday I’d instantly felt possessive enough of Emma to take her off the roster to work with

anyone else. Now here I was, not even liking the idea of her having worked with anyone else in previous years. I had to get a grip. My teammate Brian and I hauled ourselves out of the pool, heading over for a quick rinse. Brian was a good guy. He didn’t have too much to say, no boasting or bragging, just straight-out reliable performance. We’d be swimming the medley relay together, him on backstroke, me on butterfly. Together, we had a real chance at winning gold. I’d already medaled at the games, back eight years ago at 18. I’d won a bronze and a silver, accomplishments to be proud of, for sure, but I wanted more. These games were my time to claim the ultimate prize. Towel thrown across my shoulders, still in my swim briefs, I headed back to my suite. To see Emma. It nearly brought a smile to my face, and I wasn’t the type of guy who walked around smiling all the time. Had she been up long? Was I on her mind like she was on mine? I knew I was intense, in and out of the pool. I had an insatiable appetite and a strong dominant streak in the bedroom. I was never violent or aggressive, but possessive? In charge? Relentless? Yes to all of the above. I didn’t do casual. I wasn’t into quick, meaningless hook ups. When I went in, I went in deep. Yes, I knew it was slightly crazy to already be thinking about Emma this way when I’d only just met her. But sometimes you just knew. The attraction between us was nuclear. She was standing there waiting for me when I arrived, 8:55 a.m., looking sleek and fit in high-cut running shorts and a tank. San Antonio in mid-July didn’t require much clothing. I’d like her wearing even less. “You’re early.” I slipped my card into the door and opened it for her. “I’ll have them get you a room card, too, so you don’t have to wait for me outside.” “Oh, that’s not necessary.” She stepped in before me and I caught her scent, light and teasing. I bet the taste of her would make me lose my mind. “I’ll get you a card,” I insisted, following, the door closing behind me. “My first race is August sixth. We only have 21 days left.” The amount of time I wanted to spend with her, I basically wanted her to move in. “Three weeks from today.” She looked up at me. “How are you feeling?” I gave her the rundown, right shoulder slightly tight, left hamstring twinged on and off during my swim. An athlete had to strike a fine balance between gutting through pain and listening to it. I hadn’t struck the right balance prepping for the last games in 2012. Too much gutting it out had cost me my opportunity to compete. I wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice. “I meant in general,” she clarified. “How am I feeling? In general?” I had to admit, I felt mystified. Was she asking me about my emotions, like I was a person and not a well-honed swimming machine? “Yeah.” She chuckled a little at my confusion. “You know, are you feeling good? Excited? Nervous? It’s the Olympics.” “I don’t let emotions sidetrack me, Emma.” I stepped toward her, reaching out to touch her ponytail, twisting it around my finger. Would she like it if I pulled her head back and kissed her? Would she be shocked at first, but then get turned on if I fisted my hand in her hair? “I go after what I want. I stay focused on my goal until I get it.” Her lips looked so soft and she parted them slightly as she looked up at me. Her breathing picked up a notch. So did mine as we stood together, inches apart. “OK,” she snapped us out of our spell, stepping away and toward the massage table. “First let me work on those two problem areas. Then we’ll stretch.” With me up on the table, she got right to work. I let her do what she did so well, not speaking so I wouldn’t interrupt her flow.

I wondered what I should say to her when she was done. The whole talking-to-women thing wasn’t a skill I’d devoted much time to cultivating. Women didn’t seem to mind much if I wasn’t a great conversationalist. Being a world-class competitive athlete gave you all kinds of advantages, but I wasn’t exactly well-rounded in my skills. I could perform better physically than most other men—on many levels —but I hadn’t exactly flexed my “get to know you” muscle with a woman that often. I talked to women every day, but they were my teammates, my comrades-in-arms as we all trained for the fight. We talked shop and strategy. We didn’t exactly have heart-to-hearts. Some of them were nice, some of them were pretty, and I’d fight like hell to defend any one of them if anyone tried to mess with them. But I’d no more start up a romantic relationship with a woman on my team than I’d jump in front of a speeding train. I’d seen far too many go down that path and regret it almost immediately. When shit went bad between a team couple, everyone felt the pain. So here I was, Mr. Magazine Cover Model, a conga line of female fans waiting to jump me, feeling somewhat tongue-tied as Emma rubbed my shoulder. No-nonsense, focused, she didn’t say anything, either. Until she was satisfied with her work. “That’s it for now.” She patted my arm. “Let me stretch you.” I had a yoga mat already laid out for the purpose. Stretching was my friend. It didn’t used to be, but I’d learned over the years the advantage it could provide, and the pitfalls it could avoid. She had me lying flat on my back in no time. Cheesy lines came to mind, stupid flirtations about liking her moves or letting her have her way with me. I kept my mouth shut as she knelt at my side and brought my leg up and back, pressing on the back of my thigh. “Hot enough for you?” I asked as she leaned on me with her body weight. “What?” She looked up like she had no idea what I was talking about. Damn it. That’s what I’d come up with, talking about the weather? Man, I had no game. “I mean this Texas heat,” I explained, into the perfectly air-conditioned hotel room. “I guess I’m used to it.” She kindly engaged with me, instead of pointing out the lameness of my comment. “I’m from Florida.” “What part?” “Vero Beach. Mid-Atlantic.” “Do you like it there?” Now she pressed against my shoulder, twisting my thigh across my body, a deep hip stretch. Just what I needed. “So many questions.” She smiled at me, her light brown eyes teasing and amused. Damn she was gorgeous, in such a simple, understated way. “How about I get to ask you some?” That made me tense up. I didn’t like questions. I didn’t mind the spotlight, so long as it focused on my swimming performance. Personal investigations? No thank you. “We’re going to be spending a lot of time together over the next four weeks,” she persisted. “It only seems fair.” “What do you want to know?” I didn’t mean to, but I nearly snarled at her. I was pretty accustomed to fencing myself off. “Where’d you grow up?” “Outside Boston.” Honestly, I was surprised she didn’t know that. I figured she’d read a few profiles of me before getting this job. But maybe she was one of the few who kept her nose out of the press? Another reason to like her. “Do you like it there?” “It’s been a long time since I’ve lived there.” I’d basically moved out when I’d gone to Stanford, then lived in Arizona to train after graduation. My parents had split when I was around 14, a real banner year in my life. I’d nearly died drowning after a boating accident. Plus, all the yelling.

“Do you miss it?” She turned me around, chest facing the floor, then kneeled on the backs of my thighs and grabbed my wrists to give me a shoulder stretch. As small as she was compared to me, she was impressively athletic, strong and flexible. She and I could really have some fun together. Torso up, exhaling into the stretch, I answered honestly. “Sometimes. But I don’t think about it much.” “Is your family still there?” “Yes.” Funny, when she said family I pictured my friends, Liam, Jax and Ian. The ones I’d been with through hell and back. It had been too long since we’d all gotten together. “Do you miss them?” “Yup.” I didn’t explain my answer. I’d made my peace with my parents, but we’d never been that close anyway. As for explaining anything else? Too complicated. It was time to turn the tables. After she eased me down, I looked at her with a gleam in my eye. “Have you gone for your run, yet?” “No, I slept until eight. I’m such a slacker.” There was that smile from her again. Was she teasing me for getting up early? So sassy. “Why don’t you lie back?” I suggested. “I’ll stretch you.” OK, I hadn’t intended that with a double meaning. I’d really meant I could stretch her hamstring for her. But now that I’d mentioned it… “No, that’s fine, you’d don’t have to.” She looked away, flushing. Seemed like her mind had gone the dirty route as well. Interesting. “Have you already stretched?” “No, but—” “I can’t have my favorite physical therapist hitting a trail and pulling a hamstring. Where would that leave me?” She cracked a smile. “So, this is really all about you, then?” “Or you could think of all the little children out there rooting for me. Where will they be if I don’t even medal in Rio? All because my therapist didn’t take proper care of herself.” “Fine.” She rolled her eyes a bit, but I could tell she found it funny. Score one for me. She studiously avoided making eye contact while I stretched her. I’d done it a hundred times, with male and female teammates. Athletes grew accustomed to touching, squeezing and prodding, all with little-to-no clothing. But I could tell we were both intensely aware of our intimacy as I pressed and pulled, my hands along her supple and lithe limbs. As I drew my hand along her hip, I saw her intake of breath. My stroke along her thigh made her tense before she relaxed into the stretch. I knew my gaze darkened as I discovered I could practically fold her leg right up her torso. She was really flexible. That opened up so many opportunities, inspired such creativity. Had I thought I had a day of training ahead of me? Wouldn’t it be better to blow off some steam right here in the hotel room? She was out of my suite before I even knew what had happened. “Thanks!” she called out over her shoulder as she bolted. Huh. I didn’t think I’d crossed any lines, in any obvious way at least. Maybe she was a mind reader. Running a hand through my hair, I resigned myself to Plan A. There were gold medals hanging in the balance, after all. Better to stick to my training regimen and play it safe. § “Which flavor smoothie do you want? Berry? Or peanut butter and chocolate?” “Who is this calling me at this late hour?” Her teasing made me smile. Not that many people teased me. I was too revered, too feared for that. But Emma liked doing it, in her gentle, sweet manner. I’d only known her three days and I already found

myself craving her presence. Which led me to do dorky things like call her right after I’d said good night to her after our evening session. “I’m going to make us smoothies tomorrow morning. I need to take your order.” We fell into an easy banter, her telling me that I was trying to fatten her up, me assuring her I liked her just the way she was. It was easier to talk to her when I wasn’t so close, looking at her slim hips and long legs, her breasts the perfect size to cup in my hands. On the phone, sitting on the couch, I could relax more. “Are you seeing anyone?” See what kinds of questions rolled out of my mouth once I relaxed? Maybe it was better if I stayed tense. She paused, then answered slowly. “No…why do you ask?” Because I’m only narrowly avoiding violating all kinds of professional standards of conduct. I thought that. But instead, like all people without a good answer, I skirted around the question. “When’s the last time you were serious with someone?” I could hear her blow out an exhale. Was that a heavy question? I really didn’t have so much experience with this get-to-know-you phase with a woman. “I’m not sure you need to know the dating history of your physical therapist.” She didn’t answer my question, but I could hear a light, teasing warmth in her voice. I still had her engaged. “Are we on a need-to-know basis? I hadn’t realized this was a secret ops military thing.” She laughed and I could picture her doing it, maybe looking down as she held the phone to her ear. “I don’t know you all that well.” The more she hesitated, the more I wanted to know. What was her story? Had she just broken up with someone? “I think this is how people get to know each other.” I sounded light. I hoped I did at least. This wasn’t the kind of thing I did every day, making overtures, extending myself. “All right. But you need to tell me all about yourself, too,” she warned. “Agreed.” She started in, giving me the basic run down, the brief, fly-by version of her unsuccessful dating history: two cheaters and a straight-up swindler. Apparently her most recent boyfriend—over ten months ago—had been a real hustler, borrowing money from her all the time, always with an explanation, a compelling story about how things were on the upswing. “I was such an idiot,” she summed it up. “Sounds like he was the idiot.” I hated the idea of some asshole taking advantage of her. I could picture the kind of smooth-talking guy she described. He could stand a swift punch to the jaw. “I’ve got a real knack for picking them,” she admitted, going on to tell me about how her first love and then her second had interpreted the word monogamy much differently than her. I didn’t like it, not one bit, hearing about her getting cheated on. Or hearing about her having fallen for anyone else. “My best friend Tori says I need to toughen up,” she continued. “Stop being such a sucker.” “Maybe you just need to date the right guy?” The silence between us as we sat on the phone spoke volumes. What was I saying, exactly? Was I volunteering for that role? Was I even the good guy I thought I was? I didn’t exactly have the perfect dating history myself. As if on cue, she asked, “What about you? Are you seeing anyone?” “Nope,” I answered honestly. My relentless training schedule didn’t leave a lot of time for much of anything else, never mind a romantic relationship. My solo status had contributed to my reputation in the press for being a driven, cold machine. And it wasn’t just reporters who labeled me that way. What was it my last girlfriend had called me? Oh yes, that’s right. “I have to be honest,” I said with a sigh, wondering why exactly I felt the need. “I don’t have the best track record. The last woman I dated broke up with me by throwing a bunch of dishes around my kitchen

and calling me a robot.” “Nice,” she commented. I couldn’t tell from her neutral tone which side she was on. But I pushed forward, airing my dirty laundry. I guess I figured it was better to get it all out in the open. “I don’t know if I deserved the broken dishes, but the robot part?” I shrugged my shoulders, sitting on the couch. “She had a point. I train every day, all day.” “That doesn’t leave a lot of room for dating.” Now she sounded more sympathetic. I guess honesty had its benefits. “I’ve always dated the pool,” I confessed. “And I’m not into three-ways.” She laughed again, soft and light. “I don’t share.” My voice came out low and gravelly, and again, we fell into silence, this time a heated one. I mulled over my choices, what I could say next. I knew I should take the conversation into a polite, clear goodnight. But I didn’t want to. I wanted to take the conversation from phone to in-person to not so much talking at all. “Would you—” I started inviting her back over to my suite at the same moment she said, “Guess I should be heading to bed.” “Right!” I covered my ass. I hadn’t just been about to say something wildly inappropriate. Something that might make her run in the other direction instead of stay on as my physical therapist for the next month. “What were you going to say?” she asked. “Would you like a berry smoothie tomorrow?” Quick thinking. I had a feeling she didn’t totally buy it. “You don’t have to, Chase. But, yes, I do like berry smoothies.” “Berry it is.” Sitting there off the phone I kept thinking of her. What did she sleep in? A little T-shirt and shorts? Just a tank top and panties? It was hot in San Antonio. Maybe she wasn’t big on air conditioning. Maybe she had the window cracked for a breeze in the hot night and wore a whole lot of nothing. It wasn’t fair. She’d seen me nearly naked. She got to touch me all over. I’d gotten to touch her hamstring. I’d liked it, but it was like getting just a taste of an amazing meal. It only made you want more. She devoted herself to helping others, figuring out their needs and tending to them. Did anyone do that for her? What made her tick? I wanted to find out. But I didn’t exactly know how to go about it. I wasn’t kidding when I’d told her I’d dated the pool. I’d never had time to devote to a girlfriend. In my early twenties, one too many relationships I’d thought were causal had escalated, at least on the woman’s side, and blown up in my face. I’d learned my lesson. It was far easier to fly solo in pursuit of my golden goal. Despite what the tabloids said, depicting me and some of my teammates as the bad boys of swimming, I didn’t enjoy hurting people. I mostly just devoted myself to my sport. I’d spent a lot more nights alone than I had with company. Right now was a hell of a time to rock the boat. Any coach worth his salt would tell me, “don’t try anything new before a major competition.” And what was more major than the Olympics? That was as big as it got for a swimmer. Emma was right. Better to keep this simple. I remembered the dish-throwing episode. I didn’t want any more of that. How could I honestly even be thinking about starting something a month before the biggest, most intense competition of my life? A casual hook up, sure, that would make sense. A night of fun, blowing off steam. But that wasn’t me. And for some reason I just knew, that wasn’t Emma, either. Something in her seemed both fragile and still, like a bird, watchful, curious, observant. I wanted to get as close as I could and find out more about her, but it would take time and patience. The thing was, I didn’t have time, not right now. And I certainly didn’t need anything messy or complicated in my life. So over the next month, I’d just get to know her better in a professional colleague-

type capacity, athlete and therapist. No big deal. At least that was what I told myself.

CHAPTER 5 Emma

The next day I saw him swim. I hadn’t really planned on it. I woke up early, so I decided to go for a walk before meeting him at his room at nine. My entire body buzzed with anticipation. I tried to tell myself it was just that I was excited about this assignment, on my way to the Olympics, scooping Chase. But it was the man, himself. I loved being around him. Of all the problems I’d expected to run into, I was completely unprepared for that. I’d heard that Chase was cold, so focused and driven and intense he bordered on inhuman. I’d wondered how I could make him notice me, get on his radar and then gain his confidence and trust. But the man I’d met seemed to genuinely want to get to know me. He’d even offered to make me a smoothie of my choice. I’d heard that he slept his way through women, taking full advantage of his God-like physique and celebrity status. I’d wondered if I’d see him acting like an ass, throwing away women like used dishrags, kicking them out of his hotel room crying. But I hadn’t seen that. Granted, this was only the fourth day I’d spent around him so it wasn’t as if I could vouch for all of his past behavior. But the man I’d met didn’t go out picking up random women at night. If he’d had a woman in his bed from a one-night-stand, I’d know. We spent a lot of time together. I could tell that was exactly what some of his teammates did. They constantly hit on members of the team’s entourage. Interestingly, they never hit on me. It wasn’t exactly shocking, but I did find it curious. I didn’t look like a swimsuit model by any stretch of the imagination. My strictly B-cups and slim hips were more made for running than enticing men like Jessica Rabbit. But I was a fit 25-year-old woman, accustomed to a certain amount of attention and interest. When I walked into a bar it wasn’t as if every man’s jaw dropped to the floor, but usually a few made their way over with a cheesy line or two. From Chase’s teammates? Nothing. Even from the lady-killers of the bunch, the ones I realized I’d had on my client roster before Chase had taken me all to himself. They hit on most anything that moved, and a fair number of women moved right up close to them in very short skirts. To me, though, they had only a polite smile and a nod. Like I was their sister. Or like I was already taken. By Chase. I didn’t know how I felt about it. Add it to the long and growing list. Last night on the phone with Chase I’d practically been ready to hang up and run over to his hotel room to have hot and sweaty, pounding sex all night long. Good thing we’d ended the conversation before I’d slipped on my running sneakers. Already warm enough early in the morning for a thin tank top and shorts, I made my way around the hotel complex adjacent to the sports center. It was huge and hosted teams from all over the world. I didn’t have time for a run, but stretching my legs felt like a smart thing to do with all my restless energy before I saw Chase.

Except I realized I didn’t have to wait. I could see him now, couldn’t I? I saw the natatorium in the distance, with the gigantic Olympic-sized swimming pool, 18-lanes wide. You could probably see it from the moon. Texas liked to do things big. I couldn’t resist. With a new spring in my step, I beelined it to the pool, excited about getting a sneak peek at Chase. This was when he did his first swim workout of the day. Not to be confused with his dryland exercise program, or his afternoon swim workout. No wonder the man had a reputation as intense. He had to be. Opening the door, I didn’t hear much, just a few voices over by the pool. I snuck my way over to the side, then closer where I could grab a seat in the viewing area. There were about 12 swimmers doing laps. Which one was Chase? The minute I spotted him, I knew. There were people swimming in the pool, and there was one flying. Breathless, I watched him part the water, his long, powerful arms carving out a straight and true path. He barely seemed to exert any effort, gliding through the lane as if propelled by an unseen force. A rocket, maybe? I knew he’d explained to me that these early a.m. workouts weren’t even for speed. They were laid-back. Relaxed. If that was what Chase Carter looked like when he kicked back, I couldn’t imagine him going for it. A shiver traveled down my spine. How many hours had he devoted to reach that kind of peak physical performance? How much effort had it taken to push himself to the absolute limit and beyond? I’m not going to lie, I felt awed. And a twinge of something else. Unease? Guilt, perhaps? It wasn’t as if I were there trying to dig for a story to ruin his good name. The kind of pieces I liked writing for our blog were feel-good stories, celebrating the best in people. There was enough mud-slinging and hatred in the world without my contributing to it. But I was spending the next month with him trying to do something he’d very much tried not to do: uncover and share his past. What had happened all those years ago in the boating accident? Why did he never talk about it? Was it just because it was a difficult memory? Or was there more? How would he feel if a story ran about his past? I’d have anonymity, so I could do it without him ever knowing it was me. But even if I focused on his strengths, how he’d overcome adversity, he still might feel violated and upset. I could talk to him before I wrote it, ask his permission. And risk him saying no. Or I could quit. I could pack up my bags and be on the next flight home. I was sure the team managers could find someone else to take care of Chase in the coming weeks. I’d had to use every connection I had and then some to get into this job. Everyone wanted to have a part in securing Olympic victory. But sitting there watching pure magic happen in the pool right before my eyes at 8:30 a.m. on a Thursday morning in July, I knew I couldn’t leave. I was part of it now, for a whole bundle of reasons I couldn’t even try to untangle. For one, I didn’t have the time. I had an appointment I needed to keep with a superhero, right after I slipped out from the pool undetected and crept out the back to go meet him at his suite. “What’d you think?” That was the first thing he said when he sauntered up to meet me. Hotel staff had given me a card to his room, but I still felt awkward about using it so I stood outside the door. It seemed too intimate to let myself in. “About what?” Nice work playing dumb, I congratulated myself. Now maybe I could divert his attention. Where was something distracting when you needed it? And, no, the ripples of his ab muscles didn’t count. They were most definitely not helping. “I saw you watching me swim this morning.” He flashed me a crooked smile. And if that weren’t enough to make my knees weak, he gave me a sly wink. “I won’t tell anyone that you’re a fan.”

“How do you know I was there to watch you swim?” I managed a saucy retort. “There were a bunch of people in the pool. Maybe I was there to watch one of your teammates?” Instead of a flirtatious comeback, he nodded, subdued, acknowledging I could have been doing that. Then he headed into the kitchen and started taking things out of the freezer. I followed him, still feeling some of that awe I’d experienced as a spectator in the stands. Hand on the counter, I searched for the right thing to say. “You swim really fast.” As soon as it left my mouth, I nearly swore I sounded so dumb. Telling the fastest swimmer in the world, “gee, you’re really fast!” And I thought I had a writer’s gift with words? But it did make him smile again. “You think?” “I know some people who manage the U.S. Olympic team. I can put in a few good words for you if you’d like.” “That’s nice of you.” He started making the smoothie, adding frozen strawberries, blueberries and bananas plus a bunch of other ingredients into a giant bucket-sized blender. But then he said, more seriously, “And of course you’re free to come watch anyone you want to, Brian or Chris.” He punched the ON button with more force than required. I waited until the blender stopped. “Chase, you know I was there to watch you swim.” He looked up. “You were?” I couldn’t believe it. Did he almost look shy? What was going on? I nodded and left the kitchen. It suddenly felt too hot in there, making frozen smoothies and all. But he followed not too long after. Touching my arm, he stepped close, my skin tingling from the contact. “Give this a try. I can add more berries if you like.” I swallowed, before I’d even taken a drink. Then I tried the smoothie, creamy frosty perfection. “Wow! What’s in it?” “I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.” “Secret recipe?” He nodded, that sly devilish gleam in his eyes again. It made me look down as I sipped through my straw. “So, what’s your workout plan for today?” He was so funny, asking me about my recreational running as if I were the athlete in the room. He touched the small of my back as he passed, heading over to the massage table. He seemed to find a lot of excuses to touch me, lifting up an errant strap of my tank top, tucking a tendril of hair that had escaped my ponytail behind my ear. He kept it casual, nothing inappropriate or unprofessional, but I swear each touch made my stomach flip. “I’m thinking I’ll run three or four miles, then maybe try to do a little in the weight room.” I felt shy talking about my athletic pursuits in front of The Pinnacle of Human Perfection. But he listened with interest. I took another sip of my smoothie, then set it on a side table, preparing to get to work. “No, finish it,” he insisted, handing it back to me. “It’s not as good if it’s not cold.” I noted, astonished, that he’d already gone through his. “How did you finish yours so fast?” He shrugged. “When you need as many calories as I do every day, you can’t waste any time. You have to get it done.” I laughed, thinking how opposite he was of the rest of humanity, us mere mortals having to actually watch how much we ate. “Some things I have to do fast,” he admitted. “But other things I take more time to do right.” That got my attention. I looked up, wondering if I were reading a double meaning into his words, the kind that made me feel all flushed even though I was sipping a frozen drink. He gave me a sexy, flirtatious smirk. Yeah, there was a double meaning all right. Then he stepped closer, cupping my chin. “They’re hazel today,” he observed, gazing down at me. I didn’t know what he meant, and looked up, curious. “Your eyes,” he explained, brushing his thumb along my cheek. “They change color based on what you wear. Yesterday they looked more coffee-colored.”

Oh. So that’s what he meant. I moved away and busied myself with my smoothie again, telling myself it was just self-consciousness that brought a blush to my cheeks. Not the feel of his hand on me, or the way he studied me, like he didn’t want to miss a thing. I didn’t, either. He lay face down on that massage table, and I knew I could have worked on him for hours. His body was so magnificent, each and every muscle so defined, such a perfect balance of strong and lean. Touching him was a privilege, worshipping at the altar of male perfection. I’d never enjoyed my job so much. It didn’t even feel like I was working. And that was the problem. § Tori called me the next day and gave me a stern scolding. “Whatever you do, don’t fall for him!” She knew me all too well. Despite my oh-so-casual “everything’s going fine,” she could read me like a book. “You’ve got the worst luck of anyone I know. You pick such losers—” “Oh, Chase isn’t a loser!” I burst out before I bit my tongue. Now I’d really blown my cover by gushing. “Oh shit, you’ve got it bad already! You’ve only been there five days.” “Nothing’s happened between us.” “But you want it to!” I sighed. I couldn’t even deny it. A smart part of my brain still knew it was a bad idea, but the larger, growing part of me was all for it. “Sit back for a sec and let me remind you of a few things,” Tori instructed. I did as she told me. I didn’t have a suite like Chase, so I sat there on the bed staring at the bureau listening, dutifully, while Tori reminded me of all the assholes I’d initially thought were so awesome. She assured me that Chase would just be the latest in a long string of jerks I’d been mistaken about. He had a bad reputation for being a machine, ruthless, cold, blah blah blah. And he hated the press. He’d shoved a reporter a few years ago. I’d seen video of that incident, but I didn’t open my mouth to defend him to Tori. It would only have incriminated me further. But even before I’d gotten to know him, I was on his side about that altercation. When Chase had missed the 2012 Olympics due to an injury, some pushy reporter had gotten in his face with all sorts of obnoxious questions like how did he feel about missing his best opportunity to medal? From the footage I’d seen, Chase hadn’t really shoved him so much as shouldered him to the side so he could get away. It wasn’t Chase’s fault that his shoulders were so massive. “Emma, you always get sucked in by guys with big egos. He’s got the biggest of them all. You always want to believe the best in everyone. But this time, don’t fall for it. Do your job, get the scoop and don’t let things get messy!” “Yup, I know.” And I did know. She was right. My own mother had said it to me, and she knew me better than anyone. She hadn’t been talking about Chase, per se, but she’d seen my heart get broken one too many times by creeps. She’d told me I needed to stop being so gullible. “A guy like Chase would eat your heart for breakfast. And then spit it out.” “OK, I get it.” I stood up. I’d gotten my marching orders. I knew what I had to do. It would be difficult, but it only made sense. I couldn’t go all ga-ga over this guy just because he had nice abs. Well, more than nice. They were pretty much the best abs I’d ever seen. Which was why when I showed up for our evening session, I had all the warmth of a prison guard. “How was your run this afternoon?” Chase asked, looked far too appealing in athletic shorts riding down low. He wasn’t even trying and he looked so good he could stop traffic. On a freeway. “Fine. Should we get started?”

“All right. Are you in a rush?” See, that was the problem. Five days in and we’d already gotten in the habit of spending too much time together. Last night I hadn’t even left for almost an hour after I’d worked on him. He’d played me this hilarious YouTube video the Australian swim team had put together, lip-syncing a popular hit song with everyone dancing around. That had led to more lip-syncing searches and laughing and joking about what the U.S. team should do in response. I’d lobbied hard for some Pink. I wasn’t picky about which song. She could do no wrong in my opinion. Chase had insisted on Journey’s epic “Don’t Stop Believin’.” It was that or nothing. But we couldn’t go there tonight. Tonight I had to stay professional. And get the inside scoop. How the hell was I supposed to do that? I kept quiet as I massaged his quads. It was too difficult to talk, anyway, he was so huge and powerful and my hands were just too damn close to something else that looked pretty damn huge and powerful. And using warm oil to work out the tension through his chest and shoulders? Nope, I couldn’t manage much small talk then, either. Especially when every now and then he’d make a low, sexy groan of pleasure that nearly drove me insane. Half of me wanted to yell out in frustration, “are you kidding me?” The other half of me wanted to throw down the towel and declare defeat, hopping on top to straddle him and go for a ride all night long. Once he was lying on his front and I was working his back, it got a little easier. His calf muscles were probably the safest part to touch. I was professional enough to handle them. Even though they were so hard and defined you had to wonder if his calves felt that good... But anyway, while I was working on his calf muscles, I tried to follow Tori’s advice. I was there to get the scoop. I needed to get on with it. “So, why did you become a swimmer?” I winced at the way it came out, like Diane Sawyer sitting down to do a one-on-one exclusive interview. Oh well, it was the best I could do when I was feeling so distracted and agitated. “What?” He didn’t seem to follow my question. I repeated it. He tensed up, even under my massaging fingers. “I guess, to prove I could.” There it was, my in. “Do you mean after the accident? When you almost drowned?” And just like that, he sat and then stood up. He picked up a T-shirt and shrugged into it. Covering up. Aces. I stood there, feeling like an idiot. He raked a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry,” I began, hating the way I’d tried to pry. “I don’t mean to—” “I’m sorry,” he interrupted. “I’m not used to talking about…anything other than swimming, really.” “No, I should respect your privacy.” Damn Tori and her advice. Chase and I had had such a nice thing going between us, so easy and warm with just the right dash of flirtation. Then I’d gone and frozen things up. “I would, ah…” He searched for words, sounding distraught. “I would like to get to know you better.” “Oh.” That wasn’t what I expected him to say. He took a step toward me, almost closing the gap between us and he had that burning, intense look in his eyes. I could almost feel myself swaying toward him. “Emma.” He reached out a hand and drew it lightly under my chin, grazing my bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. With his gaze fixed on my mouth, he licked his lips. “I should go.” The words that came out of me were completely at odds with my body. I had to ball my hands into fists to stop myself from reaching out and wrapping them around his broad, hard shoulders, digging my fingers into his muscles, drinking in his kiss like my life depended on it. “You should go,” he breathed, giving me such a low, sexy, heavy look I bet we were fogging up the windows. He could have me stripped naked and underneath him in ten seconds flat. I’d do my best to

make it five. But somehow I took a step backward. And I didn’t knock into anything. If I had, he would have reached out to steady me and then it would have been all over. Any contact would have been like a match to a flame. Who knew when we would have come up for air? He might not have even made it to Rio. But one step away led to two which somehow got me to the door, his gaze never leaving me. I paused a moment, hand on the door handle, giving myself one last pep talk about the righteousness of leaving. I shouldn’t let things get messy. I shouldn’t be unprofessional. I knew better than this. With a nod, I managed to leave. Once the door clicked behind me, I let out the breath I didn’t even know I was holding. Damn, I hated acting in my own best interest. Why couldn’t life be more like the romance novels I enjoyed, where the bad boys always turned out to have a heart of gold? Maybe Chase was one of those rare gems, the one in a million with an undeservedly bad reputation? The guy who’d never fallen for anyone before, until he met The One? Who would just happen to be me, of course. Not going to happen. That kind of thing happened on my Kindle, not in real life. I’d had some slap-inthe-face reminders of that. I wouldn’t go down that path again. Especially not when I had so much at stake. So what that standing next to him intoxicated me, his masculine scent and the heat radiating from his large, solid body making me literally weak in the knees. It didn’t matter that the way he looked at me took my breath away, the longing in his eyes matching my own. That sense that we had a rare connection, that there was something between us deserving of time, attention and lots and lots of wild sex? I had to tamp that down. It was just going to take a lot of long runs to work out the excess energy. And cold showers. Because I honestly didn’t know how much longer I could hold out.

CHAPTER 6 Chase

“Eighteen days, man!” It was my buddy Liam on the phone. We’d known each other since we were kids and the sound of his voice always took me back. “Crazy, right?” I shook my head. The games would be here before I knew it. Funny how little stress I’d been feeling about that fact. Emma was fantastic at keeping my mind occupied. If only I could get my body in on the action, too. “Guess what? I got the time off.” “No way!” Last we’d spoken, he didn’t think he’d be able to make the trip to see me swim. He had an all-access pass waiting for him, of course, plus I’d happily cover his plane ticket, but the firehouse where he worked on Naugatuck, a small island off the coast of Massachusetts, was so short-handed during the height of tourist season he hadn’t thought he could pull it off. “Yeah, the guys made it happen. I’ll see you in Rio, Chevy!” No one called me Chevy but my old friends, the gang of four I’d grown up with. The summer we’d been thirteen we’d all hung out watching classics like Fletch over and over again. With a name like Chase, of course they had to nickname me Chevy. I could picture Liam, so handsome and friendly and outgoing his nickname had become Magnum. It had multiple meanings: larger-than-life, related to magnet as in chick. And of course, all those re-runs of Magnum P.I. we’d watched had sealed the deal with lady-killer Tom Selleck and his sidekick mustache. Of us all, Liam was the most approachable, the one who actually smiled and remembered people’s names. And now he was coming to see me swim. “That means a lot, man.” “I wouldn’t miss it!” He had been there to cheer me on back when I was 18, too, in Beijing. We’d been such kids then. “I’ll send you the dates. I couldn’t get the whole time off, but I think I’ll be there for the last four days you swim.” Sweet. I was lucky to have a friend like Liam. A friend who’d saved my life. So chill and normal and laid back, you wouldn’t think he had much in common with me, Mr. Intense. But he was like the brother I’d never had. My snobby parents hadn’t exactly approved of my friends on the island where we spent most of our summers. Well, they approved of Ian because he came from old money, the type of family that owned authentic Van Goghs. Their home on Naugatuck was one in a dozen family properties. To new money like my parents, old money was as irresistible as catnip. But working class Liam, the son of a fireman and a cook, and Jax, all tatted up, the son of a construction worker and a hotel maid? No, they did not make the cut. Especially after all the shit that went down with the boat.

But Liam had remained my truest friend, never letting me drop off his radar no matter how much I got those horse blinders up and over my eyes. He always managed to get right direct in my line of sight and wave real big. Over here, dumbass. It’s your best friend. Lighten up. He’d like Emma. He wouldn’t try to hit on her, either. Liam was a class act. He’d be able to tell right away, the way I felt for her, she was not on the market. Except, of course, she was. Nothing had happened between us. Yet. But that constant drumbeat in my head of “touch her, touch her” was getting louder and louder. And all the reasons not to were getting pummeled like an unprepared defense witness under cross-fire interrogation from a highly-paid litigation attorney. She wasn’t distracting me from my goal, pulling me off course, she was helping me reach it. And, yes, on the surface it seemed undeniably cheesy and wrong to hit on your physical therapist. But I wasn’t interested in a one-night stand with this woman. One night would never be enough. Liam and I talked for a few more minutes, catching up, until he got called to do something at the station house. And I, of course, had to head to another workout. “OK, you go keep up the pace. For now,” he warned me. “But remember, all work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.” That had been another favorite of ours, The Shining. Talk about a classic flick. “I know,” I admitted. “Once you win all those gold medals we’re gonna shut down Rio.” “I hear you, Magnum.” “Shut. It. Down.” “You’re sure you’re up to it, old man? I’ve heard Rio parties pretty hard.” “Then you better bring your big boy pants.” “You know I don’t wear any pants.” Liam always gave me shit about the tiny little Speedos I paraded around in. I was so used to it by now, I didn’t even notice my constant state of near-nudity. Except when I was around Emma. “All right, it’s a plan. And Chase, two things.” He paused and I listened. I could tell from his more serious tone he had something to say. “When these games are done, you’re gonna need to get yourself a life.” “OK, Dad.” I sounded dismissive, but I knew he was right. “But until they’re over, swim fast.” “Always do. Now you go save some lives.” “You bet.” He’d found the perfect job for himself, the hero every day, a professional rescuer responding to emergency calls as a firefighter. What would I do with myself after the games were over? I might train for another Olympics. I knew it could be done. At the next games I’d be 30, on the older side for peak competition, but it wouldn’t be impossible. Honestly, I hadn’t given it much thought. I’d been so focused on eight days in Rio when I’d swim my nine events, five individual—the 400 IM, 200 and 400 freestyle plus 200 and 400 butterfly—and four relays. The years afterward had barely crossed my radar. My father seemed to assume I’d follow in his footsteps. He managed a hedge fund in Boston. It would be the path of least resistance, and he made a bundle from it. But it was hard for me to imagine waking up every day and being motivated by that. He got a thrill from money that I’d never experienced. He claimed it was because I was spoiled and had never known life without it. He might be right, but that didn’t change the fact that I wasn’t motivated by amassing money. Swimming was my lifeblood, what drove and fueled me. Maybe there’d be some way to do that professionally, coaching or running a swim facility, or something else I hadn’t thought of yet. I wondered what Emma would suggest. Emma. She was never far from my mind. But I still didn’t know much about her. I’d frozen right up when she’d tried to talk to me last night. I’d had years of experience not opening up, shutting people

down. It was like an automatic reflex. I wasn’t even sure I knew how to go about doing things differently. But she made me want to try. There was something so humble and sweet about her. She downplayed her own athleticism, but I knew she pushed herself, set her own goals and worked toward them. But she struck me as balanced, too, with a peaceful sort of calm at her center. No, I didn’t know much about her yet, but I knew I loved being around her. She felt so good, her skin silky smooth, her hair velvety soft when she wore it down at night. I couldn’t help stealing every opportunity I could to touch her. It was like a fever building in me, burning me up. I knew we’d fit together, she and I, her perfect breasts in my hands, her straddling me as I took her against the wall or in the shower or over and over again in bed. OK. Time to go workout. With a massive erection. I adjusted myself and pulled on baggy athletic shorts and a loose T-shirt to hit the gym. We were due to leave San Antonio in three days. After a weekend off, we’d all meet up again at another training facility in Georgia. Our original plans to head to Rio early had been changed due to concerns over the Zika virus, so we’d be staying in the U.S. until the first of August. I grabbed a water bottle and headed out into the mid-day near-100-degree heat and humidity. It was a good day to stay indoors, especially if you had the right person with you under the right set of circumstances. I was sure Emma and I could find lots of ways to enjoy my hotel room. But that wasn’t happening, at least not at the moment, so I chose the next best option: pounding it out at the gym. § “You’re tense tonight.” Emma worked on my shoulder, the one that had prevented me from competing the last time around. I’d devoted so much time to resting, then stretching and strengthening that shoulder. This summer, it wouldn’t hold me back. “Opening day is in 18 days. My first event is the day after.” These weren’t days made for relaxation. I felt coiled like a snake waiting to strike. “But you need to relax so you have the energy to compete.” “Relax,” I repeated, as if never having heard the word before. She finished, giving me one last stroke. Man, I loved the way she touched me. The woman was magic. “Yes, relax. It’s this thing people do when they’re not working.” She headed into the kitchen to wash the oil off her hands and get herself a bottle of water. She came back with one for me, too. “I’ve heard about it.” I nodded, as if considering a strange, foreign concept. “Seriously, how do you unwind?” “I pummel my body into exhaustion and then I fall asleep,” I replied honestly. Sex, too. That worked. But I edited that option out for her. “Have you tried yoga?” What followed was a ridiculous half hour. First, she modeled yoga poses with grace, balance and insane flexibility. That part I really enjoyed, seeing her twist her limbs into all sorts of contortions. Yes, we could have a lot of fun, she and I. But then the ridiculousness would kick in, when she tried to guide me into the same poses. In the water, I was Poseidon, king of the ocean. On land, I was less agile. Balance was not my middle name. I felt like a big, dumb oaf next to her, especially after she stood there holding a perfect bow pose, arm extended, hand wrapped around her lifted ankle as she balanced on one foot. I sure enjoyed watching her do that pose. But me? Not going to happen. Laughing as I tumbled out of yet another failed attempt, she admitted defeat. For now. “We’ll have to work on that,” she agreed. “As long as you’re the one teaching me, I’m all for it.”

She smiled, then looked away, shyness overcoming her. As much as I loved it, watching a touch of pink steal across her cheeks, I knew where it could lead. Any second now she might pull away, pick herself up and head over to the door to say goodnight. I needed to act fast. I reached out and took her hand. “Want to hang out and watch a movie?” She pulled away, not meeting my eye, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I should probably go.” No! “We could play a game.” “Do you have Monopoly lying around here somewhere?” She looked around my room, clearly not believing my offer. “I have a deck of cards.” I stood up, wondering where they were. Or if I actually had them. Maybe we could play poker? Strip poker. “No strip poker.” Damn it. “Want a beer?” I headed for the kitchen. “Are you drinking?” she called after me. Damn it again. This close to the ultimate competition, the moment for which I’d been preparing my entire life, no, I was not drinking. After the games, hell yeah. But right now I was staying stone-cold sober. “I’m going to have another smoothie,” I admitted. So sexy. If I were James Bond I’d be mixing an exotic and potent cocktail that would get her out of her clothes in 60 seconds. But I was me, which meant I was making a peanut butter chocolate shake. “Ooh! Can I have some?” She came to join me and I gave her a wink and a smile. “Do you just like me for my smoothies?” “Guilty as charged.” I worked my magic. I’d figured out how to pack nearly 1,000 calories into a shake. You could do it if you substituted ice cream, chocolate syrup and whipped cream for almond milk. We settled together on the couch, her sipping at a small glass, me chugging my gallon. I really knew how to impress the ladies. Wiping any possible chocolate mustache from my face, I turned to her. “So, I’m not sure I have a deck of cards. And I do not own Monopoly. But we could always play truth or dare.” “That’s a drinking game.” “I know. I’m sorry I’m not drinking. I know I’m a buzz kill.” “Are you kidding?” She reached over and put a hand on my forearm. Her touch felt electric. I wondered if she felt it, too. She swallowed, looked down to where our skin touched, then removed her hand. Flustered, she continued. “It’s a nice change of pace. I like to drink, but my last boyfriend hit it pretty hard. It could get kind of scary.” “Did he hurt you?” I could go find him and hurt him if he had. “No, it wasn’t like that. He just got out of control. And he liked to fight.” “Sounds like a great guy.” I still might have to go find him and hurt him. She shrugged. “When he was sober and trying to impress me? Sure he was. It just took me a while to see through it.” Yes, I would have to put that at the top of my post-Olympic to do list. Find Emma’s former boyfriend and make him pay. The look of hurt, embarrassment and maybe even shame that crossed her lovely face made my stomach twist into a knot. “Hey.” I stretched my arm along the back of the couch, letting my fingers caress her shoulder. “It’s not your fault that you wanted to believe in him. It’s his fault for taking advantage of your trust.” I must have said the right thing because she brightened up, looking at me with gratitude. “So you want to play truth or dare, huh?” I nodded. Emphasis on the dare. I had some great dares I’d like to try out on her.

“You’ll just choose dare all the time.” D’oh! She saw right through me. “You might be right,” I admitted. “OK, how about three truths, then one dare?” “One truth, one dare,” I bargained. “Two truths, one dare,” she countered. I took a moment to consider her offer. “Done. I’ll start. What’s your favorite part of your job?” “That’s easy,” she replied straight away. “Making people happy.” “Happy? Not healthy?” She was a healthcare professional after all. “They’re pretty tightly connected,” she reflected. “When you’re in pain and feeling awful physically, it’s hard to feel happy. I love easing people’s stress and injuries. It’s like giving them a window into a whole other way to live.” And just like that, I fell for her even harder. She was such a good person. “That’s cool.” I got even more eloquent when I felt something deeply. “Thanks. Now it’s my turn. What’s the hardest part of training?” “Holding back.” “Really?” “Yeah. You have to learn such discipline, how to go at just 60 percent, 80 percent. I’m all about adrenaline, pushing myself to the wall and past.” “That’s…a little crazy.” “Yeah, of course it is. All top competitors are off their rockers, didn’t you know that?” I gave her a crazy smile and got one in return. “I’ll tell you what my favorite week is. Altitude training. We do it up in Colorado and at first you feel like you’ve got lead weights tied to your lungs. It’s awesome.” “Sounds it,” she agreed with heavy sarcasm dripping from her words. “Now I get to ask another truth. What’s your favorite sexual position?” “Oh my God.” She buried her face in her hands. “You have to answer. It’s the rules of the game. I’ve asked you a truth.” “OK, truth?” She exhaled and seemed to muster up her strength to answer me. “I don’t think I’ve found it yet. But I would like to.” Was she trying to kill me? The sexual tension was already so thick you could cut it with a knife. Well, someone had to tease her about what she’d said. Guess that would be me. “It might take a lot of experimentation,” I started. “You’d have to test out all the options.” She laughed, a nice blush covering her cheeks. I loved watching her squirm. “You’d need a partner who’d be fully committed to the process. Someone who could give it his all. It could take a long, long time to really discover the best of all possible answers.” “OK,” she stopped me, fanning herself, looking out of breath. “Now I get to ask you a question. Why did you start swimming again after you almost drowned?” I sighed, all the wind leaving my sails. I guess part of me had figured she would go there. She obviously knew about the accident. She’d asked me about it last night. I’d learned long ago that the more you tried to keep something quiet, the more people wanted to know what happened. The thing was, what happened that night wasn’t really my story to tell. There’d been four of us out there, and everyone involved had signed non-disclosure agreements so air-tight I half expected a SWAT team to descend upon me if I ever even thought about violating it. But I guessed I could talk about what happened afterward, for me. “You don’t have to answer that question if you don’t want to,” she murmured. My extended silence must have communicated my reluctance. “No, it’s OK. I just don’t talk about it much.” Nearly drowning in the middle of the ocean was the most terrifying thing I’ve ever experienced.

Over ten years later I still had nightmares about the cold, dark waves clutching at me like icy hands. If it hadn’t been for Liam, I’d have died. “After the accident, I was in the hospital for a couple weeks. I couldn’t sleep through the night for a few months. It made me really angry, like the water had gotten the best of me. I had to prove that I was stronger.” “Stronger than the ocean?” “That’s right.” I looked at her to see if she was laughing. I knew it sounded crazy. But she wasn’t. She was looking at me with a mixture of fascination and admiration, and it helped me keep talking about something I never discussed. “I guess I felt like I had to crush the fear or it would crush me.” “Was it scary, getting back in the water?” Fucking terrifying. But that felt like too much to talk about. I wasn’t ready for a full-scale psychiatric analysis. “That’s a second question, Emma. It’s time for a dare.” Her eyes got wide. I smiled at her. “I dare you to kiss me.” “What?” She looked so good, so nervous and eager at the same time, like she was torn between wanting to bolt and throw herself at me. I’d see what I could do about making the second one happen. “You heard me. I won’t bite. Unless you like that.” “Chase!” I gave her a wolfish smile. “Come on. Are you scared?” “Yes.” She looked scared. “It can be quick. Here.” I pointed to my cheek. Slowly she leaned in. She came close enough that I could feel her soft breasts grazing my chest. It took all my willpower to restrain myself and sit there, not moving, letting her do this the way she wanted. She stopped before she got up to my cheek. Dipping her lips to my neck, she kissed me there. I nearly lost it. I groaned it felt so good, sweet and brief but the feel of her touch lingered. She sat back, breathing faster. Heat in my eyes, I sat still, burning up, waiting to see what she’d dare me. She bit her lip and sat there. What would she say? “Fuck it!” She closed the distance between us, climbed into my lap and threw her arms around my neck. I was down on her in an instant, devouring her lips, tasting her with my tongue hot and wet as she made sounds so eager and desiring, purring with pleasure. She fit against me perfectly. She tensed as I started to take off her shirt. I pulled it down again. She wanted to go slow. I could go slow. Right? Couldn’t I? “I’ll just kiss you,” I reassured her, kissing her throat, her eyelids, her lips. Her breasts were so perfect, such plump, round, gorgeous mounds, it took everything I had to keep my hands around her trim waist, fingers stroking but staying away, holding her, just holding. Even though her nipples stood out in two hard points of arousal, begging for my touch. “I shouldn’t have done that.” She broke away, nearly throwing herself off the couch to stand several feet away. I looked at her, panting. “I should go.” “Emma.” I didn’t move to stop her. She had to do what she had to do. But I didn’t want her to leave. “I’m sorry, Chase.” She brought her hands up over her face. This wasn’t supposed to be so complicated. “I don’t mean to be melodramatic.” And then she left. How was that for drama? First, she leapt into my lap, and then she ran out slamming the door behind her. I punched my fist into the couch pillow in frustration. Had I done something to frighten her off? I’d held back, hadn’t I? I was so wound up as I headed into the shower. I pictured her, of course I did, as I took myself in my hand. Stroking my thick, hard cock, I closed my eyes and remembered the feel of her lips, the sweet

sounds of her desire. I wanted to consume her. I wanted to fuck her again and again and never come up for air. I could feel it, how good it would be to bury myself deep inside of her. She’d look so gorgeous, screaming with pleasure as I filled her to the hilt. I came with her name on my lips. And it only made me want her more.

CHAPTER 7 Emma

“Too much? Or just right?” Megan, one of the many non-swimming professionals working with the team, twirled around in front of me in a barely-there mini dress. “You look amazing.” I chose an honest answer, and the one I could give, because I really didn’t know how comfortable she’d feel wearing something like that out to a Mexican restaurant. It would fit right in dancing all night at a hot club. Ordering tacos? I wasn’t so sure. But, then again, if it were up to me I might wear athletic clothes 24/7, so I might not be the best judge. “I don’t want to be too over-the-top. But someone said this place has dancing, too, so...” She scrutinized herself in a three-way mirror, checking out her ass. Which did look great, but threatened at any moment to make a full-moon appearance. She’d better not drop anything. She, I and a couple of other women affiliated with the team were getting ready together to head out to dinner. And dancing, apparently, which made me more excited. I loved getting my dance on. Plus it felt great to be in the middle of normal, female energy and conversation. The typical laughter, banter and “do I look good in this?” questions were a lot more relaxing than the intense dynamic between me and Chase. For the past week in San Antonio, it felt like we’d been locked in on each other, nearly sequestered. All that time together in his hotel room, touching. Whew. I needed to head out and blow off some steam. I wanted a night as a carefree 25-year-old woman along for a wild, fun ride to the Olympic Games instead of an undercover reporter trying to scoop a man she was falling for hard and fast. I needed an escape. The only problem was he’d be there, too. Team management had rented out the entire restaurant for dinner, for every swimmer plus the whole entourage of coaches, trainers, therapists, and the group Megan was part of handling PR/communications/apparel/event coordination and every other logistical nightmare that seemed to head their way. Rio was presenting a whole host of challenges and the coordination team was in overdrive trying to iron out wrinkles before they disrupted the swimmers. “I think I’m going to go for it,” Megan decided, giving her reflection a nod. “But you can’t wear that.” She gave my T-shirt and shorts a derisive glance. “No, of course not.” I actually had been planning on doing exactly that, but that was before I’d known there would be dancing. I’d thought we were going to a casual dinner, but now I wanted to join in the energy of the group around me, which definitely said PARTY. Twenty minutes later when we exited, I no longer wore a bra. I was borrowing a top that happened to have no back. Paired with a short skirt and heeled sandals, I felt sinfully sassy and ready to shake it. And I wasn’t alone. These other women knew what they were doing. All around my age, they were dressed to kill. And they seemed intent on following through with it, too. “He’s going down tonight,” one of them declared, heading over to her rental SUV, large enough for the four of us to share.

“Timber,” Megan agreed. “It is so on,” the other woman added, each apparently with her own target in mind. I’d learned quickly over the past hour, all the sexual tension and self-denial going on between me and Chase? We weren’t the norm. Apparently the whole group was getting it on like bunnies. “You must promise to tap that tonight,” Megan started on me again. None of them had believed it when I’d said nothing had happened between me and Chase. And it wasn’t even true. Something had happened. Last night I’d climbed onto his lap and we’d kissed like we’d stumbled onto the set of a Nicholas Sparks movie, kissing like we were soul mates in the rain at night after he’d rescued me. Damn, it had felt good, even better than I’d thought and I’d thought about it a lot. His lips, so hot and insistent, fevered, coaxing such a tidal wave of response from me. I’d managed to break away, but I honestly didn’t know how. His large hands on my waist, his fingers itching to move, caress, stroke every inch of my body, I’d nearly lost my mind. And according to these women, that’s exactly what I should do. “If you don’t climb Chase like a tree tonight, I will. That man is so hot it’s illegal.” I laughed nervously, torn in too many directions all at once. I’d never felt so insanely attracted to anyone before in my life. The way my body lit up around Chase made everything else I’d experienced before seem like child’s play. Apparently my whole adult life I’d just been messing around with matches, half the time not even getting one lit. Now I’d stumbled into an inferno. Was I the only one concerned about professionalism and appropriate boundaries? The answer was clear. Yes, I was. But I was also the only one there with a hidden agenda, and that added some complexity into the mix, too. “No, you guys. If Emma doesn’t have dibs, you all back the fuck off because that man is mine,” Megan declared. Funny, Megan had struck me as a nice, fun girl but suddenly I had the urge to claw her eyes out. I looked out the window as we headed downtown. The restaurant was only ten minutes away. The ride was taking forever. “You do know we’re heading to Rio in a week and a half?” One of them asked me. “And anything goes in Rio,” another added. Finally, we pulled into the parking lot, my stomach in knots. They thought I was crazy for not jumping Chase. I felt crazy for barely being able to think about anything other than jumping Chase. And now tonight if I didn’t jump him, I might have to watch a whole bunch of other women do it in my place. Maybe it was time to drink some margaritas. The restaurant had a festive, carnival-like atmosphere with music playing and multi-colored lights strung along the ceiling. I hadn’t seen much of San Antonio, but what I had, I liked. That was one of the fun things about running, I got to explore at a good pace. I’d traveled along the river walk downtown, jogged past the giant, ornate San Fernando Cathedral, and the area was teeming with gorgeous, trail-filled parks. But what had me the most impressed was the Mexican food. I’d tried a few taquerias near the hotel and they’d all blown me away with food so fresh, crispy and delicious. The restaurant tonight looked like it would deliver, too, with plates of appetizers offered up on tall bar tables. I saw a large dish of guacamole with some thick red chips. I wondered if I could steal away with them. No one would notice, right? “Emma! There she is! The mystery girl!” I got hugged by some giant men, obviously Chase’s teammates. I recognized them from the weight room and some were familiar from the last Olympics. A gold medalist from 2012 wrapped his larger-than-life arm around my shoulders. He could probably fit two of me under his wingspan. “Get this woman a drink!” he called out to no one in particular, but a waitress did appear who took my order for a frozen margarita. “Now, tell me. How’s Chase treating you?”

“Oh, fine.” My eyes darted around the room, searching for the man in question. I didn’t see him anywhere. Maybe he wasn’t coming tonight? Another ridiculously supersized man leaned in. “Listen, if Chase gets too intense for you, you come find me.” “Or me!” Added the man/octopus wrapping me in his grip. “You know she was supposed to be working with all of us,” he added, addressing his teammate. “Fucking Chase, man.” Then, like an old Western movie when the sheriff walks into the saloon through the swinging double doors, in came Chase. The guys talking tough around me piped down, taking quiet swigs of their Coronas. Chase looked right over at me as I stood surrounded by his teammates. His expression didn’t change, but I could see a firm, set, lock to his jaw. Then he got pulled into conversation. Or more like swarmed by eager women surrounding him like a school of minnows. The arm around my shoulders dropped. The guys turned their attention to the other eager women in our party. What, had Chase sent out a memo to everyone telling them to back off? I almost got the sense that they were a little scared of him. But Chase didn’t make his way over to me. He stayed over on the other side of the room, basking in the adoration of a million hot women. At least that was how it looked to me. Where had all these women come from? They weren’t his teammates. Some I recognized from the crew, an event planner and a team apparel rep I’d never liked. She was so sales-y all the time. I wasn’t the jealous type. I swear I wasn’t. It had led to problems in the past, how trusting and nonterritorial I could be. But there stood Chase in a sea of women all coming up with excuses to touch him. “Oh, you’re so funny let me stroke your huge shoulder.” “Help, I’m losing my balance on my six-inch hooker heels, let me stabilize myself by pressing my hands and boobs against your chest”. It made me see red. And strike up a conversation with his teammate, Chris. It wasn’t as if I were actually interested, but the man was nice to look at and he sure knew how to chat me up. He delivered line after line, telling me how pretty I looked and asking if I knew that swimmers were famous for their stamina. He asked what I ate to stay so fit. I gave him the standard reply, that I aimed for fruits, veggies and lean meats but I’d never met a hamburger and fries I didn’t like. When I asked him the same question, he replied, “My doctor just told me I’m vitamin deficient.” I fell for it. “Really? In what?” “Vitamin U.” It did make me laugh. He was super cheesy, but undeniably handsome. Though my awareness of Chase never wavered, it was a bit of an escape to engage in such mindless, easy flirtation. Time with Chase was so consuming, so electric and charged and intense. Talking with Chris felt like drifting lazily along a slow river compared to navigating white water rapids. The margaritas went straight to my head. They cranked up the music and a posse of us flooded the dance floor. I hadn’t managed to get much food into my system yet, but how was a woman supposed to sit down and calmly eat her dinner when she needed to DANCE? I loved moving to the beat and it had been too long since I’d been able to shake it, over a month since I’d last gone out dancing. I wasn’t paying much attention to the bodies around me, the occasional hand around my waist, the admiring looks I received. Until Chase came up to me. Once his hand went around my waist and we started moving together, that was it. It was all over. He had all my attention, all wrapped up. Were we on a crowded dance floor surrounded by other people? It didn’t feel that way to me. I saw his eyes and his lips. I felt his hands on me, his hips swaying with mine. His broad chest and shoulders were close enough now that I could reach

out and touch, run a hand along the ridges of his muscles, press my body against him in the heat and rhythm. When he pulled me off the dance floor, it almost felt as if he were snapping me out of a trance. We’d flowed so easily into the same pulse, our bodies moving together, seamless and fluid. But I followed him out of the crowd, down a hallway and then into a small storage room. Closing the door behind us, he shut out the noise and people. It was just the two of us, a light bulb overhead, and rows and rows of canned tomatoes. “What—?” I started to ask before his lips met mine, hungry, and I met him with just as much urgency, my fingers wrapped up and pulling at his hair, my hips grinding against his. “Emma,” he groaned, his hands traveling my bare back. “You’re killing me in this shirt.” I fisted his Tshirt, wanting him closer, wanting it off him. I needed his skin against mine, now. He sucked on my earlobe, teasing the tender flesh between his teeth. “You are not leaving with Chris,” he growled. “No.” I didn’t even protest his caveman demand. I didn’t want to leave with anyone else. I wanted him, right there, right now. “He’s an asshole. He doesn’t know you.” He went on as if I needed any more convincing. But then mercifully he stopped talking, pressing his lips to my throat, kissing, sucking, licking his way down to the hollow of my neck. It felt so rough and possessive but exactly what I needed, like he wanted to devour me whole and I’d love every second of it. “You’re not wearing a bra, Emma,” he whispered, almost reverent, sliding his hands down my shoulders, along my sides, up from my waist. I shivered in anticipation, my fingers digging into his shoulders. “It’s been driving me crazy. How easy it would be to touch you, but not doing it.” “Touch me,” I moaned, almost not recognizing my own voice, so husky and desperate with need. With a satisfied, masculine groan, he reached up and untied my top at the back of my neck with one, deft pull. As if he’d been thinking about doing exactly that since the second he’d seen me. The shirt was made of a thin rayon, and it pooled instantly at my waist, baring me to him completely under the exposed lightbulb of the closet. I panted, vulnerable, as he held me still, his hands wrapped at my waist. “So fucking beautiful,” he hissed, drinking me in with his gaze. My nipples were already hardened with arousal and he hadn’t even touched me yet. I craved it so much I nearly whimpered as he slowly lowered his head to my breasts. “So perfect, Emma,” he murmured, cupping my breasts gently in his hands, licking my soft, sensitive skin, kissing me as I gripped the shelf beside me, my head tilting back, eyes closing in pleasure. When he took my aching nipple into his hot, wet mouth I gasped. “Chase!” My voice sounded so needy, pleading, urgent for everything he could give me. I’d never felt so crazy with lust before, so consumed and unable to think about anything but how insanely fucking good it felt as he licked and laved and sucked on my breasts, first teasing one nipple, then the other, his hands massaging, stroking, cupping me as I arched my back and offered myself to him completely. “Do you know how much I want you?” he whispered against my wet skin, one hand starting a path down my stomach. “How crazy I am for you?” I groaned, digging my hand into his bicep, the feel of his hard, driving muscle making me so wet. “I want to taste you,” he continued, licking between my breasts, taking his time as I squirmed and twisted with need. And still his hand traveled lower, along my hip, then dipping down my thighs. “Emma,” he murmured, giving my nipple a hot lick, sliding his fingers up my inner thighs to where I quivered and ached for him. “I want to make you come.” I gasped as he brought his fingers up to my panties. There wasn’t much to them, just a lacy G-string, the type that wouldn’t cause panty lines, or put up any fight when a big, sexy beast of a man pulled them to the side and palmed me in his hot, huge hand.

“So wet for me, baby,” he groaned, rubbing me, sucking my nipple, starting to stroke my slit. Arching into him, I moved my feet farther apart so he could have all the access he needed. The man had such skills. I was clearly in the presence of a master, as the wide pad of his thumb brushed right up against my aroused clit, giving me a nice press right where I needed it. “Yes,” I cried, pushing against him, letting him know it felt so good. “You need this, baby?” he asked, starting to fuck me with his fingers as he began a rhythm with his thumb. “You’re worked up, too, aren’t you?” “Yes,” I admitted, a needy sob escaping my lips as I threw my head back. He was so good, so commanding, the firm way he held my tits, the way he sucked me hard, almost to the point of pain but not quite, just right at the edge where I could feel a white heat burning, licking, flaring up though my body. “That’s it,” he coaxed me, picking up the rhythm. “Give yourself to me, Emma.” Eyes closed, his voice poured over me. I thrust my hips in time with his hand, riding him, wanting more. “I can’t wait to make you come.” Holding onto the shelf so tight my knuckles turned white, I bit my lip and whimpered, trying to stay silent. We were in a restaurant. Loud as it was outside, I couldn’t exactly scream. “It’s hard staying quiet in here, I know,” he whispered in my ear, making me shiver. He thrust his fingers up inside me, working my slick, wet pussy, demanding the orgasm that waited to quiver, shudder and explode from deep inside me. “I know you want to scream when you come, Emma.” He leaned down and took my nipple in his mouth, sucking, then giving my tender, aroused tip a light bite. “You have to keep quiet in here, baby. But back at the hotel I’m going make you scream all night.” Panting, moaning, I was so close. I could feel it, mounting, cresting as he pulsed against my clit. Standing up, he leaned down to my ear, one hand still cupping my breast possessively, the other fucking me so good. Licking my earlobe, he murmured low and wicked, “Are you going to come for me?” Then the door opened with a loud smack against the wall. Chase drew himself to his full height, hands on either side of my shoulders, his body covering mine. “Sorry!” Whoever it was apologized before heading back out again. “Fuck.” Chase exhaled, touching his chin to the top of my head. “Oh shit! Who was that?” “Someone who works here. I don’t think he saw you. Fuck.” He smacked his palm against the shelf. A can of tomatoes threatened to topple over, but with quick reflexes he caught it and put it back. “Oh my God.” Fumbling, shaking, I picked up the strings to my top and tied them behind my neck. What had we been thinking? Well, we hadn’t been thinking. “This isn’t the place. We shouldn’t—” “I’m sorry, Emma. I really don’t think he saw you. I didn’t mean to embarrass or expose you.” “No, it’s my fault, too.” I tried to get my bearings. The door was right behind him. Damn it, a minute ago I would have let him do anything to me in that closet. Anything. And the entire team—swimmers, colleagues, the managers who’d given me this coveted job—were standing mere feet away. I’d shown all kinds of restraint in the privacy of his hotel room. Now this was where I chose to cut loose? How stupid could I be? “I’m sorry, Chase. I have to get out of here.” “Wait, Emma,” he called after me, but I needed to go. I felt so out of control that I almost frightened myself. Tori was the one who did this kind of thing. When we went out dancing I’d had to rescue her from all kinds of messy situations. I wasn’t the one who got fingered in a supply closet. I was the one who gave my friends a safe, sober ride home. On the way out, I saw the woman who’d driven me over. We were both headed toward the front door. It looked like she was wiping back tears. “You OK?” I asked, seeing she clearly wasn’t.

“I’m heading out if you want a ride.” Fueled by rage, she drove us home in about half the time it took to head there earlier. Apparently the guy she’d been hooking up with over the past week had a serious girlfriend, a fact he’d failed to mention until she surprised him by showing up at the party tonight. I was sorry for her hurt and pain, but it did come in handy that she was so caught up in her own drama. She didn’t notice my own flush and agitation, or the number of times I brought my hands up to cover my face and rub my forehead. I could barely keep up with her as she strode into the hotel, then hopped into the elevator. “Thanks for the ride. I’m sorry that happened.” I gave her a quick hug before stepping out of the elevator at my floor. “All men are assholes!” she called out at the doors closed. In my room, I ran the tap water as cold as I could and took big, long gulps. In the mirror, my lips were still swollen from Chase’s kisses. My neck looked pink where he’d rubbed me with his stubble, grazed me with his teeth. And as I looked at how he’d marked me, my nipples stiffened again with arousal. The way he’d held me, torn into me like I was a feast he’d been craving. I’d never felt so desired, so dangerously on the edge of being entirely consumed. The feel of him, those hard-as-rock muscles rippling through his T-shirt, the flex of his biceps, the way he’d talked to me, so dirty and sweet all at once. I couldn’t help it. My fingers traveled their way down to finish what he’d started. I was still so wet, soaked through my panties, my clit swollen and aching for release. He’d told me he wanted to make me scream all night long. He was so driven, so intense, the way he tore through the pool, the way he tore into me. He’d be so relentless, fucking me, rough and hard over and over. I came, harder than I thought I ever had in my life, standing there by myself in the bathroom, rosy and glistening with sweat, my fingers deep up inside my throbbing, wet pussy and Chase’s name on my parted lips.

CHAPTER 8 Chase

I could still feel Emma on my fingers. She’d been so slick, dripping with desire. Now I knew, without a doubt. She wanted me like I wanted her. That insane, consuming inferno I felt all the time, melting down even the strongest of firewalls? She had it burning inside of her, too. Now that I knew that, there was no turning back. The sounds she’d made in that closet? I kept replaying them in my head as I headed back to my room. I thought about heading over to hers. But I didn’t need to stalk her. I didn’t need to rush her, either. It would happen. I was certain of it. So I didn’t stop by her room after I got back from the restaurant, but I did send her a text: Chase: Sorry that happened where it did. Not sorry it happened. Can’t wait to see you again. Will be thinking of you all night. I didn’t hear back from her, but I didn’t expect to. She’d left in a rush, upset. I was pissed at myself that I’d put her in that situation. After all my self-restraint, I’d impulsively hauled her into a closet in the middle of a crowded restaurant. It wasn’t like me. I was used to always staying in tight control, laserfocused on my goals. My teammates teased me that I even scheduled my hook ups. And they were kind of right about that. I knew when my schedule could tolerate a night with more play and less sleep, and I knew when it couldn’t. I didn’t have trouble with impulse control. Except tonight. When I’d walked in and seen Emma in that sexy, backless red shirt it was like the wind got knocked out of me. I already found her insanely hot, of course, but I’d never seen her dressed up before. She was a fucking siren. Then seeing her with Chris’s hands all over her, I’d nearly raced across the room like I parted the water swimming, drilling a path through the crowd so I could kick his ass for touching my woman. Only she wasn’t my woman, and Chris wasn’t doing anything wrong. He could talk to anyone he liked. Even if every time he made her laugh it felt a hell of a lot like a sharp needle sticking directly into my eye. I’d kept my distance, just to be safe. I didn’t need to sock Chris in the jaw a week and a half before the games. He might piss me off, but he did not deserve that. So I stayed away. Until I couldn’t any longer. Watching her out on the dance floor, the way her body moved, feeling the rhythm so instinctively, her hips swaying, her ass shaking, that was it. There was no way I could stay away from her. And once I had my hands on her, I knew there was no going back. Emma and I belonged together.

But I’d keep that fact to myself. For now. I could get a little intense, I knew that. OK, more than a little. For now, I’d let her sleep the night alone. Then we only had one day left in San Antonio together, and a whole weekend apart before we all re-convened for one last week of training in Atlanta before flying to Rio. I’d give her all the time and space she needed. But if those hot, quivering, panting pleas she’d made in that supply closet told the truth—and I knew they had—it wouldn’t take long for her to surrender. § The next morning, I had to skip my usual appointment with Emma following my morning workout. It was our last day in San Antonio, so our head coach called a team meeting. The schedule for the whole day was all messed up, with a later afternoon workout than usual and then a team dinner. Fuck bonding, I wanted to see Emma. As soon as I got out from the meeting, I texted her. Chase: Where are you? Emma: At the pool. What? I’d spent the last three and a half hours at the pool and I hadn’t seen her once. The morning she’d snuck in to watch me and sat on the bleachers I’d spotted her instantly. She had a strong magnetic pull. I couldn’t believe she was there and I hadn’t seen her. But after some fruitless pacing around the swim center, I realized what she meant. She was at the hotel pool, that small, shallow thing where people laid around in lounge chairs. Sometimes kids got into it wearing flotation devices. A recreational pool. What a strange concept. I strode over there and found her. At 10 a.m. on a Thursday morning she had the pool to herself. Or, I should say, we had it to ourselves. And she was wearing a bikini. I’d be lying if I said seeing her lying there in next-to-nothing didn’t instantly flood me with all sorts of nasty, dirty thoughts. Those long, shapely legs, her smooth skin and those perfect breasts I’d had in my mouth last night. The woman made me crazy. Engrossed in reading, she didn’t look up until I sat down on a lounger next to her. “What are you reading?” “Oh, nothing.” She closed the cover on her Kindle and set it under her chair. “Was it a romance?” “Maybe.” She started laughing. That made me really want to know what she’d been reading. “Were you at a sex scene?” “I am not answering that.” But she laughed some more. Excellent. I wanted her to have sex on the brain as much as I did. Only that really wouldn’t be possible, since I’d pretty much maxed out the potential time devoted to the subject. “Do you have some time in your schedule right now?” She sat up in the lounge chair. Yes, I liked that bikini a lot, simple and revealing and so easy to unfasten. “I could work on you if you’re free. I thought you had another workout now.” “The schedule’s all screwy today. I have another workout in 45 minutes, so why don’t we just hang out.” “Sorry, what was that?” I knew she was giving me shit. I, Chase Carter, King of Swimming, did not just hang out. She was right. But that’s exactly what I wanted to do right now, because I wouldn’t be sitting around twiddling my thumbs. I’d be spending time with Emma in a bikini and I honestly couldn’t imagine anything I’d rather do. Except maybe spend time with her out of the bikini.

“I thought you just suggested we ‘hang out,’ like relax,” she continued with a teasing lilt in her tone. “But I must have misheard you.” “Are you sassing me, Miss?” “I would never do that. I’m a professional.” But then, in the middle of our fun, light banter, her face fell. Her features clouded with guilt. “Chase, I need to talk to you about last night.” “Emma—” I started, wanting to reassure her, chase away whatever bad feelings she was having about what had happened between us. There was nothing bad about it, except where we’d chosen to do it. “Let me,” she insisted, taking a deep breath. “I just want you to know, you can count on me to be professional with you, Chase. You need a good physical therapist to see you through the games. I can do that. Even though things got weird last night.” I reached out and took her hand. She stopped, looking at where we touched. “Things did not get weird between us. Things got right.” “We shouldn’t have—” “Emma, there’s what should be, and there’s what is.” I looked into her eyes, wanting her to not just listen but understand. But she was wearing sunglasses, so it was hard to gauge her reaction. “Yes, it would be less complicated if we didn’t feel this way. But we do.” She swallowed and nodded. “It’s complicated, though.” “But it’s right. I’m so glad I’ve met you. Even though the timing is crazy.” “And I’m supposed to be a professional.” Was that a wobble in her voice? No, this wasn’t supposed to be fraught with tension. What was happening between us was good. Wasn’t it? “You’re all stressed out,” I stated the obvious. “I know, why don’t you let me massage you for a change?” “What?” I shifted my chair closer and took her foot in my hand. “Your calf muscle gets sore sometimes, right? From an old injury?” “Sometimes.” She bit her lip, unsure, looking at where I held her foot. “You lie back and relax and let me work that out.” I had none of the training she did, but I’d had enough people work on my muscles to pick up a thing or two. Plus, touching Emma had an intoxicating power, working a spell on me as I massaged and stroked my way up, then down her lower leg. She leaned back in the chair. With those dark sunglasses I couldn’t tell if she was watching, but I could feel her awareness. The energy that passed between us, the erotic charge as I moved my hands over her smooth skin. She squirmed a bit in her chair, not a lot but enough. She liked how it felt. I looked up, giving her a low smile. “That feel good?” “Mmmm.” The soft moan from her slightly parted lips, that was all the encouragement I needed. I took her other leg in my hands and started massaging it as well. We had the pool to ourselves. I’d do my best to keep things PG, at least to any passing eyes that happened to catch a glimpse. But as for her personal experience? I wanted that to be as X-rated as possible. “You don’t have to do this,” she protested. But she didn’t draw her legs away. “Let me,” I coaxed her, my hands kneading, caressing, stroking. “You spend all your time making other people feel good. Who does that for you?” She didn’t have an answer. I could answer for her. I was going to make her feel good, so good she would have a hard time remembering her own name. I couldn’t wait to see her engulfed by an orgasm, clutching and quivering, flushed and calling out. Maybe not right there full-on poolside, but I could give her a good preview of coming attractions. “That’s, wow,” she murmured in appreciation as I stroked. “But I’m not…” She trailed off, losing her speech to a wave of pleasure. I liked the look on her. I planned to see it often. After regaining her train of

thought, she protested again, “I’m not the one about to compete in the Olympics.” “Relax, Emma, this feels good to me, too. And I’m not going to see you for the next three days. I’m going to miss you.” She paused. “I’m going to miss you too,” she admitted, quietly. “But maybe the time apart will be good?” “Good?” What was good about not seeing each other? Nothing I could think of. “It’ll give us a few days to get our heads screwed on straight,” she continued. “This is…you know this isn’t a good idea.” “Here, let me get your shoulders and back.” I stood and moved over to her chair. We needed more touching and less worrying. She sat up, looking surprised, and I climbed right in behind her, my thighs straddling her on either side. Before she could express any more reservations, I started in on her shoulders, rubbing and kneading where I knew she felt tense. There, now I knew that had to feel good. “Oh,” she exhaled, tension flowing out of her as I pressed and massaged. She had her hair up in a ponytail, leaving her neck exposed for my fingers to explore and rub, soothing and stroking. “You’re tense,” I murmured. “You need to relax.” I remembered how close she’d come last night, how worked up I’d gotten her. Pressing in toward the center of her upper back, I drew back her shoulders. “That feels so good,” she groaned. Nuzzling down toward her ear, I couldn’t resist giving it a light lick. She shivered at my touch. “It’ll always be intense between us, Emma. That’s how it is. It’s not going to cool off over the weekend.” She shivered again as I worked my hands down her back, stroking, massaging. Then I drew her against my chest as I cupped her shoulders. Leaning down to kiss her neck, I had a perfect view of her breasts in that small bikini top. Her nipples stood out in two firm peaks of arousal, begging for my touch. “You have the most incredible breasts,” I whispered in her ear, my hand moving up to stroke her neck. “I can’t wait to suck on them again.” I could feel the intake of her breath, feel her still against me as she responded to my naughty words. She gripped the arm of the chair, and dropped her other hand to my thigh, spreading her fingers along it. Working my hand down along her side, I caressed her hip, then drew her back against me. Pressing her directly against my erection, full and hard up against her plush, round, perfect ass. She gasped, tilting her head back against my shoulder. “Do you feel how hard I am?” I growled into her, securing her against me. “Yes,” she sighed and God helped me, she wiggled her ass against my cock. I closed my eyes, my fingers joining hers as I gripped the arm of the lounger. White, blinding need nearly consumed me. I needed to bury myself in her, deep. She whispered, shy, sounding awed, “You feel so big.” That made me even bigger. With the hand on her hip, I pushed her back against me again, rocking her against my hardness. “I can’t wait to be inside you.” She groaned, as if picturing the same thing. I knew we were in public, sitting out at a hotel pool, but her nipples were nearly driving me insane. Insistent, erect, pushing against the triangles of her bikini top, she looked so erotic. She was desperate for me to touch her, palm her, cup and maybe pinch her tips. I’d love to feel her squirm against me, the little sounds she’d make. I couldn’t undress her, not right there, so I’d just have to see how far I could go. Pushing against her again, pulling her ass back against me, I slid my other hand along her thigh, rubbing it, stroking, gently grazing my fingers along her skin. I stopped short of touching her pussy like I wanted to, but I came near. Near enough to make her think about how good it would feel. “I loved feeling how slick you were for me last night,” I murmured, rough and low. “Mmm.” A whisper of a moan came from her lips and she swallowed. Watching her get turned on stoked my fire even more.

“But there was one problem.” I drifted my hand along her stomach, teasing, up underneath her breast, tormenting her. She wriggled her ass back against my cock, pressing her thighs together like she needed some more pressure, more friction. “I didn’t get to make you come last night.” In a soft voice she answered, “Yes, you did.” My hands stilled. What did she say? “How’s that?” “When I got home,” she continued breathlessly. “I thought about what you did.” So turned on I couldn’t even move, I asked, “Did you touch yourself?” “Yes,” she confessed, quiet, just for me. “Were you thinking about me?” “Yes.” I slid my hand up her thigh again, tracing the edge of her bikini bottom, pushing my cock into her ass as I asked, “Did you come hard, baby?” “Yes,” she panted. “Are you wet right now?” I asked, looking down at her, still all covered up. “I’m so wet, Chase.” And then a group of women emerged from a far door exiting the hotel, their voices and laughter announcing their arrival. Glancing up, I recognized one or two of them as people working with our team. It looked like they were headed for the pool. Fuck. With a frustrated growl, I removed my hands from Emma. The whimper she made nearly pushed me over the edge. I knew how frustrated she felt. All the cold showers in the world wouldn’t cool this off. “This is not over,” I warned her. Or assured her, I didn’t know how she’d take it. The storm I was bringing was of frightening proportions, so out-of-control it kept getting unleashed in the wrong places, like a storage closet a few feet away from everyone we knew. Or a hotel pool. Next time I’d have to make sure we were in a goddamned hotel room. Grabbing a folded white hotel towel from a low table next to us, I stood up and wrapped it around my waist. I made a quick exit out the far side, cursing the whole way under my breath. Coach drilled us through a killer workout, the last one before we officially started tapering, resting up for the games. And that transitioned right into an endlessly long team dinner. Everyone and their cousin wanted to toast, wish us well, talk about how hard we’d worked and how it was all going to pay off. We were just heading out for the weekend, people. We’d all reconvene next week in Georgia. Could we save the sentimentality until after we’d actually won some medals? It seemed I was the only one in that mood, though. Everyone else let the good feelings flow as I checked the time on my phone. I called Emma as soon as I got out. She didn’t answer. We were all set to fly out tomorrow morning. She’d said maybe it would be good to get a few days away from me. Damn it. I headed to my hotel room, telling myself to switch on autopilot. I knew how to do it. Swim, stretch, swim, strength, sleep, punctuated by constant fueling all the time. Emma had me so revved up, so raring to go, but maybe I had to channel all that energy into the water. I sure had the right opportunity, waiting only days away. I stretched, ate, watched TV, then headed to bed, but I didn’t even make it through the night. I didn’t have nightmares too frequently any more, but some nights when I had an over-active mind it still happened. In my dreams, I was back in the water. Black, sightless, cold in my lungs as I sucked the water down, I re-lived the accident, pulled down into a freezing, lifeless, helpless grave where I couldn’t move, couldn’t scream— Until I woke myself up, sweaty, tangled in the sheets, heart racing. I knew what had happened right away. It wasn’t the first time I’d had a nightmare about drowning. But it still took a few minutes to get my bearings. Feet on the floor, that helped. Head between my knees, I focused on slowing down my breathing.

Who knew that 12 years after the accident I’d still have night terrors? It didn’t make sense to me, but it happened. Not nearly as often, but it still did. PTSD, some therapist had told me. After a traumatic event, the body and mind sometimes processed it by re-living the experience. When did that fun finally stop for good? After a few minutes and a large glass of water, I felt better, but wide awake. Sleep wasn’t happening. It was 2 a.m., but I decided to head to the pool. Heading into the water to calm myself after a nightmare about drowning? Yeah, I knew it didn’t make sense. But it worked for me. The water was my home, where I felt most centered and at peace. The water was where I could get myself into a rhythm, slow my mind and get into harmony and sync again. In the middle of the night, I was the only one there. It was an indoor facility, so there was no cover to remove, no prep work to perform. I could simply dive straight in. Settling into an easy pace, the motions and movement were so routine I executed them without conscious thought. The flow and Zen sense of balance all started to pervade me, restoring my sense of self even as it removed my need for it. That feeling, as transcendent and elusive as it sounded, I almost expected. It happened more often than not when I swam. What surprised me was the person I looked up and found standing at the edge of the pool.

CHAPTER 9 Emma

I couldn’t sleep. I was usually a pretty good sleeper, but not tonight. Tonight I had too much on my mind. And I realized I missed my parents. I didn’t live with them anymore. I’d been on my own really since I was 18 and went off to college at Florida Atlantic. I’d moved back to Vero afterward, but into my own apartment. But they’d always been right there, a short drive away. It wasn’t as if we spent all our time together having heart-to-hearts. My dad wasn’t much of a talker, really, and my mom was always hustling and bustling around. But I realized that being around them felt so reassuring to me. Even when craziness was going down with my horribly failed attempts with boyfriends, all it took was folding some laundry with Mom or doing some yardwork with Dad and everything felt all right again. They were such nice, reliable people, my mom a nurse, my father a property manager for a few local commercial buildings. They took care of things and people, watered lawns for neighbors on vacation, remembered birthdays. I wanted to be like them when I grew up. At 25, shouldn’t I already feel grown up? Why did I still feel like a kid, mucking my way through life without a clue? I’d started on this adventure so excited about the scheme Tori and I had hatched. We could take our blog to the next level! Get all kinds of crazy exposure, all while having the times of our lives! She was already in Rio, part of the early PR crew covering the set-up, starting the hype. From her texts, it was everything she’d expected and more. And she hadn’t even met the athletes yet! She couldn’t wait. Me? I felt like I’d completely lost my mooring. If I discovered untold stories from Chase’s past, how would I feel about telling them to the world? I was starting to think I’d feel like shit. He must have reasons he’d kept things quiet. And from what I’d learned about him, they were probably good reasons. He didn’t seem like a frivolous person, deciding to deny interviews just for the hell of it. And I was starting to feel awful for my ulterior motive in getting to know him. Besides, other motives were quickly jockeying for top position. The more I learned about him, the more intriguing I found him. Yes, he burned with a fierce intensity that could, maybe even should scare me off. Instead, I felt thrilled by him. He truly amazed me with what he’d been through and the goals he was fighting so hard to achieve. And when he turned that intensity on me? Holy hell, I’d nearly burst into flames by the side of that pool. I hadn’t seen him the rest of the day, but I could still feel where our bodies had touched, where he’d pressed against me. Hard, urgent, driving me out of my mind. I’d gone out to dinner with the women I’d become friendly with over the week, the ones I’d headed out with the other night. And I hadn’t answered Chase’s call. Maybe it was immature of me, but I felt so in over my head. I needed some time to figure things out. But my mind raced so much I couldn’t sleep. Wide awake at two a.m., I laced up my sneakers and went out for a walk, just from the hotel to the swim complex and back. It was a safe area, and the distance

wasn’t far. Hopefully, it would be enough to calm my restless energy. When I got to the swim center, I saw a light on inside. Somehow, I knew who it was. Who else would be up in the middle of the night restless with pent-up energy? Despite the warnings going off in my head—hadn’t I felt like I needed some distance?—I walked in and found him in the pool, swimming laps. He stopped when he saw me at the edge. “Getting in an extra work out?” I asked. “What are you doing here?” “I couldn’t sleep.” He pulled up his goggles and we looked at each other. Then he pulled himself out of the pool. Even that looked like poetry in motion, such fluid strength with all that water sluicing off of him, streaming down his ripples of muscles. “Give me a sec.” He strode off to the changing room, then came out about three minutes later in a Tshirt and shorts. “That was quick.” I looked at his wet hair. He’d been wearing a cap while he swam, so he must have showered. “Like I’ve said before, I can be quick when I need to. But when I can, I like to take my time.” There was no mistaking the double meaning in his words this time around. I looked down, feeling shy and somewhat overwhelmed at how strongly I responded to him. With a few words, he had my pulse racing. “Let me walk you back to your room.” He wrapped my hand in his and together we started off, flicking off the lights and making sure the door was locked behind us. The crickets were loud in the hot, humid summer night, serenading us as we walked. Under the street lights, we traveled the sidewalk. With the difference in our heights, you wouldn’t expect it would be so easy to walk side by side. He had quite a bit more leg length than I did. But, like so many other things between us, we easily clicked, falling into step as if we’d been doing it our whole lives. There, in the middle of the night with Chase, I felt a strange sense of peace. All the jitters that had followed me throughout the day melted away at the touch of his hand, the heat I felt radiating from his body. I just loved being around him. We reached the hotel too soon. I wished we could keep on walking, but we headed into the lobby and over to the bank of elevators. “Third floor, right?” he asked, still holding my hand, punching the key. I nodded, not bothering to ask how he knew. By now I knew the man was interested in me. He must have asked the front desk and thought about stopping by, maybe had some time while I was out. When we got to my door, he stopped and reached out a hand to caress my cheek, then my chin with his thumb. “We both have a lot on our minds,” he murmured. I nodded, not wanting to say good night, but not sure what I wanted to happen next. It felt like something big was happening between us, something I’d never experienced before. I didn’t know what to do with myself. “Do you want to come in?” I asked, looking at his chest. “Do you want me to?” He tilted my chin so I was looking up at him. He searched my eyes. I closed them, feeling too vulnerable. But I rested my head against his chest and he wrapped his arms around me, holding me there so strong and secure I about decided I wanted to move in. My new home: his arms. “Yes,” I decided, moving to take out my room card and unlock the door. He followed behind me and I flicked on the light. “Why is your room so small?” he asked, sounding affronted on my behalf.

I looked around. It was a standard room in a standard hotel, a double bed, bureau and TV, plus a side table with a desk chair. Nothing to write home about, but not upsetting. “This is what everyone’s room is like. Except yours.” I recalled he had a nice set-up in a suite. Because he was one of the VIPs on the swim team? Or because he’d paid out-of-pocket for an upgrade? I didn’t know, and felt nosy asking. “You’ll get upgraded in the new hotel,” he assured me. “That’s nice, Chase, but not necessary.” “Yes, it is,” he insisted. “Have you not stayed in many regular hotel rooms?” “Sure I have. But I can’t stay in a suite with you in a box like this. I had no idea.” “It hasn’t been bad.” “You’re too nice,” he chastised, taking me in his arms again. “You should have thrown a fit once you saw where they were putting me up.” “I’m not big on throwing fits,” I admitted. I’d grown up in a calm, drama-free environment and had learned to love it. As much as Tori entertained me with her ups and downs, I myself was no fan of drama. I hoped someday I’d meet a man who felt the same way. And then it hit me. Maybe I had. “You’re shaking,” he whispered into my hair, his hands along my back, and I realized he was right. “Are you all right?” All right? It was three in the morning and I hadn’t slept at all. I felt so messed up and confused about what was right and what was wrong. Half of me wanted to jump him and have wild porno sex all night long. The other half of me remembered how I’d felt all day and night before I’d seen him again—like I needed a breather. “I’m scared,” I admitted. “Of me?” he asked, pulling back a few inches to look at my face. “Of us.” I swallowed, worrying I sounded crazy. I didn’t know how to express what I was feeling. “You don’t need to be frightened.” He wrapped his arms around me again, nestling my head against his shoulder, stroking my hair. “Nothing’s going to happen that you don’t want. I know I’m intense. I can dial it back.” “It’s not really your intensity that’s freaking me out. It’s mine. And I’m feeling really confused and exhausted.” Where was all this honesty coming from? I confessed thoughts to him I hadn’t even fully formed. “You need to get some sleep.” He kissed my forehead, reluctantly pulling away. “Don’t go,” I found myself saying, grabbing on to his hand. He nodded. “I’ll stay if you want.” I didn’t know what exactly I was proposing, but I knew I wanted to be with him. He reached over to flip out the light, then drew back the covers. That’s the kind of moves you had with giant Olympic swimmer arms like his. It made me smile and together we climbed in, finding each other in the darkness, clothes still on, melting into each other’s body. “Let me hold you tonight, Emma,” he whispered, kissing my hair, pressing my cheek to his chest. I could hear his heartbeat as we lay together, so steady and strong. “I want to make you feel good. Let’s just sleep tonight.” I could barely believe it, given how horny the man had made me in the closet, at the pool, but against his solid warmth in bed, with his large hands caressing my back, sure and slow, I felt sleep ease its way into my limbs. My eyelids grew heavy, my thoughts fuzzy, my awareness narrowing to sensory impressions. His heartbeat. The rise and fall of his chest. His smell, a unique masculine musk I knew already on instinct. Plus a hint of chlorine, which until now I’d never found sexy. Who knew pool chemicals could combine into something so delicious, so sensual, so dreamy…

The next thing I knew, he was giving me a good-bye kiss the next morning. Standing already at the side of the bed, he leaned down to my cheek. “Thank you, Emma.” And he was out the door. § The flight home wasn’t bad, just three and a half hours. My parents were waiting for me, full of questions. They were so excited. We were such huge fans of the Olympics and now I was getting a chance to be part of it all. I wished they had the money to come join and watch in person, but a trip to Rio plus a hotel during the highest-demand window the city had ever experienced? Not going to happen. “I know you’ve been busy,” Mom explained, “So I’ve been saving these for you. Look who’s on the cover!” She handed me a couple of magazines in the back seat of the car as we drove back from the airport. Look who, indeed. Chase Carter gazed at me from the cover of People magazine and Men’s Health. On Sports Illustrated, though, he had to share the space with a couple of his teammates. I bet they would have sold more copies if they’d just featured him. With those ice blue eyes and his steely, locked gaze, you could feel the determination radiating from his set jaw. The man was going to win gold, and he would do it over and over again. The world was waiting. Was that really the same man who’d held me in his arms all last night as I slept? I must have been dreaming. “What’s he like?” Mom asked. “Is he hard to work with?” “Make him treat you right,” my father advised from the driver’s seat. It was as if he already knew he had to give me that kind of relationship advice. I tried to answer their questions as best as I could, but my mother knew me well enough to ease up. “She’s tired,” she told my father, patting his arm. “Let’s not pester her.” “We’ll give her some dinner first,” he agreed. I felt like I hadn’t slept in a week. I didn’t even make it back to my apartment after dinner. I just crawled down the hallway like a little kid and fell into my old bed. My room now shared space with a treadmill, but Mom still kept my twin bed set up for the odd night I might want to sleep over. With Tori out of town already in Rio, there was no one in my apartment to chat with so I ended up spending the whole weekend. I didn’t need more time in my head. I needed regular life and my parents offered that up in spades. Trips to the post office, hardware and grocery stores, making fresh summer salads, fixing loose doorknobs, they ran a tight ship and I enjoyed getting pulled into their organized, efficient bustle. I didn’t stop by The Center for Sports Medicine, even though I would have liked to say hello to some of my co-worker friends. There was too much risk I’d get pulled into working with a client. Other members of the group practice had happily taken over all of my patients during my month-long absence, but if I walked in and someone had called in sick or needed a break I’d for sure get called into line of duty. I didn’t mind helping out my parents, but I needed my weekend off. I kept my father company while he tinkered with a bike in our garage. And when I said bike, I didn’t mean motorcycle. To me, my dad was super cool, but even I knew he wasn’t motorcycle cool. Once the bike was oiled and ready, I hopped right on and headed out into the late afternoon Florida sunshine. As a local, I didn’t go out in the middle of the day to bake myself slathered in oil. What I loved were the late afternoons, crowds subsided, lazy sunshine and last fading rays. Give me a book and a beach chair and I was in my happy place. When I got to the beach, my phone blipped with a text. It was a photo of a beach. From Chase. I almost looked around, half wondering if he were there. I texted him back. Emma: Where are you?

Chase: Naugatuck. My dad’s house. How’s Vero? The best way to reply? A photo, of course. I locked my bike and walked out past the dunes onto the white sandy beach. I’d lived there all my life, but the coastline never ceased to amaze. The crashing waves and cries of gulls, the scampering clusters of sandpipers and white puffy clouds against endless blue, it welcomed me home like nothing else. I snapped a pic, which of course didn’t do it justice. Photos never did. Someday I’d have to learn to paint. Maybe in my retirement I’d head out every day with an easel and devote myself to trying to capture even a fraction of the beauty of the ocean. I sent Chase my version of coastline. Chase: I thought I sensed you nearby. The man really knew how to make me smile. Emma: Have you ever been to Vero? Chase: No, Palm Beach though. Palm Beach meant money, money, money. About an hour and a half down the Atlantic coast of Florida, Palm Beach boasted a jet-setting society crowd and expensive boutiques on every corner. Vero had some of that, but a lot more mid-range, family-friendly restaurants and shops. I’d heard of Naugatuck, too. It was an exclusive island off the coast of Massachusetts, the type of place you’d vacation after the IPO and sale of your dot com. Chase must come from money. Another piece in the Chase Carter puzzle. I’d lost track of whether I was putting it together with my blogger hat on, or whether it was just me, Emma Nelson, interested single woman. Chase: What have you been up to? Emma: Catching up on reading the latest issue of People magazine. I couldn’t help it. I had to tease him. The man was the featured cover model on practically every major national publication. It was too weird not to mention. Chase: Do you have a poster of me up on your bedroom wall? I burst out laughing. I didn’t know why, but Chase’s humor always surprised me. It was probably his intensity, the burning heat in those blue eyes. He didn’t look like he had a great sense of humor. But it turned out he knew exactly what to say to crack me up. Emma: I was thinking I’d make a collage. There’s plenty of photos of you to make a big one. Chase: That is so creepy. I pressed send on the “blow a kiss” emoji before I’d thought it through. It was an instinct. Tori and I communicated in large part via emojis and GIFs. She was the best at finding hilarious ones that I could reuse. But now I’d sent Chase a big kiss. Chase: Wish it were in person.

I put my phone back in my pocket. Two more days before I’d see him again. The next facility was only a state away in Georgia. Then we’d head directly to Rio. I biked over to a friend’s apartment to hang out. Another friend came over and we made enchiladas for dinner and watched a silly Zac Efron movie. Really, I’d watch anything with him in it as long as he removed his shirt. Thankfully, directors seemed to understand I was not alone in my thinking and that was exactly how he rolled for most of the movie. Back at my parent’s house at midnight, they were already asleep so I headed to my room. I felt guilty about it, but I was kind of glad to avoid any late-night heart-to-heart talks with my mom. She was so good at the laser-like questions, piercing right to the heart of the matter. And I knew what she’d say about my current situation. She’d like Chase all right, hard-working, clean-living and, at least from what I’d seen so far, really good to me. But she’d tell me to wait. Now wasn’t the right time to start anything. I was there in a professional capacity, hired as his physical therapist. He was about to compete in front of the eyes of the world, going for gold on an international stage. She wasn’t awake to say it, but I could almost hear her voice. If there was something real between us, why not wait two more weeks to find out? Why jeopardize my professional reputation and his crucial, final weeks before the most important event of his career and possibly life? We had all the time in the world after the games. That’s what my wonderfully rational, level-headed, middle-aged, happily-marriedto-the-same-man-for-28-years mother would say. With a sigh, I washed up and headed into my bedroom. It was just me, the treadmill, and the magazines my mother had thoughtfully amassed for me, all of which featured Chase. So, of course, I stayed up late reading stories about him. There weren’t many personal details in them. There was a lot about his swim times, of course, and references to his intriguing persona, but other than the facts that he’d grown up in Massachusetts and he’d attended Stanford, no one seemed to have much. They all made reference to the fact that he’d nearly drowned at 14—human interest angle!—but no one had captured the full story. It was all lined up for me to come in and hit a home run. There were a few references to Chase as a heartbreaker. The articles made him sound like a soughtafter, elusive ladies’ man. No one could catch him, in or out of the pool. Was I missing something? Or was that just hype? Either way, I didn’t like the feeling that I was one in a million, a face in the adoring, worshipping crowd. I felt so removed from the intimacy we’d shared. And I missed him. But then I heard from him the following afternoon. He texted me another photo, this one a close-up of a lobster holding a beer. Or, at least, a lobster made to look like he was holding one, with his claw wrapped around a bottle. Emma: Nice lobster Chase: That’s lob-stah. I’m back in Massachusetts. Emma: You don’t even have an accent. Chase: Yes, I’m trying to work on that and I’d appreciate your help. And, just like that, he put a smile back on my face. A few minutes later, it broadened even wider. I got another photo, very much to my liking. It featured Chase shirtless, all of his perfectly defined muscles on excellent display. Chase: See how buff your boy is?

Wait, who’d sent that? It clearly wasn’t Chase. I wanted to thank them. What eye candy. I clicked to enlarge it to full screen. The wind was in Chase’s hair, his head turned to the side with a classic strong profile as he kicked it on what looked like a deck. Those shoulders, so broad and strong. Had I really rested my head on them the day before yesterday? Chase: Sorry, my buddy Liam got the phone for a second. Emma: Does he frequently take shirtless photos of you? Chase: Only when he’s trying to piss me off. So, yes. I loved the thought of him goofing off with friends. He needed that, some time to relax before the entire world turned its attention on him in the pool. I wondered if he was seeing his family as well. He hadn’t mentioned them, only that he was at his father’s house. I somehow got the sense that he wasn’t that close with family. I knew the bond I had with my parents was much closer than most, and I felt grateful for it. I was their only child, a fact they mentioned frequently, with affection. And emotion, since I was headed to Rio. My mom, in particular, warned me repeatedly about the Zika virus. She wanted healthy grandbabies. “Wear long-sleeved shirts and pants,” my father advised. “Or just stay indoors!” my mother took it a step further. Together, they sent me off on Monday with so much insect repellent spray I thought I had a bottle for every day I’d be in Brazil. “I know this must be a wild ride you’re on.” Mom hugged me at security, wiping a tear away from her eye. “You’re going to do a great job.” “Call us.” Dad hugged me, too. “And text!” They waved at me as I headed into the long line. They were both wearing matching Team USA 2016 Swimming T-shirts. No one ever accused my parents of being cool. But they were awesome. “Emma!” my mom called after me. “Enjoy every second!” § The hotel in Atlanta looked fancier than the one we’d stayed at in San Antonio. The high-ceilinged lobby featured a gigantic chandelier. The marble floor gleamed. No line to wait in, a staff member greeted me right away and pulled up my reservation. “Right next door to Mr. Carter, as requested,” she informed me as she handed me my room card. Right next door? I had a feeling I knew who had made that request. A shiver of anticipation traveled down my spine. I was in for quite a week.

CHAPTER 10 Chase

It was good to see Liam and some of his buddies. They lived there year-round, not like the wealthy seasonal residents. They were the ones who kept things running for everyone else, firefighters and police officers and construction workers. They were always a fun group, easy to hang with, no heavy talk, plenty of joking around. One of them had gotten married recently. That surprised me, but I guess he was 27, prime marrying time. Almost none of my teammates were married, but a lot of them were younger than me. Some of them were teenagers. At 26, I was still considered right in my prime for swimming, but by the next games I wouldn’t be. That wasn’t the case for a lot of the people I spent all day, every day with. To a lot of them, this Olympics was their first of two or even three attempts. To me, this was it. And then it would be over. That was why it felt good to spend the weekend with a bunch of people who weren’t obsessed with the Olympics. It was a good reminder that there was a whole life outside of my small, intense world. I still thought about Emma the whole time. Her laughter, her sweet shy nervousness. And those moments when she lost her reticence under my touch. Her soft skin and her supple, flexible limbs that I wanted wrapped around me. I dreamed about her at night and tried not to talk too much about her during the day. But Liam still picked up on it. “What’s the deal with this Emma?” he asked me Saturday night as we hung out on his deck having some beers. Root beer where I was concerned. “Emma who?” I tried. He just looked at me. Damn, I hadn’t even been there 24 hours and I’d already blown my cover. “She’s a physical therapist, from Florida. Traveling with us for the next three weeks. Working with me until the games are over.” “Working with you?” He cocked an eyebrow. I raised mine in response. “Interesting.” Since he’d elected himself captain of the team devoted to getting Chase involved in things other than swimming, he liked the idea a whole lot. Which was why he did asinine things like sneak a picture of me and text it to Emma. And tell me how much he was looking forward to meeting her in Rio so he could have a good chat with her. I knew what that meant. He was issuing a warning. I needed to lock things down with her by then, or he’d play fairy godfather and lock us together in a supply closet. Too late, I’d already tried that move. Only I forgot to lock the door. I talked to my parents over the weekend as well, but didn’t see them. Dad was in New York where he spent a lot of time. Mom was hosting a garden party on Sunday and had wanted me to come out to her home in Wellesley. Neither of them still lived in the house where I’d grown up. That had been sold after the divorce.

“Thanks, Mom, but I can’t make it.” The last thing I wanted to do was stand around with a bunch of her friends making small talk about my chances for Olympic gold. Even my mom and I seemed hard-pressed to get far past small talk together. Once we got beyond agreeing it had been a hot July so far, yes, I was still training nearly every second of every day and, yes, her wrist was healing nicely after a fall a couple of months ago, we were left without much to say. “Met anyone nice lately?” she tried, a question I always brushed aside. I didn’t have time to meet anyone nice. I mean, I met women all the time, but I didn’t have the time to find out what they were like. Except this time, I had. “I’ll tell you about it after the games,” I surprised her by answering. “Really?” she asked, clearly intrigued. “When do you arrive again?” I got her telling me about logistics, successfully diverting her attention. I steadfastly refused to get involved in the “I want to see you but I don’t want to see your father,” discussion. I’d had enough of all of that drama. They’d have to sort out their own shit to figure out how to be in the same place at the same time. Their son was in the Olympics. Deal with it. My dad just wanted to talk to me about swim times. He considered himself quite the coach, despite having barely spent any time in the water. He had my build—or I guess it was more accurate to say that I had his—so he probably could have been a top-tier swimmer had he gone for it, but he’d done more traditional sports in school like baseball and football. In fact, he’d fought my devotion to swimming, especially after the accident. “Swimmers don’t get the girls,” he’d tried on me when I’d been a young teenager. He was right in New England at least, where swimming was largely an indoor, out-of-sight pursuit for the socially awkward. It wasn’t until I went to some summer training camps and then Stanford that I realized how huge swimming was in other parts of the country. But now that I was at the top of my game, my father was all about securing that number one spot. Google “competitive” and I was pretty sure a picture of my dad would come up. I guessed I’d inherited that from him as well. I’d had more than one person tell me I was a real chip off the old block. But what if I didn’t like that block too much? I didn’t exactly walk around with a lot of adolescent angst, hating on my father, blaming him for his imperfections. He’d given me a lot, paying for private school, team fees, the best coaches and training programs. I earned income from sponsorships now, but he’d given me my start and I’d always be grateful to him for that. But I didn’t exactly see him enjoying life. He always seemed in a rush. He’d torn through two marriages, saw me, his only child, only a couple times a year, and was always talking a mile a minute into his earpiece while simultaneously texting and emailing about confidential, high profile deals. You know that Dickens’ story A Christmas Carol? I couldn’t help but see my father like the ghost of Christmas future. I could end up exactly like him if I didn’t watch myself. He didn’t have a bad life. He was a well-educated, world-traveled man who’d amassed a broad network and sizeable fortune through financial ventures. But to me, his life seemed kind of empty. Most of the people around him were either blowhards or kiss-ups, and the women he spent time with were mainly interested in his money. It wasn’t as if I had a grand plan for life post-Olympics, but I hoped there’d somehow be more to it. I wanted to do something meaningful and fulfilling. I just didn’t know what that was yet. Over the weekend, I talked to my coach, too. He kept in touch with me, sending texts, calling to check in. He didn’t want anything fucking things up for me—or him. Everything was riding on Rio. Yeah, I knew that. Which was why I flew into Atlanta early Monday morning, checking myself in ahead of schedule. And making sure Emma would be staying in a suite right next to mine. Adjoining, in fact, if she wanted to unlock that door. Her call. And I’d do everything in my power to persuade her to do exactly that.

Coach was one floor below me. I knew because he texted me his suite number and told me to come find him pronto. I headed down and fastened my seatbelt for what I knew would be one hell of a motivational talk. “Chase, come on in.” He opened the door and, oh shit, he had the other two main coaches with him as well. Three on one. They must have something they wanted to talk with me about. “Have a seat,” he gestured to the vacant chair. I felt like I was in an intervention. They got right to it. Apparently in San Antonio I’d seemed off. Not myself. Distracted. “This isn’t the time to mess around with anything new, Chase.” My head coach warned me. “Keep it consistent. Don’t rock the boat. Stay focused. We’re almost there.” I nodded, hearing his words but chafing slightly under the constraints. I knew they had my best interest in mind. I wanted to win gold every bit as much as them. But I felt like that racehorse again, only this time they were trying to put the blinders on me. It felt different when I chose the blinders myself, narrowing my own focus in singular pursuit of swimming. But when they told me I needed to do it? I felt my middle finger wanting to crank up at them. Why did my teammates get to fuck around with anything that moved? I didn’t even ask the question before mentally answering myself. Because it didn’t matter to them. With a lot of the guys I swam with, fucking was like any other bodily function. The thought of any woman getting under their skin was laughable. What was happening between me and Emma was different. “Yeah, you got it.” I gave my coaches the assurances they wanted. Head in the game, eyes on the prize and all that. They seemed satisfied. It wasn’t as if I’d been caught out partying with hookers or pulled over with a DUI. I just clearly had more on my mind than usual. But even they couldn’t claim that it had negatively affected my swimming. I’d been like lightning in the pool in San Antonio. They were simply worried that it might affect my future performance. And once they brought it up, I got a little worried, too. What if I was making a huge mistake by letting myself get distracted this close to the most major competition of my life? My one shot to prove myself to the world. Maybe Emma was knocking me off my game? The second I saw her standing at the door of my hotel room, I knew that wasn’t true. Radiant and smiling up at me, her toffee-colored hair tumbled over her shoulders, golden flecks dancing in her light brown eyes. She wasn’t taking the wind out of my sails. She was breathing new life into me, giving me a real reason to do all this besides acting like a mindless machine. She made me feel alive. “Hey.” I let her into my room, Monday afternoon. Should I kiss her hello? I paused for a second, looking down at her, so fit and gorgeous. Aw, fuck it. Wrapping my arms around her, I drew her to me and kissed her as deeply as I’d missed her. A whole hell of a lot. She paused for a moment, maybe hesitant or maybe just surprised. I’d surprised myself, to be honest. I wasn’t usually big on displays of emotion. But Emma was making me break all my rules. Her lips felt so sweet and warm and soft. She brought her hands up to my shoulders, tentative at first, then pulling me closer and wrapping around my muscles. “Chase!” she gasped when I dipped down to her throat, giving her a kiss that became a lick and a light suck. “I told you I wanted to kiss you in person.” I dialed it back slightly, still holding her, but moving up to give her a more restrained kiss on her head. “Good to see you again.” “Good to see you, too,” she agreed. Reaching up, she ran her fingers through my hair. I suppressed a groan of pleasure. “You cut it.” Funny she noticed, I think the guy had only taken off about a quarter of an inch. I kept my hair short, as did most swimmers. With the amount of sweat and chlorine and showering that went on in my life, there was not much time for styling of locks.

Much as we may have wanted, we didn’t have time for a long hello. We had a group dinner with the whole crew, only this time no open bar, no dance floor. Lots of sitting and listening to motivational speeches as we picked at plates of dry chicken, veggies and rice. But Emma was sitting next to me, so that gave me something to think about. She wore a short, athletic skirt that skimmed the top of her thighs. It was all I could do not to drift over my hand under the table and run a finger along her smooth skin. I wanted to feel her part her legs for me again, hear the sounds of pleasure I could coax out of her. I still hadn’t felt her come for me. Not yet. I didn’t want to wait another minute. But the dinner went on and on. And even I knew I couldn’t finger Emma at a table with all my teammates and the entire Olympic crew in the middle of a hotel conference room. We’d already picked two bad, public, easy-to-interrupt locations for getting into it. I wasn’t going to make the same mistake a third time. And afterward, when I finally thought we were free to go, no. Coach called yet another meeting, this time with the men’s relay swimmers. Really? Was this his new technique, killing us by talking us to death? But I sat there and listened to the value of teamwork, the importance of getting ourselves in sync not just physically but mentally as well. Yup, sync, got it. Now can I go? After we hugged it out, because, yes, coach honestly brought us in for a group hug, I was off like a kid on the last day of school. Fuck waiting for the elevator, I took the stairs. She opened the door at my first knock, quickly, as if she’d been waiting for me. I’m not sure if the door closed fully behind me before I had her in my arms, devouring her. “Emma,” I murmured, running my hands down her body, her slender waist, her hips. Cupping her ass, I brought her against me. I wanted no space between us, no clothes, no barriers at all. Sweeping her up into my arms, I carried her over to the couch, my mouth never leaving her body, her neck, her cheeks, her strawberry lips. I sucked and nibbled and kissed her like I’d been wanting to do since the moment I met her, and she did it right back. But I still felt the need to be a gentleman. The last time together, she’d been shaking hard in my arms, confused and scared. I never wanted her to feel frightened around me. No matter how crazy I felt about her, I could keep things in check if that’s what she wanted. I sat down, bringing her with me onto my lap. She settled right in, fitting as perfectly as I’d always known she would. Her ass rested right on me and she wiggled a little, getting comfortable, making me as hard as a rock. I brought my hands to her waist and forced myself to slow down, just kissing her. Kissing those lips I’d literally dreamed about, how juicy they looked parted with her hushed moans escaping. How good they felt pressed against my skin. Panting, I rested my forehead against hers. I caught her hand in mine, entwining our fingers, rubbing my thumb along her inner wrist. Her pulse was racing right along with mine. “How are you feeling about us?” I knew I was taking a risk in asking. I could feel her response to me. If I just kept right on going, I bet I could get her to give me a green light in no time. But I didn’t just want her body along for the ride. I wanted all of her, no regrets, no reservations. And I could wait until she was ready to do it. “Chase.” She exhaled as she said my name, as if she’d been holding her breath the entire time. I knew how that felt. She nearly knocked the wind right out of me, too. “It’s so intense with you.” I nodded, closing my eyes, breathing her in. She had such a uniquely delicious scent. I couldn’t wait to bury myself in her, licking, kissing, tasting her honeyed sweetness until I felt drunk. “I’m…” she continued, searching for words. “I mean, obviously I’m into you.” We both laughed at the reality of our connection, so strong and undeniable. “But I’m worried. We just sat through a whole talk about how this is the time we’re all supposed to focus, double down, dig deep. I’m not exactly being professional here.” She gestured to us, sitting together on the couch, her thighs bare as her legs stretched

out to the side. “And you’re not supposed to be getting all distracted. I swear, I felt like your coach was looking right at us when he said no one can afford to screw around right now.” “He probably was,” I admitted. I’d noticed it, too. “Oh God, I’d hoped I was being paranoid.” She dropped her face to my chest, embarrassed. “Shh, Emma, we’re not doing anything wrong.” “Yes, we are!” She burst out laughing, but not in a happy way, more like what I’d said was absurd. “This is completely wrong! My parents would be shocked.” “Yeah, they probably wouldn’t like to see you humping me.” I had to tease her. She was being too hard on herself. And from my perspective, our coaches were being closed-minded. They meant we shouldn’t be out partying and fucking around. This wasn’t that. She groaned, again not in the way I wanted to hear her groaning. And she brought her hands to her face, away from my shoulders where they’d felt so right. See, this was what I got for trying to be a good guy. “All right, how about this. No sex.” What was I saying? I needed to stop myself from talking. “What?” Even she looked slightly dismayed at my suggestion. “We’ll go slow, Emma. We don’t have to rush what’s between us. There’s a lot going on right now.” “The Olympics,” she nodded. “Yeah, that,” I agreed. What I’d been training for over the last 12 years of my life. Just that. “But I’m not staying away from you,” I continued. “That’s too much to ask. Unless it’s what you want.” “No,” she quickly disabused me of that notion. “Good, because I’m not sure I could even if you wanted me to,” I admitted. Yes, it sounded nuts, but I guessed this was how people felt when they were falling. I definitely felt no solid ground beneath my feet. But instead of thinking anymore, I let myself do what I really wanted and lowered my mouth again to hers, drinking her in. I lost myself in her sighs, her body pressed against mine. She grew bolder as we kissed, tasting me with her tongue, nipping my bottom lip, clutching at my bicep. I could feel the doubt leaving her body as she let herself feel, be in the moment as we explored each other. Her legs beckoned to me, so shapely and athletic, draped over mine. I slipped off her flip-flops and caressed every inch of her, from the toes all the way up to the edge of her short skirt. My fingers danced there, tracing the line, wanting to move up, but wanting her to ask for it. I didn’t want to do any more than she wanted. And I had to admit, as much as it drove me crazy in the process, I liked teasing her. Getting her so worked up, I’d never felt more powerful. Nothing had ever given me such a rush, not winning an event, not even breaking a world record. Feeling her come alive in my arms, twisting against me, the heat building in her core as she started breathing more heavily, her eyes half-closed as she pulled at my shirt, wanting it off. It was a like a drug, coaxing out her desire. I took off my shirt and she removed her own, then threw her arms around my neck, pressing her hot little body against mine. Yes, the feel of our skin touching, I could barely think any more. But I needed space, just a little, so I could take a good look. I was a visual guy. The image of her breasts in a simple cream lace bra, a demi cup just grazing the tips of her nipples, nearly seared my brain. So round and pert and begging for attention. I cupped my hands under her breasts, palming them, leaning down to draw my tongue along the exposed upper flesh. She shivered and pressed her hands to my chest, nearly pawing at me. “So pretty, Emma. So gorgeous.” I teased her nipple through the lace, loving how it hardened with arousal in my mouth. She moaned, digging her fingers into my shoulders. Good thing she didn’t have long nails or she would have left claw marks. That might make some interesting headline news the next day. “I said no sex tonight,” I reminded myself as much as I did her. “And I’ll stick to that. But there is something I didn’t promise. Something I’m going to have to do.”

“What?” she managed, breathless, her lips already swollen with my kisses, her cheeks flushed with arousal. “I’m going to have to make you come.”

CHAPTER 11 Emma

“Chase,” I groaned, already throbbing and squirming with need. The man knew exactly how to touch me to drive me wild. Not to mention his words. I’d had a couple of guys try to talk dirty to me in the past and they’d just sounded stupid. No, I did not want to go for a ride, cowboy. But Chase wasn’t trying to play games. He was dead serious. He was world famous for his intensity, and now he had it all turned on me. My whole body quivered in needy anticipation. “Can I touch you, Emma?” he asked, stroking my thighs gently, so torturously. “I want to feel you again. You felt so good on my fingers.” I swallowed and nodded my agreement. I already didn’t feel that in control of speaking. I’d never felt so frenzied before, especially after having done so little. We’d only been making out like teenagers and I already felt close to an orgasm. At my assent, he slipped my skirt right off of me. Bless those stretchy athletic skirts, they really were easy on, easy off. He didn’t waste any time with my panties, either. Those he swept to the floor, then settled me onto his lap again right where he wanted me. I could feel his hardness pressing through his jeans, that thick, long shaft I’d seen bulging through his briefs. With a sigh, I pressed against him. He chuckled, low, then dipped his mouth to my neck. Giving me a lick, then a quick, fresh nip, he teased, “You’re so worked up, baby.” He unclasped my bra and threw it to the side, too. He had me completely naked, squirming in his lap. “Chase, I’m…” I reached up for his shoulders, moving to straddle him, climb him, somehow quench the burning fire he’d started within me. “I know,” he soothed me, but firmly put me back as he’d had me before, stretched out lengthwise on his lap. “I know what you want.” With his arm along my back, he held me securely against his hip, in place. And then he started with his other hand, placing it between my knees. Slowly inching it up. “I know what you need.” Gasping, I leaned back against his strong arm, cradled in his lap. And I parted my thighs, giving him access. “That’s it,” he praised me, working his hand up farther along my leg. “Spread your legs for me, honey.” I did as he told me, opening them even wider for him, one leg over the side of his knee. “So pretty, Emma.” His voice sounded thick as he leaned down and gazed at me. I knew he could see how aroused I was already, glistening and slick for him. “You lie back,” he coaxed me, settling me against his arm, my back arched, my breasts displayed for him. “You let me make you feel good.” He reached out and slid one finger, just one, across my slit. I gasped and started to sit up. I felt so sensitive, so aroused. “Shhh,” he soothed me, “you need to lie back and take this, baby. I can’t wait to

watch you come.” I leaned back again as I’d been told and he started stroking me, first one finger, then two, circling up and around my swollen clit, dipping down to my entrance. When he thrust a finger into me, slow and sure, I nearly started to come right then. I groaned and tossed my head to the side, biting my lip hard. Just his finger felt big inside me, and so commanding, like he knew exactly what to do. “That’s it,” he praised me as I laid back and moaned, spreading my legs even wider so he could have all the access he needed to finger fuck me right. “You like that?” He thrust two fingers in me deep and I cried out, feeling pressure building inside me, quivering and shuddering. He started pushing against my clit, pulsing in rhythm with his thrusts as he drove into me again, then again. “That feel good?” “Chase!” I screamed, reaching up to clutch his arm, suddenly feeling scared. I’d never felt anything this intense, this consuming, this overwhelming. “Come for me, baby,” he ordered, fucking me so good with his fingers, fast and demanding. I exploded on his hand, bucking against him, thrusting my hips and screaming with pleasure. “Oh God!” I yelled, wave after wave crashing over me, the feel of his fingers so deep inside of me, his other hand holding me firm and secure while he hit me right where I needed it. “So good,” he marveled, his thrusts slowing but not stopping. “So good.” He drew out every last quiver and drop of pleasure, sensing my shudders, playing with them and coaxing out tremors even as the orgasm ebbed. And still he didn’t stop sliding his amazing fingers. “Chase,” I gasped, trying to sit up, feeling completely dazed. I’d never come like that before, not ever once in my life. That orgasm had consumed me, flooded me, stolen all thought from my brain leaving me nothing more than a live, writhing wire of ecstasy. And he wasn’t stopping. “What are you doing?” I asked, my mouth open in awe, no idea what had just happened to me, or what I could feel starting to happen again. “Again, Emma.” He gazed into my eyes, fierce, possessive, demanding. The ice blue of his eyes, the way he held me, I could feel pressure building in me again, that throbbing, urgent, driving need starting all over even as I couldn’t believe it. Apparently it didn’t matter that my mind hadn’t had a moment to catch up with my first orgasm. My body was already preparing for a second. He dropped his head to my throat, licking and sucking as he slowly stroked my pussy, gentle now, petting and rubbing. He laid me back against the arm of the couch, a pillow beneath my back, then bent down to kiss my breasts. “Oh, yes, Chase,” I moaned as he licked me, sucking in one of my hard little tips. He made me feel so delicious, like he craved me, nothing but me. “May I taste you, honey?” he whispered, making his way down my stomach, licking a circle around my belly button. “I know you’re going to taste so good.” I gave an urgent whimper, running my hands down to his shoulders, up his hair. “Please,” I found myself pleading, my voice throaty with need. “Mmmm.” He groaned his appreciation as he worked his way down, settling between my legs. Cupping my ass in his large hands, he kissed my inner thighs. “Now you need to spread wide for me, baby. Can you stay just like that?” “Yes!” I loved how he talked to me, just the right amount of bossing around mixed with taking care of each and every one of my needs. His words alone might bring me another orgasm. He touched the tip of his tongue to my clit, just a light flick, and I cried out with a quiver of pleasure. He groaned again in satisfaction, returning to the spot, showing me exactly how relentless he could be, in and out of the pool. Intent on his goal, driving toward it, insistent, commanding, he would get what he wanted. And what he wanted was me clawing at the couch pillows, mewling incoherent cries, a thin sheen

of sweat glistening over my body as I thrashed and shuddered and felt myself on the cusp of heading over the cliff into yet another all-consuming orgasm. “You’re so close,” he observed, wickedly, removing his magnificent lips and tongue to talk. I whimpered in frustration, writhing in need, helpless without his attentions. “What do you need, Emma?” he teased, bringing one, long finger up to circle my slick, dripping entrance. He thrust it slowly inside me and I felt my walls contract around him, my desire throbbing and ready to explode. “Do you need to come?” he asked, low and devilish, his face right between my legs, his mouth so close to my clit I could feel his breath on it. “Yes, please, Chase,” I begged, past caring, past shyness, past any and all concerns over professionalism or performance. Wolfishly, he descended on me, thrusting his finger up inside me deep, taking my pussy into his mouth and sucking hard on my tender clit. My orgasm engulfed me, shuddering up and capturing all my senses as I let myself go, overwhelmed by it, by him, licking and sucking and pleasuring me beyond all reason. Drifting, dreamy, I couldn’t have said how long we stayed there, him lapping up every last drop I had to give, then enfolding me in his large, warm embrace. I dropped my head to his chest, dazed and thrilled and lost and found all at once. He picked me up and carried me over to the bed. We lay down together, him pulling me to him and wrapping me in his strong embrace. Blissed out through every fiber of my being, it did occur to me that I should rouse myself, maybe get it together to return the favor. I’d had my head explode with the two best orgasms of my life. He hadn’t gotten off at all. But there was thought and then there was the reality that my eyelids would not stay open. I’d had men fall asleep on me after coming, plenty of times. Usually as I lay there without having had any release myself. The thought that the tables were turned, now I was the one behaving badly, did coax a slight smile from my lips. But it didn’t stop the train that drove me straight to sleep. § When I woke up, Chase wasn’t even there. How embarrassing. Sunlight was poking in around the edges of the curtains. I checked the bedside clock: seven a.m. Chase was already up and out at his morning workout. I guessed he was to blame, though, for my heavy sleeping. He had insisted on not one but two blistering orgasms the night before. I showered, made myself some coffee and ate an apple while glancing through the complimentary newspaper. In the sports section, there was a feature on one of his teammates for a change, a 20-year-old woman from Illinois who’d almost lost her brother to childhood leukemia. He’d made a full recovery, and the two of them were in a smiling photo that brought tears to my eyes. The article went on to share that the family had started a foundation to offer support to families with children battling cancer, website and email for those interested in learning more. “See?” I actually said out loud to no one but myself. The press weren’t always bloodthirsty hounds. They could share inspiring stories that brought more good to the world. That was the type of blogging I enjoyed. I heard the door to his suite next to mine open and close. He was back. My body thrilled with anticipation. I had it bad for this man. I heard a knock, then his voice, “Emma?” Ooh, was that a connecting door between us? I’d thought it was some sort of supply closet. I hadn’t realized it could open. I went over to try the handle, gave it a turn and sure enough, Chase was there standing before me. “I didn’t realize we could do that!” I laughed, excited with the discovery. “I did,” he admitted, pulling me in for a hug and a kiss. “How’d you sleep?”

“Oh, God, I’m sorry. I fell fast asleep last night and then this morning I didn’t even wake up—” “Shh,” he reassured me. “Do you know how much I enjoyed last night? I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time now.” I smiled against his chest. Such a generous man. “When’s your next workout?” I asked. We did still have business to take care of. I knew we’d struck a bargain of sorts last night, putting some boundaries around our personal involvement, but I was determined that the real reason I was there wouldn’t get forgotten in all the dizzying lust. “Do you have time for me to work on you?” “I have time.” He headed to the kitchen to chug a large sports drink and eat a protein bar. I’d never seen anyone consume so many calories so quickly. But as he’d told me, the things he needed to do quickly, he took care of that way. Other things? I flushed, thinking of the time he’d devoted to me last night. He stripped down to his briefs and lay down on the massage table already set up in his room. I got to work, warming up his shoulders, paying extra attention to the scar tissue from his old injury. He’d taken good care of himself in the ensuing years. Now I just needed to do my part to keep the gears moving properly. It wasn’t until he flipped over to lie on his back that my professional focus started to slip. I had to work on his quad muscle. And his groin, honest I did, because all those muscle groups were attached and you didn’t want to neglect any of them. In no time at all, his thick, glorious cock strained long and hard against his boxer briefs. I couldn’t take my eyes away from it. It looked so huge and delicious. I even saw a small, teasing damp patch at the tip. I bit my lip. My hands slowed down. And I couldn’t help it. Violating every professional standard and protocol I’d had drilled into me from the first day of training as a health professional, my hands slid over to cup his balls and slowly caress the length of his shaft. “Emma,” he groaned, his hands fisting the sheet on the table. “Chase, I know I shouldn’t.” This went against everything I’d ever been taught, every rule I’d ever memorized. I couldn’t believe I was doing it. And I couldn’t stop myself. I eased the waistband of his briefs down, exposing his thick crown. So wide, so smooth and erotic, just his tip with a sweet, glistening drop waiting for me. Leaning down, I swirled my tongue around in a slow, wet lick. “Mmmm,” I sighed. He tasted so good, salty and male and I wanted to drink him down. “Chase,” I moaned, slipping his waistband down his hips. “Oh, Emma.” He fisted a hand up in his hair as he lifted his head to watch my every move. I met his eyes as I slowly took his cock into my mouth. With a tortured groan, he dropped his head back, his mouth open. Happy it felt so good, I felt a rush of pleasure. I took my time, licking, getting his cock nice and slick and wet. I moved, bringing my body parallel to the table and positioning my hands and mouth right at the center where I had the best access. His hand came around to my ass. As I’d leaned over him, my legs up by his shoulders, he’d found himself an opportunity. He slid my running shorts down and I eagerly stepped out of them. Stroking my buttocks, he whispered, “spread your legs while you suck me.” Willingly obedient, I widened my stance as I slowly took his tip into my mouth. Sucking, swirling with my tongue, I started working him in, slowly easing him down my throat. When I felt like I might gag, I breathed deep, relaxed, and let myself feel how much I wanted it. Big as he was, I wanted to take him down so badly. I wanted to suck him so good he wouldn’t know what had happened to him, leave him as breathless and disoriented as he’d left me last night. “Uh, yes,” he panted, as I took him in, so wet and hot, sucking him down, then starting to work along his length. In sync with my rhythm, he started fingering my pussy, sliding his finger along where I was already nice and juicy.

“Mmmmm,” I moaned again, working hard to suck him all the way down, my eyes watering with the effort. He was so huge. I couldn’t believe it as I felt him grow even bigger, starting to thrust down my throat. I whimpered, excited to taste his come. I wanted to swallow all of it. He caressed my ass, fingering my pussy, then caressing again. He brought his other hand to my hair. “That’s it, baby,” he praised me, stroking my hair as I worked so hard. “Suck it just like that. That’s so good.” His words made me quiver and he gave my clit a pet, letting me know he knew right where to get me, exactly how to hit my spot. Groaning, I swirled my tongue around his tip, sloppy and wet, then sucked him down as deep and hard as I could. Faster now, he started guiding me in a more urgent pace, his hand fisting in my hair, showing me how he wanted it. A slow trickle of my desire dripped down my inner thigh. It felt so good, the slight bit of pain as he gripped my hair, the way he forced me down on his huge, hard cock, how hard I had to work to take every inch of him deep down. “I’m close, Emma,” he bit out, his voice harsh and guttural. “I’m going to come hard.” He thrust his cock down my throat. I cupped his balls, felt them tightening, steadied myself with my fingers on his thigh, digging in. And I sucked, wet and hot, wanting it all. “Are you going to suck it out of me?” he demanded, thrusting two fingers deep into my pussy. I moaned, tilting my ass toward him, sucking him down so deep I almost didn’t think I could take it. But he held me there, his hand gripping my hair as he thrust. I could feel the orgasm rising, quivering through me as I waited for his come. I wanted it so badly, needed it shooting hot and full down my throat. “Suck it!” he called out, coming salty and gushing down my throat, nearly chocking me he had so much of it. But I wanted it so I worked for it, swallowing it down like a good girl, sucking and greedy. He pressed his thick thumb right at the center of my needy clit and I came apart, coming myself exactly as he shot his load down me, so hot and salty and delicious. I licked and sucked, giving him all the time he needed to come, emptying each and every thrust into my eager mouth. I slid my way off slowly, already missing the contact before it was even gone, giving his tip a kiss as it popped out. “Holy fuck,” he exclaimed, sounding shocked and out of breath. And that was something coming from an Olympic swimmer with the lung capacity of a superhero. “What the hell was that?” “I think I just sucked your cock.” I rested my head on his chest, smiling at him sweetly. He laughed and rested his hands on my hair, caressing me. “That was insane.” He shook his head from side to side, eyes closed. “I hope I didn’t get too rough with you?” I smiled at him shyly, remembering how good it had felt when he had pulled my hair. I was still feeling the after-effects of my orgasm. “I liked it,” I admitted. He groaned. “You’re trying to kill me.” For two people who’d both expressed reservations, we certainly hadn’t lasted very long. And we still had five days in Atlanta before Rio. We might burn down the hotel. But then, with reluctance and great effort, he pulled himself to sitting. “I have to go do the very last thing in the world I want to do.” “What’s that?” I asked, still standing there naked from the waist down. I had a feeling I’d be like that a lot with Chase over the coming couple of weeks. And hopefully long after that, too. “Give an interview.” He sighed, giving me a full kiss. “Sorry.” I apologized on behalf of the journalistic profession. Publicity wasn’t supposed to torture people. “Guess it’s got to be done.” He climbed off, pulling up his briefs. Such a shame to cover up something so glorious. All that hype in the press about his epic proportions? They didn’t know the half of it. “The team expects it of me. I just don’t like talking about myself to people I don’t know.”

There it was, my in. I could open my mouth and tell him everything, that I wrote a blog myself. And if he wanted to, we could talk and I could run a story about him exactly the way he wanted. Nothing more, nothing less, I could give his adoring fans a glimpse into the amazing man he was. But did I? No. I pulled up my shorts and shuffled around, avoiding his eyes. “See you around two.” He gave me a swift kiss and was off from the arms of his friend into the clutches of the enemy. Or so he thought.

CHAPTER 12 Chase

The next night I stole Emma away for dinner. We were staying at the same hotel right next door to each other, but with all the team events it felt like I barely saw her. Every meal meant a group bonding event, so even when we were in the same room it wasn’t the way I wanted it. So we played hookie, stealing off in my rental car to a BBQ joint I’d heard recommended by a couple of people. It didn’t sound fancy, but it did sound delicious. Emma struck me as the kind of woman who didn’t need to be taken out to fine dining with crystal and linens to enjoy herself. I hoped I was right. She licked her lips looking at the menu, rubbing her hands together in anticipation. “I had on a white top but I changed so I didn’t have to worry about getting dirty!” Her eyes gleamed as she perused the various combo plate options. “I promise, some night I’ll take you somewhere nicer than this,” I assured her. “Chase.” She reached out and took my hand. “This is right where I want to be.” She knew exactly what to say. The first basket of wings went down quick, and I kept right on going, impressing even the staff accustomed to big eaters with my speed and volume of consumption. It was messy work. I started off dabbing at myself with the napkin, but there was just no way to enjoy barbeque and stay clean. “You’ve got something…” She pointed to my cheek and I reached up, trying to rub off what must be a large patch. “No, right here.” With a messy, sauce-covered finger, she leaned over and smeared a long stripe of red barbeque sauce across my cheek. I sat back. “Oh no you didn’t.” Did she not understand who she was messing with? I’d like to introduce her to me and my competitive streak. “There’s a little spot…” I leaned over and coated her chin in sauce, basically using my napkin as a baster. “Wait, there’s something—” She got me back on my forehead, laughing, and I got her back on her cheek, until an older, stern-looking waitress came on over like a lunch lady stopping a food fight. “You two need some more wipes?” she asked, giving us the evil eye. No more messing around on her watch. “We’re sorry, ma’am.” I assured her, Scout’s honor, we would keep things in check. As she walked away, Emma leaned in, wide-eyed, “Oooh, we’re in trouble!” We cleaned up and made it through the rest of the meal without getting thrown out, though we did still laugh almost the whole time. Full as we were, we still decided to get ice cream cones at a neighboring shop and then take a stroll downtown. It was a hot summer night, and we focused on our dribbling ice cream before we got to talking.

“Have you ever been to Rio before?” she asked, holding my hand. “I can’t wait to see it. I know we won’t have a ton of time for sightseeing, but I’ve only ever been out of the country once before. And that was to Cancun for spring break, so it didn’t really count.” “Never Rio. Closest I’ve been is Costa Rica.” “Ooh! What’s that like?” I told her a bit about the trip I’d taken when I was twenty, heading down with some college friends who were big surfers for a week. I wasn’t much on a board—that whole balance thing wasn’t happening—but swimming in the ocean and hanging out on the beach? That had been great. Plus, there had literally been monkeys hanging out of the trees. “After the games we should stay in Brazil and travel around,” I suggested, knowing I was testing the boundaries of our relationship. “Yeah?” She looked surprised by my suggestion. “Maybe head to the Galapagos Islands afterwards?” “Seriously?” “Why not?” “Well, I will have to get back to my real job at some point.” She looked at me, seeming excited. “But I could see if I could get more time off.” I squeezed her hand and gave her a smile. I knew this wasn’t just a fling for me. I still didn’t know what my plans were post-games, but I hoped she’d be in them. “Tori will flip out.” She shook her head, telling me about her friend who was also going to be at the games. She’d mentioned her briefly before. I guessed they’d known each other since high school. “You’ll be meeting one of my old friends, too.” I told her how Liam would be there, for the last few days of the swimming events. “How do you know him?” The question was simple, and I could keep the answer that way, too. I could shorten it up and just tell her we’d hung out together as kids during summer vacations. But this was Emma, and I wanted to get to know her. Which meant her also getting to know me. That shouldn’t be so hard, right? “So, Liam.” I threw out my napkin, all that was left of the ice cream cone. I started with when we’d met, both ten years old, me a bored kid biking around the island of Naugatuck with too much time on my hands. Liam had been out painting a fence for a retired woman who hired him to do odd jobs. One thing led to another, and I’d spent the rest of the afternoon painting the fence with him. “Wasn’t that a Tom Sawyer story?” she asked. “That’s right.” I dimly recalled reading that one in middle school. “But didn’t he trick his friends into painting the fence for him?” She nodded. “So it was like that, only Liam isn’t a jerk.” She laughed, and I explained how we’d quickly fallen into the habit of hanging out nearly every day, sometimes down at the firehouse with his dad, sometimes doing odd jobs, kicking it at the beach nearly every afternoon. The next summer Ian had joined us, and the following summer Jax. “Then, the summer we were 14?” I paused, rubbing the back of my neck, feeling itchy already and I hadn’t even started talking about it. “We all almost died.” She looked up, silent and listening. “You’ve probably heard about the accident?” It had been covered widely, though thankfully no one had picked up the whole story. But there was enough intrigue there. Journalists loved referring to my traumatic near-death experience. “I don’t know much about it,” she replied. “The four of us were on a boat and, basically, we were idiots. We got caught in a storm, where we shouldn’t have been.” “Why? Did you not know how to operate the boat? Hadn’t there been any warning about the storm?”

I exhaled, heavy. In an ideal world, I’d sit right down and tell her all about it, start to finish. But I couldn’t. I’d signed a hell of a lot of papers promising not to ever do that. “A lot went down that night. I can’t really talk about it, but what I can say is I owe my life to Liam.” “Why can’t you talk about it?” I shook my head, regretting that I’d started. “Sorry I brought it up.” “No, Chase, don’t be.” She reached her hand out to mine again. There, that was better. Hand in hand again, I instantly felt lighter. “Anyway, you’ll meet Liam in a week,” I continued. “I’ll have to thank him for his good deed.” After more strolling and, yes, more eating by me—we passed a donut shop with a “fresh baked” sign flashing in the window—we headed back to the hotel. Shyly, in front of her door, she asked, “Wanna sleep over?” Leaning down, I agreed, “You know I do.” “You have to be up at six tomorrow morning,” she reminded me as I followed her inside her room. It was already past midnight. “I know.” Damn those Olympics and all the training that went along with them. “And we did have an agreement.” Now she sounded more reluctant. Was she regretting our no sex clause? That would be cool. But I didn’t want her to feel pressured. I took her hand and pulled her toward the bed. “We’ll just sleep tonight, Emma.” I went into my room to wash up and when I came back she’d changed into a T-shirt and boy shorts. Her breasts, free of her bra, pressed tantalizingly against the thin cotton. She climbed into bed and I turned out the light. “Let’s get some sleep,” I murmured to her, pulling her close against my body. She felt so good tucked against me, like we were made for each other. “Are you sure this is OK?” she asked, and I knew what she meant. Was I OK only doing this? “I know it’s kind of insane.” “We have all the time in the world after the games,” I reassured her, stroking her hair. She snuggled into me, her plush little round ass up against my cock. I breathed deep, inhaling her scent, nuzzling her soft hair. She made a quiet sound of contentment, a sigh as I stroked her hip. In the dark, under the covers, just the two of us, I did want more. And I told her. “I want to feel you come again, Emma.” “Oh!” She gasped, sounding a bit nervous. “Really?” In response, I slowly moved my hand along her hip, at the waistline of her shorts, then slipped it down. Her pussy felt so wet and hot and sweet, already slick for me. I loved that I affected her as much as she did me. I was ready for her at a moment’s notice, all the goddamned time. It about killed me to know I got her wet without even so much as a touch. My sweet Emma, so slick and slippery for me in the dark. “Can I make you come, Emma?” I whispered, pressed against her, starting to work her pussy. She groaned and pushed her ass back into my cock, giving herself to me. In the shadows together, the sound of her breathing, sighing, moaning filled the room. Every shudder, every hitch in her breath, the urgent sounds in the back of her throat, she surrounded my senses. She grew close, bucking against my finger, needing to come. With my free hand I cupped her breast, grabbing it, pinching her taut nipple. She threw her head back against my chest and I could just make out the outline of her figure, her erect nipple, my hand in and out of her pussy. “You’re mine, Emma,” I whispered, feeling her start to shudder. “Tell me.” “I’m yours, Chase,” she instantly responded, no hesitation, all eager and giving. “Mine,” I growled, thrusting my fingers in her, pressing directly on her swollen clit, demanding her orgasm. She came, full and sweet, crying out into the darkness, my name on her lips.

Together, we slept. And we only woke up once. I’d fallen asleep with my hand still nestled between her legs. At some point in the middle of the night, things started up again. It might have been her moving against my hand, pressing against me, or it might have been my fingers circling, teasing out her pleasure. However it started, we both awakened to find her well on her way to another orgasm. “One more, Emma,” I whispered to her in the darkness. “One more for me, baby.” And she gave it to me, so slick and warm, shuddering against me and almost sobbing it felt so good. I nuzzled into her. “That’s it, Emma. You come so nice.” She shuddered one last time, my words coaxing even more pleasure out of her. And with a sigh, we both fell again into a deep, peaceful sleep. § “Carter! Dial it back!” I could hear the voice of one of my coaches barking at me poolside. I could even see him hustling along with his ever-present clipboard, flapping his arm along with his jaw. I got his meaning. But what he didn’t understand was that I was dialing it back. My pace felt effortless. I’d never felt like such a rocket in the water, as if I could swim forever. I didn’t know how to explain it, but I guess that had been the plan all along, after years of training to reach peak physical conditioning at this exact moment. All the puzzle pieces were falling into place and I felt like Superman. Or Aquaman, I guessed, that would be a more appropriate reference. Somehow, though, I felt like Emma had something to do with it, too. Being with her, it felt just as effortless, like we clicked into place. I’d never experienced that before. We still didn’t know each other all that well, and I knew I was at least partially if not fully to blame for that. I kept my cards close to my chest. But time would fix that. Being with her felt so right. My mind felt more at ease, more focused, less restless, even as she now occupied space in my mind. Funny, I’d always thought of relationships as distractions. Now that I’d met someone amazing, it didn’t feel like it was taking me off course at all. It felt like I was truly finding it for the first time. “Chase! Out of the water!” My head couch whacked me over the head with a rolled up piece of paper. His way of signaling he needed a one-on-one. Over to the side, he grilled me. Was I trying to prove something? What kind of stunt was I trying to pull, going at it full-throttle the week before the games? “Coach, I swear, I’m at around 60 percent.” He looked at me like maybe I’d grown another head. And then he noticed something. “You’re not even breathing hard.” I nodded in agreement. See, I was telling the truth! “I’m not messing with you. I’m dialed way back.” And then coach did something I hadn’t seen that often in the last few years I’d been working with him. He looked at me and he smiled. Giving me a light smack on the arm, he said, “I think next week’s going to be a good week.” “I think so, too.” I was seeing gold dance before my eyes. And from the look in his, he was seeing the same thing. Satisfied that I was, indeed, experiencing that famed surge in performance all athletes sought before a crucial competition, he quit yelling at me and instead pulled out my free relay team members for a strategy session. So much strategy in Atlanta, so many meetings. Team-building, dry land stretching sessions, coach was even making us do yoga that afternoon, all part of his integrated mind/body philosophy. The good part about our session in the afternoon was Emma and a few other of the physical therapists would be joining us. The bad part was that Emma would be near me and I wouldn’t be able to touch her. We were keeping things private, for now. I knew we weren’t doing anything wrong. We were two consenting adults who happened to meet each other in a professional context. That happened every day.

And I was glad that she agreed, what we had between us couldn’t be denied. But we both knew we couldn’t walk around the hotel holding hands and making out in stairwells like it was high school. There was a chance she’d be fired if management found out. I doubted it would happen, even though it was clearly written into her contract—termination at any point for unprofessional conduct. But I also knew I was a highly prized asset to the team. It didn’t give me impunity, but they would at least think twice about sending away one of the most crucial members of my crew. Which was why I’d felt comfortable walking around Atlanta holding hands with her last night. But, when we were in a room with our teammates, it made sense to keep it on the down low. Which meant that during our yoga session, Emma stood on the other side of the room. Probably smart. If she’d stood next to me I couldn’t have resisted touching her. But that also meant that a prat like Chris could sit right next to her and flirt his ass off. It was hard enough for me to balance in Eagle pose, wrapping one leg around the other with my arms intertwined and raised in prayer position. When I was pissed off about Chris finding bullshit excuses to touch her and then seeing her laugh at his stupid wisecracks? No, I was not one with my inner eagle. I had another goddamned interview after yoga, but I had something I had to do first. I let Emma leave the room and head down the hallway, still chatting with Chris, the blond Ken doll. The hall happened to lead to a few rooms used for physical therapy. I stopped in front of one of them and made sure it was unlocked. “Emma, could I talk to you for a second?” She turned around at my voice and excused herself. Chris gave me a look like he thought I was a possessive fucker. Yeah, you got that right. I met his stare with one of my own. I closed the door behind us and folded Emma into my arms, crushing my lips to hers. My match lit her flame and she threw herself at me, arms flung around my neck, legs wrapped around my waist, climbing me like a tree. Clumsy, I grabbed her ass and stumbled back into the door, drunk on our combined lust. She ground against me, a low moan in her throat, her hand working its way down to my cock, pressing hard against my athletic shorts. “Chase, I know we said…” She lunged in to kiss me again, her tongue licking, seeking mine, until she could manage to break away again. “I know we said we’d wait. But I don’t think I can.” “Fuck,” I groaned, knocking my head against the metal door with a thud. Now she decided, right when I had to leave for an interview. I should have known a stolen kiss with Emma could never just be a stolen kiss. “I have to go talk to a reporter.” “No!” she pouted, kissing my neck, her hand squeezing my shaft. “I want you.” “Emma.” I put her down on the counter. “Now you have to wait.” I held up my finger teasing her like I was her teacher and she was in trouble. “And you need to be good while you wait. Can you do that?” She pouted again, my favorite look, at least when what she was frustrated about was not getting my cock inside of her. I couldn’t resist. I took her wrists in my hand and held them behind her back, just teasing, in a light grip, not trying to hurt her, just stoke her passion. “I know it’s hard to wait,” I told her as she looked up at me, clearly both confused and aroused. Why was I holding her wrists behind her back? Because she was so fun to play with. “I want you to do something while you wait. Can you do something for me?” She looked up at me with wide eyes and nodded. Eager to please and she didn’t even know what I was going to ask her to do. My cock throbbed. She needed a reward for being so compliant. As I held her wrists in one hand, I slipped my thumb between her legs, right up at the seam of her yoga pants, stroking her pussy. She groaned and opened her legs wider. “Are you wet, baby?” “Yes,” she admitted. That I had to feel for myself. I slipped my hand down her waistband, under her panties and slid my finger right where she wanted it. Hot, slick heaven.

“So wet,” I whispered, stroking her. She had her eyes half-closed, undulating her hips as I slowly thrust my finger. “Here’s what I want you to do for me,” I spoke to her quietly, just between us. “I want you to wait up in the hotel room. And while you’re waiting, I want you to touch yourself and think about how good I’m going to fuck you.” She gasped, her lips parting, and I could feel her pussy grow even wetter. “Are you excited about getting fucked?” I growled, low and wicked. “Yes,” she moaned, biting her lower lip. “Good.” I gave her a nice stroke for her honesty, circling her swollen, throbbing clit. “But Emma, listen to me.” She opened her eyes and looked up into mine. “Don’t come. Do you understand?” There was that pout again. She was already close. I could feel how she needed to come right now. “You come for me when I fuck you,” I insisted, stern and serious. “Got it?” “Y-yes,” she stammered, surprised and aroused by my command. I withdrew my hand, re-arranged her yoga pants, and licked her sweet juices from my fingers while she watched, rapt. “You taste so good,” I murmured, enchanted with her. I’d never get enough. I stepped toward the door, wanting to get this interview over with. “And Emma?” “Yes?” God I loved the sight of her so flushed and aroused, her nipples standing hard against her tight top. “Stay away from Chris.” “Chris who?” she asked, making me smile as I left the room. § When I finally finished up and got back to the hotel room, the minx had the massage table out. I was so wound up I wanted to take her right there against the wall, even if it was our first time together. I didn’t think I could wait another minute, never mind cooling my jets through an entire physical therapy session with her hands all over me. “Hop up,” she instructed me, patting the table. “Are you serious?” She couldn’t be. “Dead serious.” She put her hands on her hips. “I will not let this thing between us get in the way of your performance.” “Are you concerned about my performance?” I took a step closer, definitely not thinking about the pool. That got a smile from her. But she tapped that table again. “You are not getting to work on me until I’ve worked on your shoulder, back and hamstring.” “Oh, I’m going to work on you,” I warned her, giving in. For now. She was right, I did feel tight in my back. Coach had instructed each and every one of us to prioritize stretching and therapy work heading into the games. Damn it, why did Emma have to be so good at her job? She was so good. She worked every inch of me, with warm oil getting into every sore spot, pressing into and releasing all my tension even as a different kind of tension built. When she got me onto my back and worked my shoulder, damn if she didn’t give me more contact than usual. A brush with her breast, lingering fingers across my pecs. And down at my quad, she stroked and rubbed, looking at my cock the whole time as it grew larger and harder with every touch. She really had it coming to her. The whole time she’d been working on me, I’d been plotting my revenge. The second she was done, I nearly leapt up. “Now it’s my turn,” I declared with a predatory gleam in my eyes. “Lie down.” She looked at me, eyes wide. And then did as I said.

CHAPTER 13 Emma

“Now I’m going to show you what you’ve been putting me through,” Chase warned me, stern. I shivered with anticipation. He had me up on the table, lying on my front. Completely naked. He’d stripped me down quick, my shorts and athletic top off before I knew what was happening. Now I lay there with nowhere to hide, completely at his mercy. I heard him flip open the top of the bottle of massage oil, rubbing his palms together. How many times had I done exactly that with clients? The sound had never turned me on before. But now I lay there wiggling, throbbing between my legs, barely able to wait to feel his hands on me. He wanted me like that. He loved making me crazy, and he was so good at it, so driven and relentless. I’d had more orgasms in the past week than I had in some years of my life. Maybe that was also a statement on the sadness of my sex life in the past, but I was an upbeat type of a person. I didn’t like dwelling on the negative of what came before, especially when the promise of the present was so great. He started at the center of my back, giving me soft strokes, working his way out in circles. The man was good with his hands. But as much as I was enjoying the traditional massage, my body hummed with eager arousal. We’d talked about having sex tonight. I was the living embodiment of the Marvin Gaye song, every inch of me singing “Let’s Get It On!” He’d told me to touch myself. The filthy mouth on that man, how I loved listening to it as much as kissing it, not to mention feeling how he could kiss me. I was good with instructions. I’d always been a good student. I’d had myself a nice afternoon, headed out for a run, phoned my parents, read through our blog a bit. I’d called Tori, too. She and I hadn’t talked in a few days. I wanted to hear about Rio. She was keeping a steady stream of chatter going on the blog and seemed to be having the time of her life, as usual, but I wanted to hear it straight from her. But she didn’t pick up so I had to leave a message. I’d found myself with some time on my hands. And Chase’s words on my mind. I’d taken a nice, long shower and guess what? The hotel had a detachable showerhead nozzle. I’d had quite a time, letting myself fantasize, getting lost in just how good it would feel to finally have him inside of me, finally feel him come in me deep. But I didn’t come. He’d told me to wait and crazy as it sounded, that turned me on even more. Maybe it was because he wasn’t an asshole. I’d dated controlling guys who’d treated me badly and let me be the first to say, it was not sexy. It sucked. But Chase, who seemed to delight in being around me, treating me with consideration and kindness and showing just how solicitous he could be to my needs? When he got a little bossy, it made my panties wet. Now I wasn’t even wearing panties, and Chase was working his way down my body, infuriatingly skipping my ass and going right to my legs. But it did feel so good the way he stroked my legs, using that oil, rubbing my calves and hamstrings and finally, finally up to tease my buttocks.

He started cupping my ass, using light strokes, adding more oil. I couldn’t help it, I started to sneak my hand under my hips. Surely he wouldn’t mind if I touched myself a little. I needed to. I’d let him watch. Swat, his hand came down playfully on my ass. “Not until I say you can,” he reprimanded me. My pussy clenched in response, feeling his control. I whimpered in frustration as I pulled my hand away, leaving it dutifully by my side. “How wet are you?” he asked, his silky tone of voice matching the strokes of his hands. “Open your legs so I can see.” Holding my breath, I did as he said, parting my legs and arching my ass up so he could take a look. It felt so naughty, like confessing a secret. He could see, without any doubt, how painfully aroused I was, slick and begging for him. He brought his face in close, but didn’t touch. Not yet. Instead, he blew lightly on my wet slit, making me moan and shiver. “I know,” he soothed me, running his hands along my ass, parting my cheeks a bit with his thumbs. “I know how much you want it. But I won’t let you have it yet. Do you know how many times I wanted to touch myself while you massaged me? How many times I got a raging hard-on while you rubbed me with warm oil, and then left the room?” “But I’m your physical therapist!” I whined. “Not now, you’re not. Flip over,” he ordered, giving my ass a smack that I felt directly in my pussy, making my clit throb. I turned over, lying on my back, quivering as he once again dialed it back, starting slow down at my toes. I clutched the sides of the table, bit my lip and tossed my head to the side as he started moving up. I didn’t think I could stand much more. He might make me come just by massaging me. “Chase!” I cried out, leaning up, hand gripping his arm as I felt my pussy clench. “Chase, I can’t take it!” “Yes, you can, baby,” He pressed my shoulder back down, demanding. “For me, Emma. Lie back and take it a little more. For me. I want to play with you some more. But don’t worry, I am going to fuck you.” I groaned, lying back, submitting to the sweetest torture I’d ever experienced. I had no idea where the man got his iron will, his capacity for self-denial, his ability to delay gratification…oh wait, Olympiccaliber athlete. I guessed those character traits carried through to all aspects of his life. I was just the tortured beneficiary. Trailing his fingers lightly along my stomach, he circled my breasts as I panted. “See how beautiful you are? I want you to look.” I opened my eyes, only just realizing I’d had them squeezed shut, trying to stay still, keep it together. I glanced down and it didn’t make me any less aroused, seeing him cupping my breasts in his large hands. He brought his mouth down and licked around my nipples. “Not…fair,” I bit out, fisting the sheet on the table. I’d never used my tongue. I’d wanted to, but I hadn’t gone there. Or, wait, I had, hadn’t I? The other day, when I’d taken him deep down my throat. He sucked in my nipple, groaning as he did it, like it was the most amazing feeling in the world. He trailed his fingers down my stomach, between my legs, and finally, finally pressed right against my swollen clit. Under his expert attentions as he stroked and licked, I came completely apart, an orgasm crashing over me as I arched my breast up into his hungry mouth. “Yes, Emma, like that,” he coaxed me, sending wave after wave of pleasure through my body. Before I’d come down from my high, he picked me up, held me against his chest and brought me to the bed. “I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, Emma,” he confessed, laying my head down on a pillow. “Chase,” I managed, my head still in the clouds, my body like warm liquid. He stripped off his briefs, his glorious cock springing out hard and thick. He stood over me, his hand wrapped around its length, stroking it slowly as he looked at me lying there naked. “Oh, yes,” I sighed, watching him, fascinated by his raw, male power, the veins running his length, the drop of pre-come at the tip.

He turned and walked away from me and I nearly cried out in protest until I saw him fishing around in the pocket of his shorts. He pulled out a condom. The man had thought ahead. I liked that, a planner. He returned, ready to go, and dropped down over me, kissing my lips, my throat, his hands in my hair. “You’re sure, Emma? I know I’ve been doing my best to make you crazy, but I want you to be sure this is what you want.” “Chase.” I looked at him, dead serious, my hands on either side of his face. “If you don’t fuck me right now, I will have to report you to the proper authorities.” He broke out in a smile. “And what crime would I have committed?” “Sexual provocation.” I didn’t know if that was a real thing, but it sounded legit. “Well, I can’t have that kind of a scandal. I’m about to compete in the Olympic Games.” “Then you’d better get to it.” After that, all banter fell aside. All I was aware of was his body, his kisses, the feel of his hard, sculpted muscles moving fluid over me. I couldn’t get enough of touching him, worshipping his warm, toned body trained to the peak of physical perfection. I opened for him, eager, still holding my breath as he brought himself to my entrance. He was huge. I’d never been with anyone that big before and as much as I wanted it, I had to wonder how it was all going to work down there. “I’ll go slow,” he reassured me, clearly sensing my nerves. I nodded and he started easing his way in, his crown spreading me as he thrust. I groaned, tossing my head back against the pillow, my hands up, clutching his massive shoulders. “God you feel so good,” he groaned, thrusting in again, deeper, then deeper again. My eyes wide, I couldn’t believe how full I felt, how wide he was stretching me. I grabbed onto his muscles, panting, wanting but overwhelmed. He wasn’t even all the way in yet. He reached down and started stroking as he thrust, circling my clit, and pressing as he moved and oh did it feel so good. Moaning, I stopped worrying and started working with him, taking and receiving, moving in rhythm. “Ah, Emma!” He ground into me, his face contorted with pleasure, mouth open, eyes closed, looking as crazed as I felt. I thrust my hips up to his and he groaned, looking down into my eyes as he started to move, slowly, steadily, deep inside me. “Chase, it’s so… you’re so…!” I panted, grabbing at him, writhing under him, hand on his muscular ass as he pumped into me. I’d never felt so full, so possessed, so consumed. “I can’t…” he panted, straining, his muscles taut. “I don’t want to hurt you, but—” “Don’t hold back.” I raked my fingers across his broad back, wrapping my legs around his waist. “I want you.” He drove into me, fierce, hard, and I gasped but clung onto him. I didn’t just want him, I needed him, all of him. With a growl, he sank into me, mouth on my neck, hands digging into my buttocks, cock thrusting into me so deep my eyes widened and my mouth opened as I screamed. But what came out was, “Yes! Oh!” as he fucked me, demanding, relentless. I moaned, sweat glistening, our bodies working together, slick and hot. “I need you to come, Emma,” he panted, looking into my eyes as he sank into me. “I need it.” I could feel it, so close, bubbling up to the top. With his next thrust I exploded, pleasure pouring over me golden like honey. He reached it, too, his peak, groaning and fisting the sheets as he came, shuddering, sweating, losing control. Collapsing down, he sank into me, breathing hot and hard at my side, his heart pounding in sync with mine. What had just happened? I’d had sex before, but it had been nothing like that. What I’d experienced before had felt like a little drizzle, a brief interlude that wouldn’t even disrupt a picnic. What had happened between me and Chase? That had been a category five hurricane. “You’re…” Chase murmured, nuzzling my neck, holding me close. “That was amazing.”

“It’s…I’m…” He’d managed a full sentence. That seemed beyond me as I snuggled into him, kissing his chest, his throat, his lips. How could words describe that kind of intense connection? It went beyond anything I could manage, and I liked to fancy myself a writer, or at least a blogger. Good thing I never wrote sex scenes. At least with a blog you could always just rely on a good visual. For that? It would have to be a GIF of fireworks. The second time we made love, we went slower, building steady and hungry, drinking each other in as if memorizing every move. I never wanted it to end, never wanted him to stop, never wanted another partner for the rest of my life. It was Chase, Chase who filled me up and made me want so badly I never thought I’d get enough. But when we came together a second time, crying out and groaning and clinging to each other, I got it, the feel of ultimate satisfaction, in his arms, a blissed-out smile on my lips as I drifted off to sleep until morning. § The next day, our second-to-last in Atlanta, it felt like everyone wanted a piece of Chase. And they were getting a lot more access than I was. I realized I was growing more protective and possessive. I didn’t like how people prodded at him all the time. His coaches rode him relentlessly, yelling at him to do this, stop doing that, dial it back, focus. It made my head dizzy listening to them. Reporters hounded him, wanting the scoop. A camera crew arrived, wanting to film another profile on him, requesting his permission to use childhood video footage his father had provided. I was starting to eye reporters the same way he did, feeling suspicious and threatened, wondering what they wanted and how they were going to try to twist what they found for the most dramatic effect. Chase weathered it all well, keeping so calm. I stopped wondering about why the media portrayed him as cool and started wondering how he kept his cool under so much pressure. They all wanted hype and drama. The real story was how he managed not to lose his mind under all the close scrutiny. They didn’t know him the way I did. They didn’t care about discovering his past for the right reasons. They just wanted to expand their market with a splashy story. Around dinner time, my phone rang, finally with a call back from Tori. “S’up girl?” she belted through the phone. It sounded like she was calling me from a nightclub. “You scooped the story yet?” “Where are you?” I could barely hear her. I mean, I heard her question well enough to feel a pang of confused guilt stab through my heart. But it was loud wherever she was, her voice nearly drowned out by background noise. “You’re going to love Rio! Holy shit! I’ve been dancing every night!” “What time is it there?” “I don’t know. Six?” So, about our time. I’d thought Rio was only an hour ahead. At five o’clock I had just finished up a run, about to take a shower and change for dinner. Apparently Tori was already going at it full-throttle. “Wait, someone wants to talk to you!” I heard a rustle and some muffled laughter, then a male voice got on the phone with a thick accent, Portuguese if I had to guess. “What you up to, the lovely Emma? I see you soon?” I could hear Tori laughing in the background. “I like Tori, your good friend.” Then I heard other sounds, probably kissing. “OK, Tori?” I asked. “Tori, are you there?” “Let me call you back in a sec.” A sec in Brazilian Tori time meant five hours. My phone rang again later that night, while I was in the laundry room at the hotel. I’d been avoiding Chase, like an idiot. But I felt so crazy and confused.

On the one hand, of course we belonged together. There was no question about it. What we had between us was amazing. But then, there was the stupid blog thing and the more I thought about it the more I knew I was going to have to have a hard conversation with Tori. I couldn’t do it. I just couldn’t treat Chase like that. I’d pursued my job with the team with that intention, but that had been before I’d met him. Before I’d fallen for him. I’d thought of Chase like everyone else, a target, a prized acquisition to pursue. But now, that made me sick. I hated seeing others treat him like that. And knowing I’d been one of them—still kind of was since I hadn’t officially taken myself out of that role with Tori yet? It ate away at me. I needed to talk with Tori and explain, get it off my chest. Then I could talk to Chase and tell him with a clean conscience, yes, in addition to being a physical therapist my friend and I ran a blog. The kind of blog that ran stories about people. And, yes, I had intended to do exactly that about him. But I wasn’t any more. I wanted off of that train. I felt nervous about telling him about it. He might get angry, feel confused and betrayed. But it wasn’t too late. If we had the conversation now, complete with my assurance I wasn’t after that story any more, it would be all right, wouldn’t it? “Emma!” Tori sounded blazing drunk. I could picture her, mascara all smudged, hopefully with her clothes still covering all her naughty bits. “Are you OK?” I asked. At least it sounded quieter now. “Shag-a-delic, baby!” She burst out into laughter. “Remember that stupid movie? August Powers?” “Austin Powers.” I remembered. She had a brother who’d been 13 when Goldmember had come out, and he’d pretty much memorized the movie and quoted it day in, day out until we’d started quoting it ourselves. “Groovy baby, yeah!” Gales of laughter from her. Less from me. This might not be the best time to have the heart-to-heart conversation with my best friend about my change of heart. You know that dream we’ve both had for years now? About taking our blog to the next level? I’m out. Not going to happen. She babbled, drunk as a skunk, about Luiz and Paulo and the personal tour they’d given her. “Water polo, Ems! That’s the way to go.” Apparently they both played for the Brazilian Water Polo team and they were quite good with their hands. “OK, Tori. Let’s talk tomorrow.” “It’s all coming together, Emma! Just like we always wanted. Can’t believe it. All our hard work. About to pay off!” “Right.” About that… She burst out laughing again, trying to tell me about something that had happened at some club but the words weren’t forming right. “Drink some water and get some sleep, Tori.” I’d said those words to her before. I’d have to talk to her tomorrow. “Night bestie!” “I’ll call you tomorrow.” I wondered if she’d still call me bestie after I pulled the plug. She was counting on my big story, my exposé, the type of feature I had right in my wheelhouse, capturing the heart of a gripping story. It wasn’t going to happen. I couldn’t do it to Chase. But I still felt sick over it, and unresolved, too, since I hadn’t been able to actually talk to her about it yet. There was nothing I hated more than anticipating a nasty conversation. My stomach was all tied up in knots. I folded my shirts and socks like I had a vendetta against them. They’d done me wrong. “I hope it’s not me you’re angry about.” Chase walked into the laundry room, looking freshly-showered and devastatingly gorgeous. Those ice blue eyes and superhero shoulders did it to me every time. “Hey.” I wrapped my arms around him, sinking into him in a deep kiss. Resting my head against his chest, I explained I’d just gotten off the phone with Tori. “She was off-her-ass drunk. I hope she’s all

right. She was partying all night with some random guys in Rio.” “I’m sure she’s fine,” he reassured me. “You’re always taking care of other people, aren’t you?” I shrugged, not ready to accept his kind words. I had a secret I was keeping from him, and I hated doing it. But I needed to wrap things up with Tori before I confessed. “Come on.” He tugged my hand. “Let me help you carry all this back to the room. You know you can have a service take care of laundry, right?” “I don’t pay other people to do my laundry for me,” I snapped at him, somehow seeming to imply that he was spoiled. Nice, Emma. He picked up my laundry basket. “Good thing my help comes free of charge.” He smiled at me, still nice even with me crackling with bitchy electricity. It brought a tear to my eye. “Hey.” He pulled me to him and gave me another big hug. “Let’s head up to the hotel room. I don’t know what’s bothering you, but everything’s going to be all right.” I nodded, wanting to feel completely reassured by his words. But until he had complete information about what was bothering me, it wasn’t going to happen.

CHAPTER 14 Chase

Something was up with Emma. I didn’t know what, but she was jumpy and tense. She clearly had something on her mind, but I didn’t know her well enough yet to understand what it was. Something could have happened at home or back at her workplace. She could have gotten some bad news. But when I asked her, she said it was nothing and she was fine. In my experience with women, and granted I didn’t have too much successful experience, that was the equivalent of issuing a massive storm warning. Nothing signaled trouble like a woman brushing you off because everything was fine. Oh shit, buy out the canned goods, the storm of the century was about to hit. But it also could be pre-Olympics jitters. She wasn’t about to compete, but everyone on and associated with the team was feeling it. It was our last day in Atlanta and everyone was acting loopy. Most of my teammates were off-the-walls, randomly high-fiving, fist-bumping and chest-thumping. But not everyone was caught in the throes of emotional highs. That afternoon I’d found a teammate of mine sitting on the floor in a hallway sobbing so hard she could barely breathe. She was only 16 and it was her first time away from home. She was covered in snot and told me she wished she’d never started swimming. It was the worst thing that had ever happened to her. The games were going to be an epic disaster. I sat with her a while, giving her my jacket to blow her nose into. I didn’t need it anyway. I told her a couple of funny stories about my first Olympics in Beijing back eight years ago. I’d gotten lost in the Olympic village every single time I’d set foot out of my condo. And when we’d circled the main arena in the majestic, celebratory opening ceremony? I’d tripped, and it had been caught on camera, gawky 18year-old me barely managing to prevent a full-body, face-first sprawl across the ground. That seemed to cheer her up. “I can’t believe that,” she shook her head, as if she clearly thought me above all mortal actions like getting lost or tripping. “I mean, you’re Chase Carter!” “Well, you’re Lizzie Christopher.” I elbowed her, trying to get her to smile. “I’ve seen you in the pool. You’re going to kill it in Rio. I think you’re ready to be on a cereal box.” “Really?” she asked, eyes wide, bloodshot and puffy. “Absolutely.” She’d probably have to wash her face first. But, honestly, I knew a great competitor when I saw one and the kid was a natural. She just needed to work on handling all the stress, channeling it into adrenaline to fuel performance. After all the talking, plus I had to head back up to my room to change my shirt, I was late for the team dinner down in a conference room. Everyone was at round tables, assigned seating, and I saw an empty space for me up near the front. Emma was next to her buddy in PR, Megan, toward the back of the room. We gave each other a brief nod, but I had to head up to my place. I knew coach was going to talk to all of

us tonight, and he wanted me to say a few words as well. Public speaking was not my thing, but I’d do it. I understood the team saw me as a leader, and I needed to step into that role. Making toast after toast, everyone was amped up. It was really happening! We were heading to the Olympics! A microphone got passed around and most of the coaches plus half my teammates grabbed it, talking about how they couldn’t believe it, after all those years of hard work, all the plans and hopes and dreams were all now ours to reach out and grab. Once we’d finished dessert, our head coach stood up and called all of our attention. I figured he was going to give us his standard motivational speech, reminding us how we needed to keep our heads down and push it. But, instead, he told us a story that had all of us wiping our eyes and clearing our throats. Coach talked to us about a kid in California who’d spent his childhood in and out of the hospital with a rare genetic blood disease. While most kids had been out running around, invited to birthday parties and playing sports, he’d spent his days in isolation, wracked with pain, his growth severely stunted. He hadn’t felt much like living until his mom had heard about something called the Special Olympics. She’d called up the organizer, gotten him in the pool and there he’d found his reason to live, with teammates, experiencing the joy of moving through the water, and a remarkable freedom from pain when he got caught up in the excitement of swimming. “That’s what the games are all about,” he told us, barely a dry eye in the room. “The Olympics are a celebration of the human spirit. There’s a lot of focus on medals and podiums. But I’ll tell you what it’s about. The games are about hope. They’re about challenging yourself to do the impossible. The games are about being the best you can be.” Damn, did he know how to make us feel pumped up. I felt it, deep in my bones. I’d trained my whole life for this moment and I was ready. After coach spoke, he looked over at me. I nodded, understanding what he wanted. I stood up and took the mic. “I want you all to know,” I said from the front of the room, all eyes on me. “I’m proud to be your teammate.” I took a moment to look around, seeing the faces I’d grown so accustomed to every day, every morning, noon and night as we trained. “I look around this room and I see some of the hardest working people I’ve ever met.” Lizzie, looking a lot happier than I’d seen her in the hallway, started the applause and I gave it a moment before it died down. I pointed to the shirt I now wore, our USA team jersey. “It’s a pretty amazing opportunity to head to the games wearing these colors. It’s a privilege. Let’s do it right. Let’s show Rio our best. Respect the other athletes. And bring it. Let’s go represent!” Everyone jumped to their feet, clapping and cheering wildly. There were hugs and tears and all sorts of emotions as we all wished each other well. Our head coach, the toughest ex-military son of a gun I’d ever known, came over and gave me a bear hug. “That’s my boy.” He ruffled my hair, though I had a good four inches of height on him. He’d been like a father to me over the past few years, pushing and demanding but always with the understanding he did it because he believed in me. Now it was time to make it happen. By the time the room started to clear out and I was able to disengage myself from conversation, Emma had gone. Without coming over to talk. Something was up with her. I was going to find out what it was. I didn’t do this whole avoid and deny thing. When I saw an issue that needed to be addressed, I went for it. I took the stairs. Elevators could wait for when I had more patience. She answered her door after the first knock, likely expecting my arrival. “Hey. That was a great speech you made.” She looked shy and slightly nervous, stepping to the side and looking down at the carpet. “Thanks. We need to talk.” The four most dreaded words in the English language. Her attention snapped right up. Yeah, I didn’t like it, either. There were many things I’d enjoy doing more that could still involve

our mouths and occasional words like “yes” and “more.” But we had some less fun stuff to get out of the way first. “Is everything OK?” She sounded anxious. “I don’t think so.” I took her hand and led her over to the couch. At least we could sit together while we talked, preferably with her on my lap. I loved the feel of her ass against me, so round and tight but soft, too. I pulled her onto me and she settled in like we were made for each other. But she still held her body tense and rigid. “What’s up?” I asked her, cupping her chin and looking into her eyes. No avoidance, no denial. If something was wrong I needed to know. “Nothing, everything’s fine.” “Bullshit.” I wasn’t angry, but I wasn’t having it. Everything about her from the tentative tone of her voice to the guarded look in her eyes told me otherwise. “I guess I’m just worried about us and what’s going to happen when we get to Rio. After Rio.” “That’s a lot to try to figure out right now.” “I know. But I feel myself…I feel kind of strongly about you already and we don’t even know each other that well yet. It’s almost frightening, feeling out of control like this.” “I know.” I wrapped my arms around her waist, stroking her lower back. “I know how you feel.” “It’s not…” She was really struggling for words, and as much as I wanted to swoop in and kiss her and reassure her everything was fine, I knew she needed to get it out, get it off her chest. Then I could get on with letting her know she had nothing to worry about. “I’m worried, when you really get to know me—” “I know you.” I had to stop her there. She was a good person. I could sense it the first time I’d met her. Everything I’d learned about her since had bolstered that assumption. She might doubt herself, but I didn’t doubt her, not for a second. “Come here.” I drew her to me, close. Her heart was beating like a hummingbird and I could feel her shaking against me, she’d gotten herself so worked up. “Shhh.” I stroked her hair, caressed her cheek, trying to release the tension out of her body. “There’s nothing to be scared of,” I reassured her. “Don’t you feel how good it is between us?” “I do,” she agreed, but she still looked down and away. “But I can’t help worrying—” “Here’s the thing.” She looked up and I realized I’d started using my authoritative coaching voice, the tone I used when I needed to drive home a point. “You can get all messed up in here.” I tapped her forehead lightly. “We all can. We can waste a hell of a lot of time wondering what if, imagining worst case scenarios, getting so worked up we actually sabotage what’s happening right now.” She nodded. She knew what I was talking about. “Athletes have to deal with it all the time,” I continued. “You must have done it when you ran in college. Getting yourself into the right headspace for a competition?” She shrugged. “That was different, getting ready for meets.” I shook my head. “It’s the same thing, in competitions, in life. You can’t let your mind run away with worry and negative thinking. You have to stay present. Focused.” I drew a hand up to her shoulder, then slowly caressed her silky skin. “In the moment.” Her attention shifted, following the path of my hand. I swept her hair to one side, brought my fingers to the back of her neck, and started to kneed her there, working out her tension. “You need to feel more, think less.” My voice was growing more husky, sitting this close to her, with her gorgeous ass in my lap. I hadn’t even really had a chance to play with it yet. I’d given her some massages, and from what I’d seen of my sweet Emma she might like some other kinds of play, too. And it might be just the thing to get her mind off other more troublesome concerns. Nothing like blinding physical pleasure to arrest her stream of thought and connect her viscerally to the present moment.

As I stroked her neck and shoulders, she finally started relaxing, breathing deeper, her eyes halfclosing. She looked so appealing, her pink lips slightly open, her bra strap teasing at the edge of her tank top. “I want to help you relax,” I assured her, giving her a kiss. She kissed me back, her hand on my chest, a low sound of need in the back of her throat. I had a feeling I knew exactly what she needed. “Why don’t you lie down,” I suggested, guiding her around and down on the couch face-forward. “Lie across my lap, like that.” I rubbed her back, relaxing her back against the cushions. She lay down with her legs stretched along one side of me and her ass directly across my lap. She wriggled a bit, driving me wild in the process as the little skirt she wore worked its way up to the base of her ass cheeks. “Are you sure?” she asked, giving me a glance over her shoulder. “I’m sort of in a funny position.” “Yes,” I soothed her, running a hand down the small of her back, then over her rump. “Just like that. You’re right where I want you.” She sighed as my hand reached the bare skin of the back of her thighs. The sounds she made just about killed me, such a blend of erotic and sweet. She surrendered herself to me so willingly, with such eagerness. She needed a reward for being so good. But not before she took a little punishment. “This is a pretty skirt,” I complimented her, smoothing the fabric down over her upturned ass, tracing the hemline with my fingers along her upper thigh, right at the base of her buttocks. She squirmed a little under my touch. “Now you have to stay still, Emma, if you want me to make you feel good. Can you do that for me?” “Yes,” she answered, quiet, aroused. “Good,” I stroked her ass. “Now we need to get you undressed.” In a swift motion, I pulled her skirt down her hips, legs and off. I liked her habit of wearing little elastic waist athletic skirts. They really allowed for movement. And quick removal. She gasped as I did it, but didn’t protest. I’d already learned, she liked it when I took control. By now she knew that when I did, I’d take good care of her. She wore lacy, feminine undies. I admired them, caressing her shapely ass, tracing the outline they made on the swells of her cheeks. She shivered under my touch, wriggling a little in anticipation. I could feel some tension in her still, but maybe for a new reason. She had to be wondering exactly what I was up to. And that was part of the fun. “I like these, too,” I told her. “But they’ve got to go.” I got her panties down and off quick, too, and then I had her completely bare, right where I wanted her, over my lap. “So pretty,” I praised her, caressing her ass. “You’re so gorgeous. Do you know that?” “Um…” she hesitated, sounding breathless. “But I’m disappointed that you tried to pull away from me when you got worried, Emma.” I palmed the swell of her rear, swept my fingers between her upper thighs, knowing I was making her wet, my sweet little plaything. “You know you should always come and talk to me when you’re upset.” She nodded, but I wanted more. Swiftly, I reached underneath her chest and found her breast. With a light pinch on her stiff nipple, I ordered, “Answer me, Emma.” With a gasp, she answered, “Yes! Yes, Chase.” “Good.” I caressed her breasts, brought my hand around to the small of her back. From the shocked sound of her voice, I had a feeling this might be the first time she’d played around with some punishment. Good. I didn’t like the thought of her doing this with anyone else. In the past or in the future. Emma was mine to discipline. “Now I’d like to try something with you.” She shivered under my hands, a blend of arousal and anticipation. “Something I think you’ll like.” I could hear her panting, see her hands fanned out on the couch cushion as she waited for me to speak.

“I want to give you a spanking, Emma.” “What?” She arched her head around, propping herself up on her elbow. “A what?” “I think you need a spanking.” I told her, cupping her firmly with one hand on her hip. With the other, I stroked her quivering buttocks. “You’re so wound up. I think you need my firm hand on your ass. Have you ever been spanked before?” “No!” she gasped. “No, of course not!” “Do you trust me?” I looked into her wide eyes and she knew I meant it, on a deep level. Could she trust me this way, to give her intense pleasure with just a bit of pain sharpening the edge, pushing her to the brink? I knew it took a lot, surrendering herself completely to me like that. “Yes,” she exhaled, quiet, but I heard her. “Good,” I praised her, stroking her back. “I’ve got you, baby. I’m going to take care of you. But you need to lie back and let me. You need to trust me. Can you do that?” She nodded, biting her lip, and then sank down again on the couch. The sight of her lying there, her naked ass completely exposed, pussy already glistening across my lap, it pumped lust through my body. I felt like I could roar with power, grab her and fuck her senseless. But I held back, restrained myself, and stroked her gently. “Good, that’s so nice, baby.” The feel of her quivering flesh under my palm made my cock throb. “Now I’m going to give you your spanking. I have a feeling you’re going to like it. But I’ll stop if you want. If you don’t like it, you just tell me. OK?” “OK,” her voice sounded soft, not so much frightened as breathless. Gently, I raised my hand and gave her round ass a pat. Nothing hard, just making contact. She gasped, her hands pressing against the couch cushions. I stroked and caressed, soothing her until, smack, my hand came down again on her other cheek, this time a little harder. “Tilt your ass up for me, baby,” I coaxed her, engaging her in her punishment, wanting to see her comply. And I wanted a better angle so I could see more of her pussy, maybe even smack it along with her ass. With a moan, she did as I told her, arching her back and tilting her ass up for me. “That’s it.” I gave her a harder smack, stinging her pink ass, and another, my fingertips swiping along her wet pussy. “Ah!” she cried out, panting. My hand came down on her again, claiming, disciplining and she whimpered in need. “Yes,” I hissed, spanking her harder. The more she liked it, the more I gave her, pinking up her ass cheeks with the smacks of my palm. I could see her pussy glisten and start to drip as I spanked, then stroked her tender flesh. Intoxicated with her response, I reached in to coat my fingers in her slick arousal. “You like your spanking.” I groaned with satisfaction. I grabbed onto her hip, pulling her to me, keeping her arched up as I whacked her across her buttocks, hitting her wet pussy with a loud smack. “Yes,” she groaned from a deep, guttural place. “That’s it, give yourself to me.” As I spanked her, her breathing picked up, becoming a pant, and she started whining with need. “Now when you think about avoiding me, pulling away, I want you to think about how you feel right now.” I angled my hand so it came right down onto her quivering, slick pussy. She cried out, arching her back, her thighs tensing up. “You think about who you belong to.” I smacked her again, taking her right to the edge, her fingers gripping the couch as she gasped and nearly sobbed. “You tell me when you come,” I ordered her. “Who do you belong to?” “You! Oh Chase!” she screamed, her orgasm hitting her full-force as I thrust two fingers up inside of her, pressing against her clit with my thumb.

“Yes!” I thrust in her again, demanding more, more spasms of pleasure, more ecstasy shattering her into sobbing pieces as she collapsed down against my lap, her cheek on the couch. “That’s it,” I soothed her, stroking her back, giving her one more gentle thrust as she shuddered and groaned for me again. It was intense, coming like that. She’d given me a gift with her trust. I wanted to make sure she knew she’d made the right decision. Warm and pliant, I scooped her up and held her against me. She nestled in close, her cheek to my chest, and I kissed her hair. “That was so good, Emma. So gorgeous.” “I can’t believe how great that felt.” She spoke quietly, sounding shocked but in a good way. I kissed her, showing her how deeply I cared for her, how much her pleasure turned me on. I laid her back, gently, holding her in my arms. I only stood up and away from her for a moment as I undressed and put on a condom. Then I was back, wrapping her in my arms. She was so wet, slick and dripping from her spanking, and I thrust right in. “Oh!” She took me in, all of me, and we moved together in perfect synchronization. Our breathing, our moans, the slick, tight fit of our bodies. We kissed and panted, grasping at each other, wanting more until we climaxed, giving and taking, calling out each other’s names. “Chase.” Her voice was hushed and full of emotion as she pressed her hand against my chest, feeling the beat of my heart pounding for her. “Chase, I’ve never… I feel so—” She broke off and pressed an ardent kiss to my throat, wrapping her hands around my shoulders. “Me, too,” I agreed, knowing what she meant without her saying it. It was hard to articulate the kinds of emotions we were both having. But I was starting to realize that all the turbulence inside me was all boiling down to only a few words. I was falling in love with her.

CHAPTER 15 Emma

We were on separate flights to Rio. We didn’t realize it until it was too late to change our tickets. Everyone was flying into Rio in the first couple days of August. There would be no switching. Megan and I sat together on the flight, and thankfully she slept through most of it. By now everyone had pretty much realized that Chase and I were together. We weren’t broadcasting it, but anyone paying attention could tell. Megan wanted to know all about it, but I felt such a jumble of emotions I wasn’t much fun to talk to. Yes, I did feel some of the giddy, squealing “whee” you were supposed to feel when falling for someone. Because that was clearly what was happening here. I was falling truly, madly, deeply in love with Chase Carter. But it wasn’t all cotton candy and clapping hands with glee. First of all, what the man did to me was next level. We weren’t just having sex. We’d gone past making love. It felt like we were inhaling each other, devouring each other whole. I mean, a spanking? Who knew I’d love a spanking? That it would leave me shattered and quivering and feeling all hot and bothered still the next day? And it wasn’t just because I still had a slightly sore bottom—which I liked, by the way. How insane was that? I actually liked the reminder of how he’d marked me, made me his. Maybe I was losing my mind. His kind of dominant, possessive sex, it flipping turned me on at a crazy deep level. Beyond rational thought. And I needed some rational thought, because I was still officially on the blogging train and I needed to get off. That was the other factor dampening my joy, I hadn’t talked to Tori yet. Yesterday had been crazy, and when I’d found a moment to call her she hadn’t answered and then when she’d called me back I’d been receiving a sound spanking. I had to fan myself at the memory. The whole day today would be eaten up by traveling, but hopefully I’d see Tori tonight. We were staying in a condo together in the Olympic Village, so I figured I’d see her, but I wouldn’t arrive until late in the evening. Judging from her posts and phone calls and drunken emoji texting fits over the past week, she might not exactly be in the right frame of mind for a serious heart-to-heart. A threesome, perhaps, or clubbing until dawn, but a conversation about my backing out of a commitment, one on which she’d pinned her hopes and dreams? That might have to wait until tomorrow. But tomorrow I would definitely talk to her and straighten everything out because I couldn’t have it hanging over my head anymore. I wasn’t going to publish any stories about Chase, no matter how positive, upbeat and PR-friendly they were in tone. The only problem was the seven years Tori and I had put into building a blog together, devoting hours and hours of work into a fledgling endeavor we’d nurtured right to the cusp of big success.

The thing was, when I thought about it, it had always really been Tori’s dream. She was the one who thrived on gossip, who constantly sought a wider audience, who truly craved an escape from her “real” job waitressing so she could blog for a living. Me? I’d gone along for the ride because it had been fun. I hadn’t devoted nearly as much time to it as she had, and parts of her writing style and choice of content had always made me a little uncomfortable. I didn’t mind the bubbly, silly stuff, but sometimes she could get nasty, commenting on a celebrity’s weight gain or whether photos revealed that someone was cheating. I’d voiced dissent along the way, but Tori was good at filtering that out. Plus, I could see the numbers as well as she could, and the kinds of posts she wrote drew a lot more attention, activity and blog followers than my mellow, feel-good features. And, if I was honest with myself, a big reason why I hadn’t put my foot down was because I didn’t like conflict. Tori could do conflict. She’d learned from her parents how to throw a knock-down, drag-out fight and I didn’t want any part of that. But I couldn’t run a feature on Chase. The very idea seemed absurd now, and if it meant walking away from seven years of work on our blog, then so be it. I just hoped it didn’t also mean walking away from the 16 years of friendship Tori and I had as well. The airport in Rio was a zoo, and the public transport set up to get to the Olympic village was packed to the gills, but at least everything looked to be completed and functioning. I knew the government had been scrambling, teams of workers at it round-the-clock to get everything finished and set up for the millions of visitors pouring in for the games. Megan and I stuck close through it all, and I was glad for her company. Together, all the chaos and crowds felt more exhilarating than frightening, especially when she started pointing out athletes to me. They weren’t too hard to spot as most wore their team traveling jerseys. “Gymnast,” she hissed, pointing her finger behind her phone at a group to my right on the tram. Subtle as I could, I looked over and found Mr. Dreamy, looking all cute in a boy band kind of way with swooshed hair and a dimpled smile. He clearly knew it, too, as he chatted up a few ladies who’d found their way over to him. His team jersey announced his nationality as German, but he either also spoke English or they were all fluent in the international language of love as conversation and laughter flowed freely. “Water polo.” Megan tilted her head in the other direction, her eyes wide. I swiveled my head— casually of course, pretending to fix my hair—and spotted a Russian behemoth, more bear than man, glowering down at the tram as if we’d all done him wrong. Slowly, I turned back. “Scary,” I whispered. “Big man hits ball,” she whispered back in a caveman voice. “I am so glad I’m not playing water polo against that man.” She laughed. “I think he’d pick you up and launch you into the net.” The Olympic Village had plenty of kiosks with maps and orientation guides wearing bright orange jumpsuits offering directions, but it still took me upward of an hour to find the compound where Tori and I would be staying. I should have stuck with the swim team entourage. I hadn’t fully processed how huge the area would be, with over thirty buildings containing thousands of condos plus parks and bike paths and shops everywhere. Chase and I had discussed meeting up that night. Now I wondered if I’d manage to make it to his physical therapy session tomorrow morning, even if I started finding my way over to it right then. Tori was not there when I arrived, as expected. I did manage to get through to her via text. She responded quickly. Tori: YOU MUST COME HERE NOW

A slurry of emojis followed, including a barfing face, and then a photo of what looked like blurred lights in a dark club and maybe a few faces. But no address. Chase checked in as well, wanting to make sure I arrived safely, wanting to see me. Chase: Want me to send a car to pick you up and bring you over to my place? I paused, my fingers hovering over the keys. Should I? The answer was yes, of course, yes. And so that’s exactly what I did, letting a car whisk me away to the sweet house he and a few of his teammates were renting just outside the fray of the Olympic Village. The mood was celebratory, in a stone cold sober kind of a way, and no one seemed to bat an eye when I walked in and Chase greeted me with a full-body hug and a deep kiss. Chase and I and a bunch of the group with and on the U.S. Swim team spent the whole next day together, starry-eyed, walking around, getting familiar with the new setting. I got to be with Chase when he first walked in and saw the pool where they’d be competing. At this point, we didn’t care anymore. We held hands, tight, walking into the Olympics Aquatics Stadium. “There it is!” I fairly jumped up and down with excitement. The arena was huge, set up to hold around 15,000 spectators. They’d all be watching the swimmers in those 10 lanes, but really most eyes would be on Chase, in the middle of the pool, pushing ahead. He gazed down at it, nodded his head, and gave me a slow smile. “That’s where it’s all going to happen.” I had no idea where he found his cool, calm confidence. I personally felt like throwing up and I wasn’t even the one going to compete. It was a good thing he knew how to deal with the spotlight, because he sure was in it. At six foot three, with his face on the cover of every magazine smart enough to put him on it, everyone recognized Chase everywhere we went. After the pool, we made the mistake of trying to grab lunch at a café nearby. We didn’t even get up to the front of the line before he was swarmed with admirers, people asking for photos and autographs. After that, he joined his team for meals, accepting it as a necessity for the games. No private, romantic tête-à-tête dinners for us at a quiet little table in the corner, at least not while we were in Rio for the next week. But after, he assured me, after we’d have all the time together in the world. The night before the opening ceremony, he had a meeting with his team, of course, and Tori had plans with the Italian soccer team, of course again. This time, I did meet her out at the nightclub where she apparently was keeping office hours. It seemed to be the only way in which I could manage to talk to her. She hadn’t been responding to my texts. I almost felt like she was avoiding me. I texted Chase the address and hoped he’d be able to join us later. “There she fucking is!” Tori shrieked from across the bar when I walked in. “I wondered if you’d even made it to Rio!” “Hey, sorry,” apologies came tumbling out of my mouth, though she was as much to blame as me for our missing each other. Sure, I’d been spending most of my time with Chase and his team, but it wasn’t as if she’d been sitting back in the condo waiting for me. The couple of times I’d stopped back there to grab clothes and toiletries, she’d been nowhere to be seen. “Drink!” I had shots thrust in front of me, guys giving me hugs, arms pulling me out onto the dance floor. When in Rome! I joined them, sidestepping the majority of the hard drinks but bringing it on the dance floor. Oh my, those Italian men with their dark good looks and the way they moved their hips! Such rhythm!

One of them started hitting on me, telling me I was bellissima and claiming to not believe me that I wasn’t there to compete in the games, I was so fit and perfect. He was fun to dance with, so I didn’t mind, and after the first couple of refusals he stopped trying to get me drunk. Until I made the ultimate mistake. “So what position do you play on the soccer team?” I asked, trying to be polite. He and several of his teammates heard my ultimate party foul. They all erupted in a roar. “Football! Not soccer! Drink!” A shot appeared out of thin air, big and fat and looking suspiciously like tequila. Until an even larger hand dropped in from above and snatched it away. “If the lady doesn’t want to drink, you’re not going to make her.” Chase. A smile broke across my face. My hero. “But you do know you can’t call it soccer outside the U.S.,” he whispered to me, wrapping me in his arms. “I know! I’ll never make that mistake again.” “Now, do I have to beat anyone up?” he asked, his finger under my chin as we started to sway to the music. “I saw one of those soccer players hitting on you pretty hard.” “Oh, Leo’s harmless.” “First name basis, are we?” “Not like that,” I assured him. “Chase the Ace!” Tori swooped in, snaking her arms around my man. “Tori?” Chase mouthed her name as he looked at me. I nodded. My crazy friend, drunk as a skunk. “I hear you two have been getting to know each other!” she sang out, waggling her finger between us. “Naughty, naughty! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do! Which means you can do a whole hell of a lot!” She burst out into gales of laughter, making her way over to the bar again and a circle of gorgeous, attentive Italian men. Chase and I stayed a bit longer, then made our escape. Chase called a car and we headed back to the house he was renting. Sitting together in the back seat, he stretched his arm out behind me. “So that’s your best friend?” “Since we were nine,” I confirmed. “She’s crazy, I know, but she’s a lot of fun. And she’s been a really good friend to me, always there when things go horribly, tragically wrong with men.” “Men who weren’t me. That was the problem.” “Obviously,” I agreed, but I continued on the earlier subject. “I know you probably don’t get it. Tori and I are really different.” “Oh no, I do get it,” he insisted. “The friends you make when you’re younger, they’re in.” He peaked his fingers together as if forming the roof of a house. “You get real tight when you go through stuff as a kid.” “Right?” I was the first person to admit, Tori was off her rocker, but all those nights we’d stayed up sharing secrets, the good stuff and the bad, our fears and dreams, it went deep. Plus, neither of us had a sister, so I guessed we’d become that for each other. You didn’t cut out a sister. “I’ve got friends…” He shook his head. “Thankfully, you’ll be meeting Liam later this week. He’s the one I can take out in public.” He cracked himself up. “Ian might bite your head off. He’s a cranky son-ofa-bitch. And Jax, well, he’d probably try to talk you out of your panties.” “It wouldn’t work,” I reassured him. “You know, it does all the time, though,” he marveled at his friend’s skills. “Even though he has a criminal record.” “You’re friends with a criminal?” I wasn’t one to judge, but, really? “I’m not just friends with him. I’d lay down my life for him.” OK. That was intense. It wasn’t the first time I’d taken note of that characteristic in him. It did make me wonder, though. It was clear with Chase, if you were in, you were in. But how did that work on the other

side? What if someone did something that pissed him off? Were they out forever? Back at the house, a bunch of his teammates were still up with a few friends, sitting around watching TV. We said our hellos, but then headed back into his bedroom. We hadn’t seen nearly enough of each other over the past few days. He locked the door behind us, backing me up against the far wall, pressing me against it with hot kisses. “You’re driving me crazy in this dress.” He licked kisses down my throat, to my cleavage, unzipping my dress to get more access. It fell to the floor and he wasted no time in pulling off my panties and reaching up to find me slick and waiting. “I want you so much,” he whispered into my ear, moving against me, touching me as only he knew how, coaxing desire from inside me deep. “I hated seeing you surrounded by those men tonight at the club,” he grit out. “You know nothing was going on.” I kissed his throat, his shoulders, his perfectly chiseled chest. I missed touching him so much. I hadn’t even been able to work on him as often as I wanted over the past couple of days—less workouts, more team meetings, more PR obligations had meant so much less time together. He stepped out of his jeans and briefs and brought his thick cock into the palm of his hand as he pulled on a condom. Then he returned to me, kissing, pinning me against the wall. “But I want everyone to know,” he told me, speaking the words low and hot into my ear. “You’re mine.” He drove into me in one swift, full thrust. I gasped, my eyes wide he stretched and filled me so much. I moved to grab onto his shoulders, but he took my wrists and brought them up above my head where he could pin them in one of his large hands against the wall. “Mine,” he repeated, taking me hard and rough against the wall, grasping my ass as he held me and fucked me. I wrapped my legs around his waist and surrendered to it, the feel of complete possession. He looked down at me, predatory, commanding, hard and driving, claiming me. And as he clasped my wrists and held me firm against the wall, he drove into me again and again, ruthless, demanding everything from me. I started to moan, loudly, but he covered it with a quick, deep kiss. “You need to keep it quiet, my beauty,” he reminded me. We had company, right outside the door. “Can you keep quiet when you come?” Now his voice sounded wicked, teasing, as he brought his finger to my clit, pushing against it as he thrust. I was so wet. He slid in deep, the friction between us so intense I didn’t know if I could keep quiet. I whimpered, closing my eyes, trying to silence myself as the storm built inside me “It’s hard, isn’t it,” he tormented me, stroking and fucking me until I shuddered and panted, barely able to stand up I could feel my orgasm coming on so strong. “You want to scream, don’t you, baby?” I whimpered again, struggling, about to come. “I’ll cover your mouth so you can scream my name.” With his hands firmly around my wrists and clamped down over my mouth, I came so hard I nearly blacked out, feeling so commanded, so dominated and yet so cared for and satisfied I couldn’t even think straight. When I felt him come, too, thrusting into me so strong and long and deep, another shudder tremored up through my body, my pussy clenching around his cock. “Ah, Emma.” He said my name like I was a goddess and he was worshipping at my altar. I’d never felt so possessed before, so swept away, so out of control. It was exhilarating and terrifying all at once. § The following day was the opening ceremonies of the games. I watched it on a huge screen at a bar with the whole swim team crew. Tori had invited me to go out with some of the friends she made through her PR role, but I wanted to be with the swim people. We’d grown close in the past three weeks, on such

an emotional roller coaster, and it was fun to be with Megan and the others when Chase and his teammates came on the jumbotron. I couldn’t believe it when I saw him up on the big screen. It felt crazy, like watching someone you knew walking on the moon, doing something that looked both so familiar and so unbelievable all at once. Chase looked happy, waving and smiling. I couldn’t imagine what a rush he was feeling and I wished I could be there with him, by his side. I saw him hold up his phone and snap a photo of the crowd. Then my phone blipped with a text. There it was, his photo of the crowd in the Olympic stadium. And his message. Chase: Wish you were here with me. He got back to the hotel room late that night and he had to wake up early, what with the Olympic Games and all. I was freaking out, not handling it at all well. Honestly, I thought it might be better for him if he stayed away from me. But he wanted to spend the night together before his first events. I was so nervous I practically balled up like a cat at the edge of the bed, perched and ready to spring. But Chase, the true athlete, fell right to sleep, getting his required rest before his first competitive events. The next morning at the swim arena, I worked on his shoulders and quads briefly while his head coach talked to him non-stop. We managed a quick moment to ourselves with a kiss and my wish for good luck, and then I was spat out into the stands where thankfully Megan and Tori were waiting for me. I purposely didn’t sit anywhere near his parents. The TV cameras kept flashing over to them. Chase told me they were sitting together, even though he wondered if they might need some kind of a guard to keep them from doing harm to each other. Apparently the divorce proceedings still rankled, 12 years later. They looked terrifying to me, like a Ralph Lauren ad. His mom wore a stiff navy blazer and a patterned scarf. I bet she’d take one look at me, Florida girl in my flip-flops and athletic tank and shorts, and turn her nose right up. Add it to the list of reasons I was glad that the press hadn’t identified me as Chase’s girlfriend. I already felt like I’d swallowed a bird. Not a small one, either, like a large angry turkey flapping around in my stomach. It wasn’t a good feeling. All I’d need to push me right over the edge was a camera focused in on me. Chase was swimming the 400 Individual Medley first, a killer event with all four strokes. The moment he walked onto the pool deck, I lost my mind, starting to stand up, then sitting down again, my hand halfway inside my mouth as I chewed on it nervously, screaming his name along with the crowd around me. Out by the blocks, many of the other swimmers wore earbuds to drown out the noise and keep them focused. Not Chase. He didn’t need it. He created a world of his own, impervious to his surroundings as he shook his limbs loose. “Stretch your quads!” I yelled from up in the stands, as if he could hear me. There was no way he could, but as if we were telepathically connected—or maybe he’d rehearsed his pre-swim routine a hundred thousand million times—he stretched his quads. I couldn’t watch. I had to watch. He dove in with a powerful, masterful swoosh and led right out of the gate. Butterfly was his standout stroke, where he looked like a wild, swooping animal closing in on its prey. I’d seen him swim many times before, but it still stopped my heart, made me clutch my hands together in prayer and scream until I had no voice left. He swam with such power and fluid grace, defying all laws of gravity as he seemed to literally fly out over the water. In backstroke he still held the lead, but then came breaststroke. There was a Brit next to him, pulling up, then ahead. No! I wanted to leap down into the pool and throw myself onto him, holding him back. But

that probably wouldn’t count as sportsmanlike behavior. Plus, they’d all just probably have to swim the event again and my heart definitely couldn’t take it. So I watched, and screamed, balancing on my tiptoes as they all flip-turned, Chase no longer in the lead until the final lap of freestyle. “Go for it!” I screamed. Megan and Tori both clung to me, all of us losing our minds as Chase started to even up, then pull ahead in the final stretch. When he touched, we were half watching him, half watching the scoreboard. He did it! He came in first! Gold! Screaming, crying, jumping up and down, someone draped an American flag around our shoulders and we held it up, doing a dance. I felt elated, overwhelmed, thrilled. And he still had eight more final events to go. Another one that afternoon. It was too much! It wasn’t fair to make him swim two 400-meter events on the same day! Were they trying to torture Chase? No human could do that. I needed to lodge a complaint with the organizing committee. Or start taking high quantities of Valium. Chase might be the one exerting himself full-throttle in the pool. But it looked like I would be the one who might not survive the Olympics.

CHAPTER 16 Chase

Yesterday I won gold in the 400 IM and the 400 Free. Today I had the free relay, and I had to rely on my teammates to bring it home. I knew they could do it, and they did, pushing themselves to the limit and beyond, each of us becoming better than we could on our own as we pushed together as a team. We won gold. That made three. My mother and father were there to cheer me on, and as far as I could tell they were managing to keep it together. I knew they hated each other with a passion. I also knew I couldn’t change or fix things between them. I’d learned that lesson long ago. All I could do was take notes for my own life. Don’t hold on to grudges. Don’t stay angry. It never did any good. Monday I had the freestyle finals and then Tuesday Liam would arrive for my remaining five. I was looking forward to seeing him and introducing him to Emma. I knew they’d get along. What Emma didn’t know was what was happening on Wednesday. I still had events all the way through Saturday, and I was flying out some other people as my special guests: her parents. Whereas my mom and dad were a source of stress and tension, requiring management, wrangling and peacekeeping, her parents seemed to really make her happy. And I loved making Emma happy. I knew she was close to them, and she’d always watched the games with them in years past. She’d mentioned what fans they were, how they’d always especially loved swimming from her childhood days on a recreational swim team. Sometime I’d have to see photos of that. Little Emma in her cap and goggles, she must have been so freaking cute. I knew she’d love seeing her parents and watching the games with them, and I couldn’t wait to see her face when they arrived. I’d been to the games before, eight years ago, so I knew some of what to expect, but this experience felt so different. It still had all the palpable excitement in the air, the thrill of being among athletes of the highest caliber from all over the world. But I felt it more this time around. Back when I was 18, I really had been more like a robot, switching myself on to race. This time around, I had Emma to look for up in the stands. I couldn’t actually pick out her voice amidst the roar, but I felt like I could, and I could see her standing there, cheering for me, with me every second. I knew coach had worried about me getting distracted, and he was right, Emma was on my mind a hell of a lot. But that wasn’t working against me. I’d always thought blinders would make me faster, but it turned out having someone I really cared about on the sidelines was the real key. She fueled me, pumped new life into me, gave me a crazy new burst of energy in my swimming. With her, I felt unstoppable. But on Monday I won my first silver. I know it sounded ridiculous, but it was a letdown. I had that event, the 200 Freestyle. I could swim it in my sleep. But for some reason I hadn’t brought it, or at least not as much as the guy next to me who’d managed to touch the wall a full second and a half before me.

Afterward, I just wanted to get back to the house, eat a big meal and see Emma. She wouldn’t care that I’d missed gold. She’d cheer me up. But then one of the PR handlers came into our team room, spoke briefly with one of our assistant coaches and then approached me. “You should look at the link I just sent you,” she said, sounding grave. “I’m sorry to bother you with this kind of thing, but it’s better if you see it straight away. Rip off the BandAid. We’re working on a response, so you don’t have to worry about it.” I opened my email, clicked on the link she’d forwarded and just like that, my vision went white with hot rage. Someone had run a smear story on me, accusing me of having crippled my friend in a boating accident years ago. Far from the wounded kid I’d been portrayed as in the press, I was to blame. I’d abandoned my friend Ian right when he’d needed me most. Because of me, he’d spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair. “Fuck!” I exploded, hurling my phone to the floor. Thank you Lifeproof case and carpeting, it did not break. But goddamn it I felt like something inside of me had. I’d just read my deepest, darkest shame, the secret guilt that still tormented me, plastered across the internet. Emma walked in, finding me a hot mess, my head in my hands as I swore and swore again. “Silver’s amazing, Chase.” She reached up, trying to calm me down. “It’s not the silver medal.” I didn’t want to talk about it. But I did have to, with her. After all those years, it was finally time. Plus, she’d see the blog eventually, probably later today. She needed to know the whole story. “Come on, let’s get out of here.” A car brought us back to the house. She stayed close to me the whole time, rubbing my shoulder or leaning her head against my chest, letting me know she was there to make me feel better even though she didn’t know what was upsetting me. My teammate Brian was standing in the kitchen, fixing himself a smoothie. “Have some.” He handed me a glass. I downed it in seconds flat. He didn’t even blink, then did the same thing with the remainder himself. Swimmers and their smoothies. “Before you say anything.” He stopped me as I was about to start cursing, venting my rage. “It’s a fucking blog. No one pays any attention to that crap. It’s not like it’s the New York Times. Everyone knows they’re just making up shit to pull in readers.” “Still feels like crap.” I smacked my palm against the refrigerator. Emma looked pale as a ghost. “What happened?” “Someone’s been talking smack about your boy,” Brian informed her. “You just need to tell him not to listen to that kind of stupid shit.” Emma looked really shaken, frightened almost. I reached out my hand. “Here. Let me tell you about it.” Her hand shook in mine as we walked into my bedroom. Funny, I thought I was the one who needed the comforting. Now that Emma seemed so scared, my need to take care of her kicked in and I drew her against my chest, hugging her close. “Everything’s OK. But are you ready for a story?” I asked her, not even fully believing myself that I was about to tell her everything. I wasn’t supposed to. I’d signed documents promising not to disclose any details. But 12 years had passed without sharing my story with anyone. I needed to get it off my chest. And I could trust Emma. She nodded, eyes big and wide, and we sat down together on the bed. “It happened the summer we were all 14.” I gave her a little background, how Liam and I had been hanging around over the summers for years, how Ian and then Jax were newer arrivals. “Ian was always pushing the envelope, testing limits. And one afternoon he really went for it.” I explained how Liam and I had been out sitting on a dock fishing, when Jax and Ian had shown up. In a 34 ft. long catamaran.

“I knew it wasn’t Ian’s family’s boat. And I knew it didn’t belong to Jax.” They’d taken it for a joy ride, “borrowed it” as Ian would tell me once we climbed on board. “I’m not supposed to talk about that, or any of what followed,” I admitted to Emma, looking down at my hands. The owner of the boat had settled out of court, for an undisclosed sum. Ian’s father had paid him off. He didn’t want his boy’s future tarnished by a little thing like a joy ride on a boat. He’d approached the problem with, “So what’s it going to take?” As in, how much money will make this go away? As part of the agreement, all of us—the boat’s owner, the four of us boys, plus the families involved— had agreed not to discuss it, any of it. But things had a way of making their way to the surface. Rumors, especially, about what had happened. Now I needed to tell Emma everything. “We decided to take it out for a spin. We all knew our way around a boat.” Liam had grown up on the island year-round, and Ian and I had spent every summer there. “It was nothing we couldn’t handle. At least that’s what we thought.” I shook my head, remembering how thoughtlessly I’d climbed on board. Those steps now seemed so ominous. “It was later than we realized. The day was already overcast, and it seemed to get darker quickly.” I could still remember the moment when my exhilaration out on the water picked up an edge of fear. “It was a windy day with rough water, but manageable. But then you could feel it, a shift in the air. A storm was coming, working up fast and dangerous. “The wind and rain came on suddenly. We weren’t even that far from shore, but thank God, Liam knew enough to call the Coast Guard. Ian didn’t want him to, but he didn’t listen.” I told Emma the rest of what I remembered myself, how we’d started heading back to the yacht club but we couldn’t get there fast enough. What started as a squall turned into a violent thunderstorm in a matter of minutes. And then it hit. “It was like a white wall coming at us,” I recalled, shuddering at the memory. I’d never seen anything like it before, and I hoped I never would again. “I guess it was wind and water and it hit the boat hard.” “That’s so terrifying.” Emma cupped her hands over her mouth, frightened at the thought of it. And she was right. It was the scariest thing I’d ever experienced. Later, we’d find out that winds picked up to about 70 miles an hour, just below official hurricane-level. The boat thrashed like a giant had tossed it and the front end of the boat snapped clean off. “It flipped on its side, and I got thrown into the water. I didn’t even have on a life jacket.” I paused for a moment, taking a breath, keeping it together. That was what I dreamed about, that moment when the waves grasped and pulled at me, so cold and I couldn’t tell in the dark which way was up. I went under, sinking, clawing around me, blind in the blackness, fighting to stay alive even as I gulped down water. And then everything went dark. “That’s all I remember,” I admitted. “I woke up in the hospital four days later.” “Oh my God.” Emma’s eyes were wide. “I found out that Liam jumped in after me. Stupid kid. He could have died.” The heroic rescuer even at age 14, Liam had grabbed a life raft, tied it with a long rope around his waist and thrown himself in after me. “By some miracle, he managed to dive down deep enough to grab me, then found the strength to haul me back up to the surface and swim us over to a life raft. I stayed unconscious the whole time. I’d swallowed too much water. But he managed to strap us both to the raft and keep us alive until the Coast Guard arrived.” “What about your friends on the boat? Ian and Jax?” She hung on every word, and I realized it did sound like I was telling her the plot to some blockbuster movie. People paid good money to see stuff like that on the big screen, with all the sound effects and props to make it feel real. But take it from me, you didn’t want to experience anything like it, not in real life. “Ian got hurt bad.” I didn’t know all the details, still this many years later. They kept me in ICU for over a week after the accident. But Ian? He’d spent months in there because of the burns.

“When the boat broke, the fuel pump cracked. You never would have thought it could happen with all that rain, on the water, but a fire started. Ian got trapped, caught on something.” I shook my head, hating the thought of it. He’d been such an active kid, the most athletic of us all. “I’m so sorry.” She shook her head. “The Coast Guard got there quick. We were lucky, all of us lived.” But I knew Ian still had days when he might not agree he felt so lucky. At first, he’d worked hard at rehab, but then something had changed. As far as I knew, he hadn’t walked in years. He sequestered himself in one of his family’s homes, taking pain meds, confined to a wheelchair. He had more inherited money than most people would know what to do with. But it hadn’t bought him happiness. And now some blog had published a story accusing me of being responsible for his injuries. “I never should have fallen off that boat. I was the strongest in the water of all of them. I was the one who thought he was a hot shot, the competitive swimmer of the group. But what did I do? I instantly went down, risking Liam’s life, leaving Ian and Jax to fend for themselves.” Emma wrapped her arms around me. “Chase, it sounds like there was nothing you could do. You were thrown off the boat and started sinking down to the bottom of the ocean until Liam grabbed you.” I nodded, knowing the truth of her words. But guilt was a strange thing. It gnawed away at you even when it didn’t necessarily make sense. “I’ve played it over and over in my head. I should have held on. I never should have fallen off. Then maybe things would have been different. Maybe Liam or I could have helped Ian when he needed it.” “You talk like you had a choice about it.” Emma tried to stop me from beating myself up. “You got caught in a near hurricane. The boat snapped in half.” “Still, I was the swimmer. I should have been able to keep everyone safe.” She just hugged me, holding me tight, and that helped even more than words. “I wish like hell I’d never stepped foot on that boat.” It felt good to admit it. “Or at least that I’d tried to talk them into returning it. Instead of hopping right on board.” “But you were 14.” She kissed me, trying to soothe me. “You were a 14-year-old boy.” I could feel the steady beating of her heart, her chest against mine. I knew regret didn’t do any good. It ate away at you, corroding your life. But if I could change one thing, it would be the moment I walked on that boat. “Somebody must have talked to that blog,” I said, ruefully. “They must have been sniffing around Naugatuck until they found someone willing to sling around some mud.” “Do you know which blog it was?” Emma asked in a small voice. “Something stupid sounding. The Rio Rap Sheet, I think. Bloodsuckers. They need to get a life. Isn’t there enough news here at the games without making up shit?” “I’m so sorry,” she repeated, still looking shell-shocked. “It’s not your fault.” I reached over and took her hand. She looked ashen, truly shaken by my story. “Hey,” I stroked her cheek and pulled her closer. “I’m OK. It happened a long time ago. And this will blow over. Our PR team is working on a response. I got pissed about the story, but I can’t let it knock me off course. I won’t let it.” “No, of course not.” She leaned back against me, shaking her head. “I can’t believe you ever got back into the water after that happened.” “Getting on a boat still isn’t my favorite thing,” I admitted. “But I had to swim. I had to prove it to myself.” “I think you’ve proved it to the world by now.” She reached up and kissed me. I entwined a hand in her hair, ran my other along her waist. She felt so good. How could I stay upset with her melting in my arms? “So you think I’ve proved myself?” I couldn’t help asking, gold medalist that I was, as I tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and gave her another kiss.

“Yeah. Except for that silver medal you won,” she teased me, shaking her head in pretend disappointment. “That’s just embarrassing.” I burst out laughing. She knew exactly how to lighten my mood. “I mean, show some respect, man.” She started laughing, too, and I wrestled her down to the bed, tickling her until she screamed for me to stop. We lay, panting, her cheek on my chest. “I’m sorry,” she apologized. “That was ridiculous of me to say. I just, I don’t know what to say. That’s such an awful thing you went though.” “It felt good to tell you the whole story.” I hadn’t realized how much it had been oppressing me, lying heavy on my chest, a barrier between me and everyone I’d met since the accident. None of them knew what had happened, and because of that they couldn’t really know me. Now Emma did. “And I’ll meet Liam tomorrow?” she asked. “Tomorrow,” I agreed. “When I swim the 200 fly.” My favorite event. Most humans tired after the first 100 meters of butterfly. Not me. That’s when I really got going. Plus, I’d have both Emma and Liam there to cheer me on. We lay together, lazy in bed, hands and mouths drifting, exploring. Clothes came off and we gloried in each other, stroking, coaxing, loving for hours. I broke away to eat—I had to do that—but then I returned to her arms, her legs, her body, Emma. It felt like a dark cloud over me had lifted. I couldn’t make things right with Ian, but somehow the years of secrecy around the accident had compounded to make it all worse in my head. After telling Emma, I felt lighter than I had in years. She was like a gift, arriving at just the right moment in my life. And I had all kinds of plans for keeping her there in the future. After the games, I wanted to travel together. Wherever she wanted to go, I’d say yes. And then, hell, maybe I could head down to Florida for a while? It was a swim-crazy kind of a state. There had to be some team somewhere that would be excited about having a former Olympian as a coach. With Emma, I had a feeling everything would work out perfectly. § Tuesday, before I swam, Liam arrived and found me in our team room. “There he is!” We bear-hugged like brothers. He looked good, healthy, the handsome devil all the girls flocked to without him even trying. “Now, who are you about to go smack down?” He put down his duffel bag, instantly all business, wanting to hear about my next event. I filled him in about my two closest competitors, one my teammate, Chris, and the other a powerhouse from South Africa. Plus, there was a wildcard from China in the seventh lane. The guy was an erratic swimmer, but when he was on he was on. “You’re going to do this, Chevy. I know it.” I nodded. I could feel it, too. “And then you’re going to introduce me to your girlfriend.” I broke out in a smile. He and I both knew how much he enjoyed using that term associated with my name. He loved to ride me about how my “all work no play” ethic wasn’t good for me. “At least get yourself a girlfriend, man,” he’d frequently chastised, as if he found my lack of action personally insulting. But he was one to talk. Though he had more than his share of opportunities, he hadn’t gone all-in over anyone yet, either. It almost seemed as if he were holding himself back over something, or someone. “Go make me proud!” Liam and I fist bumped, and he walked out of the room leading me and my teammates in a “USA! USA!” chant. He was going up to sit with my parents, brave soul. They’d known him and his family for almost two decades, and by now they’d at least stopped fighting the fact that we were friends. But they were resigned about it, as if thinking, “after all those private schools we sent you to, this is the best you can do for a friend? A fireman?”

I knew they’d never say exactly that to my face, but they were pretty transparent. They’d both worked hard to climb their way up the social ladder in the Boston area. Money, of course, opened most doors, and then my mother battered down the rest of them through her incessant involvement in charitable works—at least the party-giving end of them. My elite training and education, culminating at Stanford, was their crowning achievement. Now if only I would fall in line after this whole swimming thing, join the hedge fund and the country club, marry a Wellesley grad and start sending out Christmas cards with us and our two kids on ski slopes in Aspen, all would be well! I’d introduced them to Emma a couple of days ago and they’d been polite, but disinterested. They probably hadn’t picked up on my cues: This Woman Is Important. We weren’t going in for PDA with cameras around. Neither of us wanted press to pick up the scent. She didn’t want all those close-ups on her while I swam, and I didn’t want her caught up in the shark-like feeding frenzy I knew was circling right below us in the water. If news broke that I had a girlfriend, and she was my physical therapist, and by the way she was live on camera watching me swim? There’d be no end of it the whole rest of the week. I wondered what Emma’s parents would be like. They arrived tomorrow. I had a feeling I’d like them. At first they’d refused my offer to fly them out, telling me it was too much. I’d had to explain that the tickets to watch the games were comped to me, the team already had a large block of hotel rooms reserved for family and friends, and I had enough miles to cover the airplane ticket. But what had finally won them over was their daughter. “It would make Emma really happy to watch the games, in person, with you both.” That had done it. They’d agreed, and would arrive tomorrow night. The 200 fly flew. My experience of swimming an event was an odd blend of time both slowed down and rapidly sped up. In the minutes before my dive, my consciousness contracted into a laser point down my lane. No crowds, no noise, no waving fans or worried looks toward the scoreboard. I didn’t notice the men in the lanes around me, or my coaches standing over to the side. It was me and the water, that stretch of blue ahead. And I would beat it. There was nothing like the butterfly to get that high, experience the closest thing we humans could to gliding and swooping across the water like a dolphin. My lungs burning, every muscle in my shoulders on fire. I lit it up. I knew without looking, I’d pulled off an amazing swim. When I touched first, I removed my goggles, lifted up my cap and the roar was almost deafening. The entire arena was on its feet, going wild. I looked over at the clock and saw it. I’d taken almost a full second off of the world record. Even I couldn’t believe it. I shook hands with the men in the lanes next to me, congratulating them on their swims. I looked up to where I knew Emma was watching me. I could barely make her out among the fans around her, all on their feet, but I caught a glimpse of her, hands up over her mouth, and what looked like tears streaming down her cheeks. “We did it,” I mouthed to her. She was looking straight at me, and I’d tell her exactly what I’d said when I finally got to see her later. Without her physical therapy, my shoulder could never have performed the way it did. Without her in my life, I would not have felt like I had actual wings lifting me through the pool. Emma had made all the difference.

CHAPTER 17 Emma

Olympic, post-gold medal sex was really next-level. Chase and I were setting records of our own in the bedroom. Number of orgasms in one sitting, for example. I’d blown all previous records out of the water. There was no medal ceremony involved, but I could really vouch for the fact that the reward was in the process, itself. After he not only won gold for the 200 butterfly but shattered the world record, I’d met his best friend Liam. Briefly. I had a great deal of interest in getting to know him, hanging out, and becoming his friend, too. But not right then. And he really was a true friend, because after giving Chase a heartfelt, celebratory congratulations, he announced that he was meeting up with some guys for a drink. Which guys? He didn’t specify. I didn’t have a hard time believing that Liam made friends easily. He seemed like the type who could strike up a conversation with a cardboard cutout and manage to have a good time. But he’d only just arrived in Rio. Seemed to me he was clearing out, giving us a little time together. Which was all right with me and Chase. You might think he’d be tired after a race that epic. A mortal man might have been. But not my Olympic athlete. He pulled me into the back of the limo outside the arena, straight onto his lap. He locked the privacy screen between us and the driver. I straddled him and kissed him with all the emotion I was experiencing, the thrill of adrenaline and elation I still felt from watching him win. “I saw you in the stands,” he told me, his hand cupped along the back of my neck, his thumb grazing the curve of my breasts. I rocked against him, opening my legs wide and pushing where I could feel him growing hard. I wore a short skirt and it rode right up, leaving only my panties and his shorts between us. My hands cupped his massive shoulders, delighting in his strength, his packed muscle. “Could you tell what I said to you after I won?” he asked. I shook my head no. I’d seen him look straight at me and mouth some words, but he’d been too far away. Leaning in, he whispered in my ear, “We did it.” “Chase,” I threw my arms around him, tears coming to my eyes. “I love seeing you in the stands.” “I hate watching you swim,” I nearly sobbed, so full of emotion, but then I burst into a laugh watching his dismayed reaction. “No, I mean I love watching you. But my heart gets tied in knots. I’m such a hot mess when you swim.” “Are you all worked up?” he asked with a slow smile, definitely with something on his mind. His reached under my T-shirt, sweeping up my bare skin to play with my breasts. Every inch of me felt so sensitive, alert and alive and I squirmed under his touch.

“Do you need some release, baby?” he asked, finding one of my pebbled nipples and toying with it between his thumb and forefinger. I panted, expectant, knowing how hot he could make me feel with his words and his fingers. “You want me to make you feel good?” As he asked, he tweaked my nipple, brief and sharp, and it sent a jolt straight down to my pussy. “Ah, yes,” I moaned, pushing my clit against him, grinding into him. I felt a rush of wet heat, my need building fast. “We’re going to have to get rid of these, then.” He reached up and tore my panties off of me, literally ripping them at the seam. “What—?” I began asking, startled. “I’ll buy you another pair,” he assured me, pulling down his shorts and positioning me over him again. I straddled him and in one swift motion, sank right down onto his cock. Slick and slippery as I was, he still stretched me so full it made me gasp. “That’s it,” he groaned, hands on my hips, working me down along his length. “I love watching you take me all the way in.” He thrust up in me to the hilt. The sensation was so overwhelming, so overpowering, I threw my head back, eyes closed. I braced myself on his broad, hard chest, palms against his pecs, as I adjusted, starting to ride him. Up, then down full and hard, then up, angling it just right so he hit my clit every time. I felt crazed, like an animal with my lust boiling over me, picking up the pace, heart racing. He grabbed my shirt and pulled it over my head, unclasped my bra and grabbed my breasts in his hands, moaning as he cupped them. He dipped down, taking a nipple into his mouth. As I ground down on him, he gave me a suck and a bite. I dug my fingers into his T-shirt, frustrated he still had it on but I lacked his skills. I could only do one thing at a time. He could undress me and still fuck me so good at the same time that I was a mess of grunts and groans. I could barely manage to cling onto him, he felt so massive, and still I wanted more, riding him wild. “Uh, Emma.” He gazed down at where our bodies met, my pussy taking in his long, hard, slick cock again and again. “That’s it, work for it. Show me how you want it.” My pussy clenched around him at his words, his demands. As always I took great pleasure in following his orders, showing him exactly how much I wanted it as I rode him so good. His hands on my hips, he held me tight and hard, guiding me in a fast rhythm that brought us both right up to climax. “I want to watch you when you come for me.” He brought a hand up to one of my breasts, squeezing it, pinching the sensitive tip. “You’re close aren’t you, baby?” Incoherent, sweaty, I couldn’t manage a reply other than to groan and work to keep the rhythm. And I brought a hand down to my slick clit where I rubbed myself like a naughty girl. “Oh, God, like that,” he groaned and I could feel him swell even bigger inside me, which I hadn’t thought possible. “Show me how you get yourself off.” Eyes closed, I arched back, holding on with one hand at his shoulder, my other circling my swollen clit as he thrust hard up into me again and again, matching my pace, my rhythm. “Come, Emma. Come for me!” His rough voice, hoarse with need, sent me over the edge and I came just like he wanted, only for him, my Chase. Heart pounding, sweaty and wild, I rode out my orgasm and his in the backseat of the limo. That’s what sex after winning a gold medal was like. § Back at his rental house, post shower, a hint of reality hit me once again. I still felt slight residual panic over the conversation Chase and I had had yesterday, when he’d told me that a blog had published a smear story on him. I’d nearly thrown up. I’d worried that Tori had grown impatient. Tired of waiting, I’d feared

she’d decided to make something up about him. Thankfully the story wasn’t on Scoop’d, it was on some other blog. But that was it, the kick in the pants I needed to finally do it. Chase headed into the kitchen to eat some high-calorie something or other, probably a hot fudge, ice cream, peanut butter smoothie. I picked up my phone and I got after Tori like a dog after a bone. I called her and left a message. Then I texted. Emma: I need to talk to you. When are you free? Nothing. So an hour later I left a voicemail and sent another text. Emma: It can’t wait, I have to talk to you today. Let me know when. No reply. She was probably pissed that we hadn’t seen much of each other at the games. When we’d talked about coming to the Olympics, we’d imagined it differently, the two of us heading off together to watch competitions every day and hitting the nightlife together every night. I knew I’d dropped the ball on that, but she’d barely gotten in touch with me, either. She’d arrived in Rio a week and a half before me and, in true Tori style, she’d hit the ground running. By the time I’d arrived, the Tori party was already in full swing. Whether I joined in or not was irrelevant. At least, that was how it seemed to me. Emma: Please, Tori. 4pm? I’ll meet you anywhere. Finally, she responded. Tori: Condo? 4:30? I agreed, though it would likely mean missing Chase swim in a qualifying semifinals event. I knew he’d qualify. Everyone knew he’d qualify. I still wanted to watch him. But how much better would it feel to go be with him after I’d had the talk with Tori? It didn’t make it any harder for me to quit now that I knew what an amazing scoop it would be, telling the whole Chase Carter story. It had all the elements of a page-turner: drama, fear and intrigue blended with selfless acts of heroism. I bet Liam, Jax and Ian had their sides of the story as well. It would probably be fascinating to catch up with each of them, see what their experience of it all had been and where their lives had taken them since. But it wouldn’t be me doing it. I wouldn’t be blogging about Chase. In fact, I’d decided yesterday, I wasn’t going to blog anymore. I’d continue writing, and maybe online, but not for Scooop’d. I’d outgrown it, and it had never fit me all that well in the first place. It was really Tori’s baby, Tori’s dream, and it was time to hand it over to her full-time. From what I’d seen, she was doing well on her own building an audience. Plus, she’d pulled in some guest bloggers for the games and they were doing a great job, keeping it sassy and scandalously fun. Scoop’d was taking off. The thing was, so was I, but in a different direction. “You!” Tori rushed at me as she bustled in the door of the condo at around five o’clock. She gave me a huge hug. “Where have you been? You’ve been missing everything! Last night, were you even watching the gymnastics? Is swimming all you care about now? Or should I say one particular swimmer?” She gave me a knowing look. “Yeah, we are dating.” I did not share her teasing tone. I needed to cut to the chase. “Listen, Tori, I’m not going to write the feature on Chase.” “What?” her tone dropped, not happy. “I can’t do it.”

“Don’t do this to me.” She shook her head and walked into the kitchenette. I heard a cabinet slam and the faucet run as she poured herself a glass of water. “Before you start with this shit, Emma, I need some Advil!” I checked in the bathroom for her and, sure enough, she had a bottle of her drug of choice in the medicine cabinet. I brought out two orange pills and she swallowed them, then looked me in the eye. “What. The. Hell.” “I can’t write anything about Chase. I won’t do it.” “But this is our big chance! Do you know how big an audience I’ve built around this? How much I’ve been hyping it? I nearly barfed when I saw some other blog had scooped him yesterday. Did you see that?” “Yes, I did.” “But they didn’t get the real story. That thing was Swiss cheese it had so many holes in it. Not like the kinds of pieces you write.” She was trying to butter me up, flatter me into writing the piece. It wasn’t going to work. “I’m not doing it. In fact”—I took a deep breath, squaring my shoulders. I hated doing this to her, but I had to—“I’m quitting the blog.” “What!?!” Tori’s eyes bugged out and she threw her hands up in the air like a spectator infuriated over an outrageous call by a referee. “You can’t do this to me!” “I have to do this.” “Wait.” She eyed me, suspicious. “Are you just freaking out because you haven’t gotten the full story yet? Because that’s OK. We can still string people along while the games are in play. We have, like, a whole ’nother two weeks. You two should go on some romantic vacation together. Screw his brains out. He’ll tell you everything.” “Tori, don’t talk about him like that.” “Oh, it’s like that, is it?” Each time one of us spoke, the volume escalated. “Like I care about him? Yes, I do.” “So now you’re Miss High and Mighty. You know, you’ve always had a bug up your ass about this blog. It wouldn’t be anywhere near what it is today without my content. I’m the one who’s built it. I’m the one who’s made it a success.” “You’re right,” I surprised her by agreeing. I didn’t like her vindictive, venomous tone, but every word she said was true. “Hold on.” She looked at me, suspicious again. “Are you giving the story to another blog?” “Tori, that’s ridiculous.” I had the exasperated tone now. “I’m sorry I’m doing this—” “Then don’t do it! You have the scoop, don’t you? You know what happened that night he almost drowned.” She came at me, her voice a conspiratorial octave lower. “Did he break the law? Is Chase a criminal?” “I think I’m done with this conversation.” Tori’s phone rang. “Oh, that’s Paulo calling. Have I told you what he can do with just his pinky finger?” “I’m heading out.” I started for the door, wondering why it had taken me so long to do what I’d just done. I already knew I’d made the right call. “Wait, don’t go!” she called after me, but she also clicked over to accept the call. “I am so happy to hear from you,” she said flirtatiously into the phone. Fine. I’d leave things to Tori to sort out. I’d said my piece. I didn’t know if she believed me or not, but she would in time because I meant what I said. I wasn’t writing a word about Chase Carter, and as far as I was concerned, I was no longer a part of Scoop’d. I walked out into the late afternoon heat, in the throng of the Olympic Village. I’d expected a lot of things from the conversation, namely Tori’s anger, disbelief and accusations. That had all happened. But

what I hadn’t expected, and I now happily realized, was how good I’d feel. Walking along back toward the rail system which would take me to the swim pavilion, I realized I hadn’t felt such a clear conscience and a light heart in a long, long while. § Liam was awesome. That evening, while Chase met with his coaches, before I saw him for some actual physical therapy, Liam and I grabbed some horrible pizza together. He was incredibly easy to talk to, wanting to hear all about growing up in Florida and how I’d chosen to get into physical therapy. Chase had clearly been bragging about me in a ridiculous way. “I hear you’re a hardcore runner.” “No, that’s just Chase being nice.” “Chase doesn’t throw around compliments,” he assured me. “When he says something, he means it.” “You’re right.” I smiled at the realization. You could honestly trust what Chase had to say. “You really like him.” Liam leaned back in his seat, surveying me with a smile. “That’s good. Because he really likes you.” That made me smile more, and blush so I took a sip of my drink. Sometimes I felt like I hadn’t left high school. “He told me he talked to you about the accident,” Liam surprised me by adding. I nodded. I knew Chase wasn’t supposed to have spoken to me about it, so I’d assumed he’d keep it between us. But it was better for him to have it out in the open. I couldn’t believe how much he’d beaten himself up over the years, feeling responsible for what had gone wrong. “Funny how something can eat at you when you can’t talk about it.” He took the words right out of my mouth. I watched him sip his own drink, wondering if he was talking about himself, too. But he was the hero of the bunch. He must sleep well at night. It was a pretty personal subject to explore, so I didn’t ask. I wasn’t a blogger after the scoop anymore. I could simply let him talk, listening as he shared what he wanted. “I guess that’s why the four of us are still so tight,” he finally added. “You are?” I asked, pleased at the thought. At least that was a silver lining, lifelong friendships forged out of trauma. He nodded. “I’m the annoying one. I keep in touch with the three of them. They’re like brothers to me. Even if they don’t want to be.” He gave me a disarming smile. I could see why Chase called him a real lady-killer. Those muscles, that Irish twinkle in his eyes and dimple, coupled with the whole heroic firefighter thing? Yeah, that worked. But I clearly had it bad for Chase, since my first thought was, “He’d be great for Tori!” “Do you guys see each other often?” I asked. “I pretty much force them to show up for the Fourth of July party I throw every year. Jax usually does something to draw the cops, but they’re all my buddies anyway, so it doesn’t matter.” “Ian comes, too?” Even Liam’s good humor dampened at the question. “Not last year he didn’t. That was the first time he’s missed. I’m worried about him. I keep waiting for things to get better. Instead they keep getting worse.” “I’m sure the answer is yes,” I started, unsure, knowing I was treading on sensitive ground. “But has he worked with a good therapist? Someone trained in both massage and physical therapy? And water exercise, that can be so good for rehab and pain. I know a whole bunch of people I could put him in touch with—” “Thank you, Emma.” Liam meant it, but he also stopped me. “That’s good to know. I’m sure it would do him a world of good. But he’s stopped all of that.”

“But it’s what he needs, if he’s got serious injuries. He needs to move, get stronger. The more he sits, the more the pain will grow.” “I know.” He nodded, looking downcast. “I know.” OK, I could tell I needed to get down off my soapbox. There was a time to push, and a time to sit back and listen. I’d only just met Liam. It wasn’t time to establish myself as the Crazy Lady his friend Chase had started dating, obsessed with her job and forcing it down people’s throats whether they wanted it or not. “Well, we can talk more about that later,” I relented. “Tell me about the island where you live.” He warmed right up to that topic, getting me laughing in no time with funny stories about the uberwealthy people who flocked in droves to Naugatuck. As a firefighter, he got some ridiculous calls. Just last week, a member of a vacationing hiphop star’s entourage had called in distress. Quick, they had an emergency! Liam and a few other guys had responded to the call, arriving at the estate to find the singer in purple silk pajamas, his pet monkey high up in a tree and not coming down. “But, don’t monkeys live in trees?” I asked, not understanding the distress. “Yes, they do,” he confirmed. No rescue necessary, just a banana to lure him down. It was exciting meeting Liam, but nothing prepared me for the visitors who arrived the next day. Chase had it all set up. We were back at the house, sitting around watching TV. The Olympics, of course! The gymnastics competition was on. The swimmers had all sorts of dirt on the other athletes, who was juicing, who was just phoning it in (was anyone in the games really just phoning it in?), who deserved the gold. When the doorbell rang, no one moved to get it. “Emma, would you mind seeing who that is?” Chase asked. I thought it was a little weird, but, sure, I didn’t mind. I walked over, opened the door and there stood my parents. “Hi honey!” My mom came in for a hug. “Surprise! Chase flew us down!” “He what?” I stood there in shock. Dad hugged me, too, as we all still remained in the doorway. “Well, can we come in and meet Chase? And the team?” He looked around me, the eager fan. Decked out head-to-toe in official Olympic USA Swim Team gear, my parents were posterboard fans. “I can’t believe it!” I ushered them in and my dad fell right into talking stats with Chase, congratulating him on his record in butterfly. “I got to tell you, I was worried about lane seven. Know what I mean?” I heard him saying. “You never know what that guy’s going to bring. But you had him beat.” I stood there watching my parents chat with Chase and the other swimmers, so full of excitement and joy I was literally speechless. Chase looked over at me, a full five inches taller than my dad so it wasn’t hard to catch my eye. He gave me a wink, then returned his attention to my father. And just like that, I knew. I was in love. Head over heels, want to spend the rest of my life with him in love. It hadn’t taken long. I’d only met him three and a half weeks ago. But when you knew, you knew. The remaining events flew by in a blur. Another silver, a bronze, then three gold medals to finish, in the 200 IM, the 100 fly and the medley relay final. Seeing him on the podium that last time, with his three teammates, all of them raising their interlocked hands. I’d never felt anything so emotional, the roar of the crowd, hugging my mom as we both wiped tears from our eyes. I was so proud, so excited, so in love. He found me right after, as we met him out on the swim deck. He swept me into his arms, kissing me soundly, deeply, full of gratitude and promise. We were on top of the world.

CHAPTER 18 Chase

“How about Ibiza?” I trailed my fingers down Emma’s back, pausing at the dip before the swell of her buttocks. She had the best ass I’d ever seen, so pert and round and perfect for playing. Right now with her lying against my chest and my head propped up on a mound of pillows, I had a great view. And with my long arms I could reach it, too, lightly grazing her soft skin with my fingertips. She wriggled under my touch, pressing her pussy against my thigh. I could feel she was still slick from my having just fucked her. Yes, we needed to go to Ibiza. Or really any other beach town so I could have her in bikinis half the time. The other half I’d have her completely naked. “Where is Ibiza?” she asked, lazily caressing my chest. What she could do to me with an absent-minded stroke of her fingers, good Gawd. “It’s an island in the Mediterranean. Off the coast of Spain. It’s basically one, long party in paradise all the time.” “That sounds good to me.” I could feel her smile against my chest. “Or we could go somewhere quieter. More private.” I cupped her ass cheek in my hand, caressing it, drawing my fingers along the bottom of her swell, dipping between her legs. “We could head straight up from Rio to Antigua, or Saint Kitts.” “How do you know about all these places?” she picked up her head and looked at me. “Have you been to them all?” “No, but I know people who have. I’ve been all work and no play. But that’s going to change now.” Six gold medals and a world record to my name, I’d say it was a good time to step away from my sport. Especially when I was stepping into the warm and waiting arms of my woman. She sighed happily. “That sounds so good. I should probably talk to my boss. If she’s still willing to talk to me.” Apparently Emma had had to do some convincing to get a leave of absence to work with me. I’d have to personally thank her boss, maybe give her a signed photo to hang in her lobby. Her sports wellness practice had contributed to Olympic gold. That ought to put her in a good mood. I should have a PR rep FedEx the photo so she already had it in hand before Emma requested more time away. “Is it really almost noon?” Emma sat up, having caught an unfortunate glimpse of the clock. That was another thing, I needed to ban clocks from my life. For a while, at least. I’d been so obsessed with time down to the ticking fraction of a second. I was done with that. I wanted to measure the passage of time in Emma’s moans and sighs of pleasure, much more enjoyable metrics. “I have to go get my stuff! Tori and I are supposed to be out of the condo by two!” She sat up and dashed into the bathroom to shower before I could slow her down. See? I was already losing my edge. And it felt so good.

What seemed like only moments later Emma dashed out again. Wet hair in a ponytail, she slipped on panties, a sundress and flip-flops. I liked a woman who didn’t need to primp. And she still looked deliciously gorgeous. “I’ll be back in, like, an hour? Or two? I have to run and get my stuff and then say good-bye to my parents.” I groaned. I was supposed to have lunch with my mom before she took off today, too. My father had already left last night. “See you soon.” She gave me a quick kiss and hustled out the door, leaving me with the faint reminder of her freshly showered scent. I gave myself another blissed out minute, just lying in bed. Completely satisfied. And then I checked my phone. I’d turned it off the night before. What could anyone have to get in touch with me about? I’d swum my events. I’d done my part. Now it was time to chillax. I had a lot of missed calls. And a bunch of voicemails. And a shitload of texts and emails. They were probably all offering congratulations, but it looked like a lot even for that. Come to think of it, my roommates had knocked on my bedroom door a couple of times, even though they knew I was in there with Emma. What was up? I started listening to the first voicemail, congratulations from a former teammate and friend. Then the next, another well-wisher. And as I listened, I started scrolling through texts. Liam had tried to get in touch with me a bunch of times, sending all caps CALL ME, and CALL ME NOW. Teammates had called, a coach had called, and a bunch of our team PR reps had tried to get in touch with me. That was how I knew. It had to be some kind of news, some breaking story. But I still wasn’t prepared for what I saw once I clicked on the link I finally found in an email. Someone had sent it to me late last night, then a bunch more this morning. Apparently, Emma and I had let the cat out of the bag after the final awards ceremony. After a long eight days of studiously avoiding any PDA, we’d embraced and kissed right in front of the cameras. The world had watched and wanted to know. Who was the woman in Chase Carter’s arms? You know who Emma Nelson was? She was a blogger. She wrote for a blog named Scoop’d, a tell-all gossip blog sharing dirt on all the Olympic athletes. And you know who that blog kept bragging they were about to run a big story on? Which athlete they claimed to have an inside scoop on, about to break the secret backstory everyone wanted to know? Me. Chase Carter, sucker of the first order. I had lots of practice controlling my emotions and managing stress, and I did it, breathing deeply, steadying my thoughts and hands as I found my laptop and opened it up. I didn’t have to search around. I simply entered my first name and the article popped up, all about me and my girlfriend, the secret blogger. The headline? Chase Got Scoop’d! The article took delight in its tongue-in-cheek reporting, cautioning readers, “Shh, don’t tell. Chase doesn’t know.” How rich, the famous athlete who hated the press, falling for a reporter! They’d plastered photos of us all over their website, the same shot but from all different angles. How happy we’d been in that moment. My stomach lurched with a wave of nausea. The article claimed that Emma had been anonymously writing for the blog for years now. Then, to get her big break, she’d posed as a physical therapist. That was how she’d secured her chance to get in good with the elusive Chase Carter. It described how I’d become famous for swatting reporters out of my way like an angry bear. But a physical therapist? Apparently I’d let her in and given her access. That was how she’d worked it, using that excuse to get close to me. All to get the story. Chase doesn’t know. The words leapt out at me from the article, catching me around the neck in a tight chokehold. I didn’t want to believe it. The website that broke the story was none other than The Rio Rapsheet, the exact same blog had published a fake story on me only a few days ago. What was to stop them from doing the same with Emma?

But it had the ring of truth to it. A sickening, nagging, persistent ring of truth. Unable to stop myself, needing to see, I clicked on the link to the blog, the one that was apparently Emma’s. It popped right up. Scoop’d, all hot pink font and photos of celebrities and athletes. It was swarming with hot pics, plus gossipy dirt. Who was hooking up with who? Who’d gone out hard the night before? Some of it looked harmless. There was a whole, active discussion critiquing team uniforms. Our Speedo swimsuits got four out of five stars. Jamaica won runner up, for being most colorful and fun, but the UK got first prize because Stella McCartney!!! It seemed she was a famous clothing designer. There was a section of the blog devoted to the best souvenirs from the games, including lots of photos devoted to commemorative shot glasses with images like the Olympic rings and Christ the Redeemer. But the bulk of the content was devoted to gossip. I scrolled through and found so many pictures, some of which were re-published from other sources but many looked candid and shot in person in Rio. In clubs, in bedrooms, in various states of undress. Polls ranked the hotness of the male athletes participating in the games, and the top-rated ones had their own pages with countless photos and facts. “Top ten things you didn’t know about—” fill-in-the-blank. I saw a bunch of my teammates. And then, there I was. My own page, with photo upon photo, but no text. Yet. Across the top there was a big “COMING SOON” announcement, in all caps. “Stay tuned for the scoop on Chase Carter,” it advertised. “Everything you’ve always wanted to know. What you’ve been waiting for. Want to know the mystery behind this hunk? All his deepest secrets?” Then it promised, “We’ve got it covered. We’ve gone undercover, behind the scenes to bring you the story everyone wants. Only on Scoop’d.” My phone rang. It was Liam. This time I picked up. “Hey, man, how you doing?” “Not great.” My eyes traveled over the page in front of me, seeing but still not fully able to believe. “Did you know she was a blogger?” His words that hit me like a lead pipe over the head. Liam had decided it was true. Emma was a blogger. “No.” My word sounded wooden. “I’m sorry, Chase. She really seemed cool.” You knew the topic of conversation was serious when Liam actually used my real name. No Chevy or man or dude, just Chase. “Listen, I’m supposed to catch a plane in a couple hours. I was trying to reach you this morning, but you didn’t pick up.” “Yeah.” I didn’t offer any explanation. I felt too sick. “But I can change my flight. We can hang out, hit some clubs in Rio. Plenty of distractions are waiting for you, big man. You could even wear one of your many gold medals. It would be like a golden magnet.” Liam almost always knew what to say to lift my spirits, but not this time. This time I felt a heavy, oppressive blanket over my chest and no amount of joking around was going to take it away. Nor would a night out on the town with hot Brazilian women, so you knew I was feeling bad. Plus, I knew he was just being nice. He had to get back to the firehouse. Getting this many days off in the middle of their busiest season of the year had been hard enough. “No, you head out. I’m fine,” I assured him as we said our good-byes. I was not fine, but I was fine enough for Liam to get on a plane. I might feel like I was drowning, but I wasn’t. I was on dry land, legs underneath me. I might feel like I was choking and suffocating, but I’d manage to carry on, put one foot in front of the other. Even if I felt like I couldn’t. What I most wanted was to bail and get on the next plane I possibly could to head out of there. Where I ended up, I didn’t particularly care. I knew some of the guys on my team were headed on vacation. I couldn’t remember where at the moment, but it didn’t matter. It would be somewhere I could sit in a chair,

drink, and not have to talk much to anyone about anything important. They’d already invited me along. All I had to do was tell them I was in. But before I did that, before I ducked out, I had to talk with Emma. I dreaded it. I’d rather head into dental surgery for the next 15 hours, or have lunch with my mom which, shit, I realized I was supposed to be doing. Which meant leaving the rental house, where there were sure to be reporters with cameras. Fuck. My phone rang again. It was Emma. I clicked over to talk, but words didn’t come out of my mouth. Words tumbled and streamed out of hers, though. “Chase! Chase, are you there? I have to talk to you.” “I’m here.” But even as I said it, I felt disembodied, like all of this was happening to someone else. How had I not seen any of it? She’d seemed too good to be true, like a gift coming into my life at exactly the right moment. I guess I’d fooled myself into believing it. Maybe there’d been a bunch of signs along the way and I’d been too busy lusting after her, even falling in love with her to see them. “Don’t go online!” she pleaded, a guilty request if ever I’d heard one. “I’ve already seen it.” I could hear her crying on the other end of the phone, swearing. She sounded nearly hysterical. “Is it true?” My words hung out there and I could almost picture them, drifting overhead in a cartoon speech bubble. I did not like feeling like I was a character in a melodramatic book. She paused. It was a deadly, incriminating silence. And then she offered, lamely, “I can explain. Let me come over and talk to you. I can be there in 20 minutes.” Let me explain. So there was something she needed to explain. And she hadn’t denied that she was a blogger. There it was, the truth. My voice sounded flat and dull. “See you soon.” I’d have to ask my mom if we could meet up later. I had to take care of something first. Because it turned out that the woman I’d fallen for was actually a blogger after my story. I felt cold and sick with shock. I’d kept quiet about the accident for 12 years. Then who did I tell the whole story to? Someone intending to publish every word. Emma and I would have it out. We had to. I’d listen to whatever she had to say. I’d hear out to her excuses, because I’d always wonder if I didn’t. But there was no going back from this. I could never trust her again.

CHAPTER 19 Emma

I don’t even remember the ride over to my condo. I sat on the tram, probably with a dumbass, blissedout smile on my stupid face. I thought everything was going great. Nothing but smooth water ahead. Then the storm had hit, full force. I walked into the condo and, surprise surprise, Tori was there. She looked shaken. “Emma, there’s something you should see.” She’d turned her laptop to face me. As I read the screen I had to sit down. My knees literally buckled. My hand up over my mouth, I gasped and swore but that didn’t change the fact that an article had been published revealing me as a blogger. And not just any old blogger, one tricking Chase Carter into dating her so she could get the scoop on his backstory. “Oh shit, shit, shit.” I couldn’t think straight. How had it happened? Had Chase seen it? I had to stop him from seeing it. At least until after we’d talked and I explained everything. “I’m so sorry, Emma.” Tori looked ashen with guilt. “What did you do?” I knew instantly she’d had something to do with it. But she couldn’t be responsible for leaking this story. Could she? “I didn’t mean to, but I was so upset after we talked the other day. I met up with Paulo and told him everything. How we’d been dreaming about this for years, and you pulled the rug out from under us.” “Are you fucking kidding me?” “Emma, I didn’t mean for this to happen!” “You told Paulo I was pretending to be a physical therapist to get to Chase’s secrets?” “No! No, of course not. But when I told him, I think some other people might have heard. And they might have gotten the wrong impression.” “Where did you tell him?” “At a bar.” I swore, picturing the whole scene, Tori storming in there, furious with me, venting and yelling. I was sure lots and lots of people had heard the story. And one of them had made sure The Rio Rapsheet had heard about it, too. I wondered if they’d made money off of it. “Jesus, you’ve really fucked things up this time, Tori.” “This whole thing was your idea!” she fired back at me, suddenly not so apologetic. “I wouldn’t even be here if it wasn’t for you.” “What are you talking about?” She gave me a bunch of bullshit about how I was the one who’d hatched the idea in the first place, realizing I had the perfect in with my physical therapy license. That wasn’t how I remembered it at all, but now wasn’t the time to debate the finer points of how the mess had started in the first place. Now was the

time for massive, whole-scale clean up in Hazmat suits. I had a nuclear meltdown on my hands. I couldn’t spend time figuring out who was responsible—even though I had a pretty clear idea and she was standing right in front of me in cutoff jean shorts and a tank top. I needed to focus on containment of the disaster. I called Chase. He’d already seen the article. Panic set in quick, and I could barely talk. But at least he agreed to see me. I flew out the door to go talk to him at the rental house. The guys there glared at me like I was the enemy when they let me in. Gone was the friendly, “you’re one of the team” vibe. In its place was a frosty, “he’s in his bedroom.” Subtext: “you’re a stone cold bitch.” Chase was sitting on his bed, laptop by his side, arms across his chest. He looked up and those ice blue eyes I’d swooned over so many times looked cold and hard. “Chase, can I…?” I approached him, so nervous I barely knew what to say. “Why don’t you close the door behind you.” He nodded to the doorway and I saw I’d left it open when I rushed in. He was right, we needed privacy for this conversation. I went over and closed the door. “Are you a blogger, Emma?” I closed my eyes at the harsh tone in his voice. And at the pain I felt in answering him honestly. “Seven years ago, back when I was in high school, I started a blog with Tori.” “You are a blogger.” He said it quiet, damning. Blogging wasn’t a crime. It wasn’t the same as robbing a bank. But I pushed aside my defensiveness. This wasn’t the time or place. “I was. Until this week. I quit the blog.” I explained it to him, in a torrent of words and emotion and tears. I had taken the job because I was excited to work with him, be a part of his Olympic team as his physical therapist. And I’d hoped to get to know him so I could tell his story. But not in a cruel way, not so I could write an exposé. Because he was fascinating, overcoming such a traumatic event, conquering his fears to become the best swimmer in the world. “People want to know your story because they think you’re amazing,” I tried to explain. “They’re not all sharks scenting blood, circling the water. I like writing stories that feature the best in people.” “Like the top ten reasons the Italian soccer team is as good off the field as on?” His sarcastic question made me wince. “I didn’t write that!” I could feel my cheeks flushing, the blood rushing to the surface as I battled panic, embarrassment, and the overwhelming impulse to just cry and throw myself down on the bed and beg for forgiveness. I had to be an adult, explain, make him understand. “Tori is the one who writes the gossipy stuff, gets the dirt on people.” “And this is your best friend? Your business partner?” “Chase, I’m not saying I’m proud of everything that’s on the blog. That’s part of why I quit working on it.” “Part?” “Yes, the main reason was I refused to write anything about you. I’d never do that to you. I would never betray your trust like that.” He listened, but he didn’t throw his arms around me. He didn’t say everything was OK. Instead, he asked a direct question. “Did you take this job with the goal of scooping the story about the accident?” I gulped. That was such a boiled-down question. I’d taken the job for many reasons. I’d been a fan of the Olympics all my life. It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to be a part of the excitement and help make history. He was an amazing athlete and any sports therapist would jump at the chance to be part of his team. All of those reasons had been there when I’d taken the job, and now I realized they were the most important ones, the ones that really mattered to me. But I had to be honest. I’d pursued the job because I wanted to scoop Chase. I’d wanted to discover and write about his secrets. “Yes.”

He looked down, not meeting my eyes. I couldn’t stop the tears and I didn’t really even try. I just let them roll down my face. At least there was one part of the article I could completely dispute. “I am a physical therapist, though. I wasn’t lying about that.” “I know that,” he dismissed my protest. “I’ve worked with physical therapists my whole life. Do you think someone could walk in and pretend to know what they’re doing and I wouldn’t realize it? Do you think I’m stupid?” He sounded so angry. And I felt like I deserved it. “No, I don’t think you’re stupid.” He sat there, silent. Then he said in a quieter voice, “I sure feel stupid.” “No, don’t Chase.” I could take him getting angry at me. I was angry at me. But it hurt more to hear him berate himself, as if he’d been a sucker. Like somehow I’d tricked him. “Why didn’t you tell me, Emma? There were so many times you could have just told me.” “I know, I should have. I’m so sorry. It was stupid of me. I was afraid you’d be angry.” He gave a humorless laugh and sank his head into his hands. “I feel sick.” He wasn’t the only one feeling sick. I honestly thought I might throw up. And I only felt worse when he looked up at me and spoke. “When I think back on the day we first met, I liked you right off the bat. And you were just sizing me up for a story. All that ‘get to know you’ crap, asking me questions?” “I did want to get to know you. I fell in love with you.” Silence. My tears flowed. This was not the way I’d pictured saying those words. Nor was it how I’d pictured him reacting. “Emma, I don’t know what to believe right now.” “Believe me,” I pleaded. “I have been. But apparently you weren’t being honest.” I paused, forcing myself to take the hard, high road. “You’re right. I wasn’t.” He shook his head, fisting his hair in frustration. “You have no idea how much I want to pull you over here and tell you everything’s OK.” I sobbed, wishing he’d do exactly that. Why couldn’t he just do that and this would all go away? “But I’d be lying,” he continued. “I need some time to sort shit out. I feel like I don’t know you.” “You do know me, Chase. I’m the same person I always have been.” He listened, but shook his head again. “Give me some time, Emma. I feel like I’ve been clubbed over the head.” There was nothing more I could say, not then. “OK,” I nodded, conceding defeat. I couldn’t batter him anymore, trying to insist that he buy my side of the story. He said he needed time and I could give him that. I had to. “You should probably go now, Emma. I have to meet up with my mom.” I nodded, trying to keep it together. I was supposed to go see my parents, too. I’d hoped Chase would join me and the four of us could have a celebratory meal before they flew back to Florida. Before Chase and I went off on vacation together, enjoying the romantic getaway of my dreams. Neither of which would be happening. I couldn’t stop myself from sobbing one last, “I’m so sorry, Chase.” He nodded, fixing his heavy gaze on the bedspread, acknowledging he’d heard my apology. But it didn’t seem to make a difference. § “I didn’t know you were still writing that blog with Tori.” “We thought you’d stopped that years ago.”

My parents were upset, both by the news article and by the fact that I couldn’t stop crying. I’d gone straight to their hotel room and was a complete, hot mess, barely able to speak. “I never liked that blog,” my mom acknowledged. “I never dreamed you were still writing for it. I thought you’d stopped in college.” No, I hadn’t stopped. Yes, they were right. They were too cool to say it to me, the “I told you so.” But it was there, plain as day. Back in high school when we’d started it, they’d warned me it was a bad idea to write anonymously. I should never do anything I didn’t want my name on. I should always be proud of what I wrote. I’d assured them, I would do that. And I’d stuck to my promise. Every article I’d written I felt good about. I wrote features, I felt like screaming it from the rooftops. Feel-good features about the good in people! But it didn’t matter what was inside the package. It was all wrapped up in something very different. I’d been lying to myself. When I thought about the blog from an outsiders’ point of view, there was nothing to distinguish it from all of the other ones out there feeding off of celebrity gossip. “Well, you can’t change the past.” My father spoke the truth, even if it wasn’t comforting at all. “You can only control how you behave moving forward.” I knew he was right, but moving forward at the moment seemed next to impossible. I could barely breathe, never mind pick myself up and begin the daunting task of living an exemplary life. Without Chase in it. They convinced me to use my existing ticket to fly back to Florida that day. I wouldn’t be on the same flight, but they’d wait for me at the airport and we could all drive back to Vero together. Chase and I had mentioned travel plans to them, but we all knew those were now cancelled. They didn’t want me sitting around Rio bawling my eyes out, waiting and hoping for a guy to get in touch with me. They agreed I’d made a mistake, a big one, but they still wanted the best for me. I didn’t deserve them. I’d really screwed up. It didn’t matter that I had excuses. That I’d been friends with Tori forever and it had clouded my judgment. That I really was a legitimate physical therapist, not just posing as one. I’d done something wrong to the man I’d fallen in love with. I’d been so wrapped up in myself, first concerned with finding out his story, then worried about falling for him. I’d actually felt scared about whether he would hurt me. As if he might be the jerk in all this, screwing me over like my past boyfriends. I guess I’d really turned the tables. I’d definitely been the one to fuck up this time. It didn’t matter that I’d fallen completely in love with him. I was the bad guy in this scenario. And Chase might never be able to forgive me.

CHAPTER 20 Chase

Back at my father’s house north of Boston, I rattled around like a ghost, keeping all kinds of strange hours, without a purpose. I had an apartment back in Tempe, but I’d decided to move my stuff out at the end of the month. I didn’t want to head back to my old life. Largely because my old life wasn’t there waiting for me anymore. I was no longer on the U.S. Olympic swim team. I’d become a former member of the team. It sounded crazy, but I didn’t really know who I was anymore. I’d spent the last week partying with my teammates, and we hadn’t even left Rio. We’d kept on renting the house and turned it into a crazy party pad. We were lucky, our events finished up early. Everyone else looking for a place to hang out found their way over to our house. No curfew, no coaches, nothing but debauched letting-loose. To be honest, I didn’t remember much of it. My tolerance was low since I’d barely drunk alcohol in almost a year. My spirits were even lower. And it turned out, some of my teammates had hidden talents as bartenders, keeping the party flowing at all times. I had women draped all over me at all times, too. I didn’t seek them out. It just happened. But I didn’t hook up with anyone, even though my teammates nearly locked me in a bedroom trying to make it happen. They thought it would help me get over Emma. “Exorcise the demon!” Chris had told me, pointing out that blonde, or that one, or the gymnast over there. “She won a freaking silver, dude! Do you know how flexible she is?” I don’t think I ruined their party—I was a big draw, after all—but I didn’t crank it up a notch the way they wanted. I knew fooling around with someone else wouldn’t help. Hell, it would probably make it worse. That chemistry I’d felt with Emma? It was off the charts, like we were made for each other. That didn’t happen every day. In my 26 years of experience, it had happened exactly once. I knew I’d told her I needed some time to sort things out, and I’d get around to doing that, but first I spent an entire week drunk. Then I spent a week in pajama pants eating pizza and playing video games at my dad’s house. I had much more glamorous and, well, social options. I hadn’t spent any real time in the Boston area since high school, and I hadn’t kept in touch with former classmates that well, but I knew I could reach out and get some instant responses. All I’d need to do was hop on Instagram and I’d start a party at any bar of my choosing. Everyone wanted to hang with the reigning Olympic champion. There were a whole bunch of marketing opportunities for me to pursue, too. I had offers for sponsorships, commercials, MC-ing events. ESPN even wanted to talk to me about doing commentary, testing out how telegenic I was. Schools wanted to book me as a motivational speaker. Corporations wanted me to come talk about work ethic.

My father, of course, wanted me to say yes to all of it. “The window’s going to close!” seemed to be his favorite expression. Now was the time to make money off of my brand. It wasn’t as if I was going back to the Olympics again and winning more gold medals. The public’s memory was short. Right now, I was a household name worldwide. But football season would start up soon, then the World Series would capture everyone’s attention, and swimming would go back to the shadows. Because no one really cared about swimming. That was another chestnut he dropped every now and then. I knew I should strike while the iron was hot. But I didn’t feel so hot. I felt tired. When I’d been training hours upon hours every day, I’d had boundless energy and drive. Now, with no reason to wake up at any particular time? I found myself climbing back into bed a lot. I thought having a lot of time on my hands, without a schedule, would be great. I thought it would feel like freedom. Instead I felt a strange mixture of aimless and trapped. My mom called and invited me to stay with her for a while. She lived twenty minutes away in another leafy green and sedate suburb of Boston. Back in high school, I’d divided my time between the two houses. But really I’d spent most of my time at the pool. By senior year, I’d earned most of my credits, and fulfilled the majority of my remaining requirements with tutors and exams so I could train 24/7, unrestricted by class schedules, in preparation for the 2008 games. My coaches had become my parents, my teammates my family from a young age. I’d never really spent a lot of time hanging out. I’d spent even less time hanging out with my mom. On Sunday morning, we gardened together in her back yard. She had a large garden with flowers, herbs and vegetables. I hadn’t even known she liked to get her hands dirty like that. “I didn’t start until about ten years ago,” she recalled as we weeded. “I was always so busy.” That was how I remembered her, always tense, always on edge waiting for some new missile to get launched at her from my father. He had the tendency to spring new, young girlfriends on her at vulnerable moments, like big swim meets or back-to-school nights. She seemed so much more relaxed now, with almost an easy way about her. I hadn’t noticed that at the games, but then again watching your son swim in the heavily televised Olympics while sitting next to your ex-husband might make anyone tense. “This is a great yard.” I paused, wiping sweat from my brow. She had a bunch of seating set up in shady spots, and a nice, wide lawn. “Thanks.” She looked around with satisfaction and pride. I’d always loved my mom and known she loved me, in her way, but basically I’d thought of her as an uptight socialite. She looked different with a smudge of dirt across her cheek and a genuine smile on her face. That afternoon she took me to her yoga class. Her friends were dying to meet me. It would be good for me to get out of the house. She had a whole bunch of reasons, and I figured I owed her one. She was being pretty decent putting up with all my moping around, eating her out of house and home. I gave new meaning to the phrase “fish out of water.” A huge, gangly thing in the midst of a whole bunch of 50 and 60-something women who could still practically touch their noses to their knees, we all had moments of laughter. Afterward, the instructor gave me a little talking to about the importance of taking care of myself now that I was transitioning into a new phase of life. “You don’t want to sit around on the couch all day!” she cautioned me. “Keep moving!” I shot my mother a look and she gave me the “I didn’t say a word” innocent look back. Because, yes, that was exactly what I had been doing. Later at the house, she made us some tea. I watched her putter around, humming to herself. Maybe she’d changed. Or maybe I’d been wrong. I might have been buying into my father’s portrayal of her. She seemed so much happier now. I guessed in the past I’d seen her so frequently with my father, fighting her way through that incendiary battleground. Without him, in her own context, she was much more peaceful. “Blow on it, it’s hot,” she warned me, as if I weren’t 26 with years of experience living on my own. I smiled. I guessed once a mom, always a mom.

Then, all casual, as if it were a continuation of a topic of conversation, she said, “She hasn’t published a story on you, you know.” I looked up at her, wondering if she was talking about what I thought she was. “I’ve been checking,” she continued, stirring a drizzle of honey into her tea. “There hasn’t been a single post on that blog.” I’d been checking, too. Every morning—or afternoon, sometimes I didn’t really make it out of bed until after noon—wondering if I was going to go online and find a play-by-play account of the accident. But I never did. My father hadn’t thought to ask. He assumed I’d never told Emma a word about it. I wasn’t supposed to, and I knew he never would have opened up like that. He wasn’t that kind of a guy. My mother had made the opposite assumption. “Have you spoken with her since Rio?” she asked. “No.” I had not picked up the phone. Emma had sent me an email that I childishly hadn’t opened yet. And a text that said, “I miss you.” I hadn’t responded. “You seemed happy with her, Chase. Happier than I think I’ve ever seen you.” I didn’t have much to say to that. Out in my mother’s yard, a bunny was hopping in the bushes. I watched it, thinking that would be much easier, being a rabbit. Then you just had to worry about food and shelter. And bobcats and cars. Maybe being a bunny wasn’t such a great idea. “I know you’re probably not going to like me saying this.” She paused, as she got my attention. “Chase, don’t be like your father. He holds on to grudges like nobody I’ve ever met. And he’s never happy unless he’s on the hunt, after a new woman, a new business deal that’s going to take him to the next level. But he’s never satisfied. Never.” She was right. I didn’t like hearing it from her. I’d never liked being put in the middle while they badmouthed each other. But now, at 26, there was another reason I didn’t like listening to her. I knew what she said was true. I had a lot of my father in me. The relentless drive, the constant striving for an ideal of perfection. He was a restless, unhappy man, always focused on the next rung, never enjoying what he had around him. “You need to figure out what makes you happy,” she continued advising me, giving me pearls of wisdom I didn’t quite know what to do with. “And the good thing is, you have so many options. You’ve got a degree from one of the top universities in the world. You’ve proven that you’re one of the best athletes of all time. I’m sure people are tripping over themselves to get you on board with any number of ventures. You just need to pick the right one.” I nodded, still silent in the face of her eloquence. I knew, in my heart, what she said was true. But I felt strangely adrift, unable to articulate my next step. I guessed that might be expected when you’d had tunnel vision for so long. Once you finally got out of the long, dark stretch, what had once been a pinpoint of light engulfed you. It could feel blinding and disorienting. “Why don’t you go visit Liam?” she suggested, moving to the pantry to take out some biscuits. “You’re welcome to stay here, but I think a visit would do you good. Liam’s a true friend.” Of all the things she said, I found that the most surprising. I’d always thought she didn’t approve of Liam, so working class, so uncultured. But, maybe I’d been wrong? Or maybe she’d changed? Either way, she was right. I should head out to Naugatuck. Where it had all begun. § “Mom! Your boy’s back!” Liam announced my presence to his mother, who was in the kitchen as usual. “Hello Mrs. Connolly.” I followed him in.

“Look at you!” She came at me, wearing an apron, a full foot shorter but reaching up to pinch my cheeks. “So big!” she marveled, taking a step back. Looking between me and Liam, who was a big guy himself, almost my height, she shook her head. “I remember you two when you came up to here.” She motioned to her shoulder. “And neither of you ever once asked me if you could get so big. I never gave my permission.” “Hi, Ma.” Liam gave her a bear hug and she shooed him off, telling him she had to go stir the sauce. I delighted her, as usual, with my third and then fourth helping. “I made extra knowing you were coming!” she declared. She loved how much I ate, though I knew I should probably start dialing it back. I wasn’t swimming and working out for six hours a day every day anymore. Afterward, Liam and I retired out back. Technically, Liam lived with his mother, a fact I liked to tease him about. Logistically, he had his own place, a converted barn right on the water. His family had lived on Naugatuck for generations, and they’d snapped up a prime piece of real estate back before the island was developed into its current upmarket tourist destination. Now, the Connolly property, over an acre right on the ocean, was likely worth at least five million. But they weren’t selling. “How’s your mom doing?” I asked him as we settled out on the deck with beers. The ocean breeze on a warm summer night, the sound of the waves lapping against the shore, it was a bit of all right. Liam took a swig before he answered. “She’s a trooper. But I worry about her.” That was another reason he was living there with his mom. His father had died of a sudden heart attack about a year ago. A big man with a voracious appetite for all the good in life—food, drink, laughter, family, friends—I was sure he was sorely missed. I’d flown back for the funeral, but I hadn’t exactly been around much to see how the family was coping in his absence. “How’s your mom?” Liam asked. “Did she make that face when you told her you were coming to visit me?” He twisted his face like he was sucking on a lemon. The Liam face, we’d called it. I swear, my mom used to be much more uptight. She’d never liked how much time I spent with the Connolly family over the summers. I surprised him by telling him how much she’d mellowed out. “She actually was the one who suggested I come visit.” “No.” He shook his head, refusing to believe it. “Scout’s honor,” I swore. “You never were a scout.” He called me on that one. That was the problem with old friends, they knew you too well. We sat out for a while, shooting the shit, sometimes not saying much of anything, and then he came out with it. “So, have you given her a call? Or are you being an idiot?” “Jesus, you too?” I knew exactly who he meant. First, my mother had defended Emma, suggesting I give her another chance. Now it seemed Liam was on the same bandwagon. “I’m not going to ride you,” he assured me. “I’m just telling you you’re being an idiot.” “Is that right?” “That’s right.” “How do you know I haven’t called her?” “Because I know you, Chevy.” I reminded him of the circumstances. “She lied to me. The whole thing was a lie.” “Don’t go all drama queen on me.” I huffed and puffed, my feathers all ruffled like…a drama queen. I took a sip of my beer, trying to keep an open mind instead of defend myself. “So what do you think, then?” I asked. “Do you think it was all made up? Because she told me herself, she’s a blogger.” “I think she did something stupid.”

I snorted. What she’d done was more than stupid. She’d been purposely deceitful, lying to me for weeks. She only came clean because a blog forced her to do it. “She made a mistake because she’s human,” Liam continued. “But I bet she regrets it now.” “I bet she does.” The tone of my voice conveyed my mixed emotions. She might regret it for a lot of reasons. Like because her identity got unveiled and she couldn’t blog anonymously anymore. Or maybe she was catching some flack for it back at work. “That girl likes you.” Liam looked over at me. “A lot. She wasn’t faking that.” I looked out at the dark horizon, the sun down but still leaving the darkest shade of purple above the black ocean. “You stay here and have some deep thoughts.” He stood and clapped me on the shoulder. “I’m going to head in. I’ve got to be at the station at five tomorrow. You’ve got the couch there for you when you want it.” “Thanks,” I grumbled. But I did mean it. “That couch is wicked comfortable,” he added over his shoulder. He’d added in the “wicked” for me. As native Massholes, we felt it was our birthright to use the word from time to time. “I know,” I answered. I’d slept on that wicked comfortable couch many times before. He left me out on the deck with my beer, the ocean and my deep thoughts. I only had one thought, really. I missed Emma. I missed the way she laughed and the sweet blush she’d get when I talked dirty to her, but she’d always flush with arousal, too. I missed making her smoothies, hearing her tell me about her family or the run she was going to do that day. I missed the feel of her hands on me, kneading, massaging, stroking. I missed the way she looked when she came, glistening with sweat, panting, her mouth open with pleasure. I missed everything about her. I gazed out on the water, where I’d nearly died 12 years ago. Right off of that coast. That was the worst thing that had ever happened to me. I still had nightmares about it to this day. But it had also given me purpose. It had fired up an iron resolve that had powered me through all of my achievements, driving me past normal human limits to achieve something no one had before. I’d set a world record. All because I had to prove it to myself. I wasn’t the weakling who’d gotten tossed off the boat, letting my friend get trapped in a fire. The worst disaster had helped bring about the best achievement in my life. Maybe disasters didn’t have to stay that way? Maybe the world wasn’t as black and white as I’d thought. And maybe the best thing that had ever happened to me wasn’t my gold medals or my world record. Maybe it was Emma. I stood up and headed inside. I had an email sitting unopened in my inbox. It was time to read it.

CHAPTER 21 Emma

“How’s that? All right for you?” I gently helped my client into a seated position. She was close to 80 and recovering from hip replacement surgery. It was a tough road, especially for those without a history of exercise. I was working with her twice a week, and she was seeing a therapist in the pool the days she didn’t work with me. “I think you’re coming along nicely,” I assured her, helping her get to standing. She still had a long way to go, but she could do it. “Thank you, dear.” She patted my hand. “You’re a real godsend.” I held the door open for her, wishing I believed even half of the compliment. It had been three weeks since the games, and I still felt like something scraped off the bottom of a shoe. I usually liked September, the temperatures in Florida starting to cool slightly, the kids with their new school backpacks. But this year I wasn’t enjoying myself too much. I’d moved back in with my parents, on a temporary basis. It was time to find my own place, not living with Tori anymore. That had gone on for too long. I wasn’t even angry at Tori. She’d behaved in exactly the same way she always did, impulsive, emotional and a little careless. She hadn’t been trying to do me harm. She wasn’t malicious, but she wasn’t always a good friend. I didn’t plan on cutting her out of my life, but I wasn’t going to let her in as close anymore. The best friends forever thing had worn out its welcome. Probably several years ago, if I was honest. We’d had a couple of conversations as I’d packed up my things, officially moving out at the end of August. She’d even attempted to help, a little, but sorting, organizing and folding wasn’t exactly her thing. One afternoon, she’d come and sat at the end of my bed. I was a big believer in weeding out your closet. I’d rather have a few, simple things that fit me well and made me feel attractive than a closet full of random stuff. I was trying to get rid of things, bring them to Goodwill instead of just pile everything into suitcases and lug it around with me. I wasn’t a big new-agey person, obsessed with chakras and auras and all that, but I did feel like I needed a fresh start. New karma in my life, I guess you could say. Out with the old, in with the new. Tori started offering advice, which ran diametrically opposed to my own instincts. “You have to keep that!” she insisted, at the exact moment I was tossing something into the giveaway pile. I tried not to see it as symbolic, but it happened anyway. We were so different, she and I. Maybe we always had been. I’d been holding on to our friendship, but at the expense of moving on, myself. “You’re sure you want to move out?” She looked wistful as she asked, and I was sure part of her felt that way. But I also knew she already had another roommate lined up, a friend from the restaurant where she waitressed. Her new roommate was the type who would stay out all night with Tori, instead of

suggesting she switch to water around two a.m. when she realized she’d lost her panties. Without me as her emergency break, Tori might get into a lot more trouble. But she needed to sort that out herself. It didn’t really make either of us happy when I played that role. “Are you still mad at me?” she asked, biting her nails. I’d assured her on several occasions that, no, I was not mad at her. I’d been angry when I’d first found out. But since then? The only person I was really mad at was myself. I’d been so stupid. And Tori was right, the whole idea of scooping Chase had been my idea in the first place. Months and months ago we’d been sitting around, eating nachos late at night, playing the “who’s hotter” game. Chris or Liam Hemsworth? Buster Posey or Jonathan Lucroy? (Shout out to the catchers so hot they burned up their face masks!) I’d posed the question, who’s hotter, the Aussie swimmer James Magnussen or Chase Carter? “Who?” Tori had shocked and appalled me by asking. She followed baseball, not swimming. That had led to some Google searches, which had led to some drooling, and the idle statement by me, “lucky physical therapist who gets to work with him.” Tori had given me that look, the one that said, “that’s not such a bad idea.” And once I’d remembered he had that mysterious, untold backstory, it was all over. We were on the idea like white on rice. She’d gotten her job in PR, I’d started pursuing mine with the team, and the rest was history. I couldn’t pretend I hadn’t had a full part in coming up with the scheme. My father had said it to me, back in Rio. I couldn’t change the past. All I could control was my behavior moving forward. It was up to me to decide how I was going to handle things in the future. Better, I hoped. Which was why I’d brought up the whole thing with my boss. She was a big, intimidating woman who’d played water polo in college and still enjoyed hammering her opponents in supposedly “recreational” game play in her master’s league. Hesitant, guilty, I’d asked if I could meet with her on my first day back in the office. She’d been eating a large pastrami sandwich while we spoke, the multiple layers of tomato and lettuce dropping out as she took bites. “Spit it out,” she’d said to me, spitting out a few things, herself. “Um, it’s about something you might read about me online. On a blog?” “Have you broken the law?” She locked me in her steely gaze. “No! No, nothing like that.” “Then I don’t care.” “Well, you might.” I didn’t want to push. She’d just given me a get out of jail free card. But I didn’t want any more unfinished business, any more worries about untold truths. “It might affect your opinion of me as a professional working for you.” “Are you still the same person you were when you left here a month ago?” “Yes.” Honestly, I felt pretty different. But as far as she was concerned, I had the same skills as a physical therapist. “Then we’re good. Let me eat my lunch.” She motioned to the door. She wasn’t being rude; she was just to the point. “Hey,” she called after me as I got up to leave. “What happens in the Village, stays in the Village.” And she gave me a wink. Maybe she had seen that article after all. §

I wanted to spend a lot of time crying. Behind closed doors, in bed, covers drawn up, shades pulled down. That was part of why it was good that I was between apartments. My parents weren’t having it. Up early every morning, they usually let me sleep until around eight. But that was it. I’d hear a tap, tap on my door. “Hey honey, I’m heading to the Farmer’s Market. Let’s go pick some corn for dinner.” Or, “Come on with me to the center. They need someone to help with the littles.” The facility where my mom worked had a large pool, and to make some extra income they offered community swim lessons. With the younger learn-to-swims, they needed to keep the student-to-teacher ratio low, and they were always happy when I could help out. A little extra cash in my pocket didn’t hurt, either. Plus, it helped to distract me. My parents weren’t trying to pretend nothing had happened. They weren’t glossing over my pain and distress, nor were they telling me everything would be fine. “Yup, you’re in a muddle,” my father had agreed, patting me on the shoulder. “It’s a shame.” My mother shook her head. But neither of them would let me lay around moping. “It’s a beautiful day. The sun is shining. You’re young and healthy.” My mother would barge into my room, throw open the curtains, bustle around straightening up any clutter she saw. I might grumble, especially in the early morning hours, but it was their turf, their rules. I was working on finding another apartment and had discovered a couple good leads, but they didn’t open up until October first. Until then, if I was living under their roof, wallowing in self-pity wasn’t on the agenda. I liked helping with the swim lessons more than I’d thought. I’d belonged to a recreational swim team as a kid, and I’d taught swim lessons as a camp counselor. It felt fun to get back in the water with kids again. It was good to get back to work, too, but the swim lessons were more of an escape. Physical therapy reminded me of Chase, especially since our center now had a damn framed, signed photo of him in the lobby. When my boss first showed it to me, delighted, I’d felt so shocked. At the sight of his smiling face, I’d backed up into a wall, bumping against it and smacking my head. That was helpful, though, as it gave a plausible excuse for why my eyes filled with tears. “You all right there? Looks like you really whacked your head,” my boss had asked. “Fine, I’m fine,” I’d assured her, looking away from the framed photo, the real source of distress. Chase looked so damn handsome and proud and happy. When had he sent it? It must have been before he found out about the blogging. “He must have loved working with you. Great job, Emma.” Great job, Emma. Her words seemed to echo around me, mocking, and I excused myself to go have a little cry in the bathroom. At the senior center? No framed photos of Chase. The little ones in the swim classes hadn’t even heard of Chase Carter. On Wednesdays, I helped out in a class with infants. Babies, in the water? Come on, now. They were so plump and adorable. The parents got in the water with them, too, so I was mostly just there as an extra set of eyes for safety. But sometimes I’d get to hold babies and swoosh them around in the warm water, making silly noises and smiling at their delight. Most really little ones had an instinctive love of their natural habitat, maybe reminding them of their footloose and fancy-free days in the womb with none of the daily hassles like diaper changes or dropping your pacifier. Just moving, kicking, buoyant and relaxed, in the water. When did we lose that unselfconscious joy? It was probably during the teenage years. We stopped simply enjoying things and started worrying. What did we look like in those jeans? What did that girl really mean when she said “sure”? Was that guy looking over because he thought you were cute or because you had something caught in your teeth?

The good news was I saw unfettered joy bubbling up again in some of the seniors. Not all of them. Unfortunately, some seniors at the center seemed trapped in clinical depression, isolated, not engaging with the world around them. But there were some at the other end of the spectrum, too. There was one elderly woman I especially enjoyed seeing. She came down to the pool every day in a bright, flowered bathing cap and a skirted suit she called her “swimming costume.” She was always smiling, sometimes humming a little tune. She took absolute delight in the water, floating, sometimes paddling around, sometimes kicking with a board, always enjoying herself. I hoped I’d be like her when I grew older. Because at the moment, I was nothing like her. I kept it together relatively well during the day. But at night, dinner done, physical therapy sessions and swim lessons finished, the hours stretched and I had too much time for memories. It had felt so good with Chase, so real and right. We’d clicked, like you read about in books, that elusive feeling when you didn’t even have to wonder if it was right, was he the one? You just knew. I felt an almost physical pain away from him. Our connection had been so intimate and intense, making me feel so vulnerable and cared for at the same time. I’d been able to let myself go in ways I never had before, reaching deeper pleasure than I’d ever thought possible. And then I’d fucked it up royally. There were a lot of things I felt awful about, but the worst of it was that I really had done something wrong. I had been dishonest. What I’d done wasn’t as bad as that article had claimed. I hadn’t faked my credentials. And I hadn’t actually run a smear story on him. But I had taken the job with a hidden agenda. I’d known he wouldn’t want his full story told, and I’d gone in with the intent to open him up, get him sharing and talking. I hadn’t thought about the consequences on his end. I’d worried about my side of things, first how many blog followers I’d get, and then as my feelings grew, would I get hurt? I liked to think of myself as a thoughtful, considerate, caring person. But I felt like a large, unforgiving mirror in harsh lighting was being held right in front of my face, showing me the opposite. It made me question everything. Maybe I’d dated such jerks in the past because they made me look good next to them? I could be the saint to their sinner. Maybe I’d liked using my friendship with Tori as an excuse to do things I knew I shouldn’t, partying all night, blogging about gossip? She gave me an excuse to be naughty. While I might tsk and shake my head, all the while I was actually enjoying the ride. I guessed that’s what sucked about being a grown up. You couldn’t hide in adolescent angst anymore. There was no pretense that people just didn’t understand you, you’d been dealt a raw hand, couldn’t I get a do-over please? You had to take responsibility for your actions. Bleck. My notebook was filled with letters I started but didn’t send to Chase. I kept starting, then stopping. I’d find myself writing five pages about the background of my friendship with Tori, then snap the notebook closed in frustration. I’d start trying to tell him how I felt about him, how I’d never felt that way about anyone before in my life. Then I’d look at the words and find them so inadequate, so lacking and clichéd, there was no way I could rely on them. But, the thing was, I hadn’t given up hope. He’d told me he needed time, but hadn’t told me forever. Hard as it was, I understood and respected his request. Not only had things between us gone up in flames, he’d just finished years of backbreaking work, all culminating in the Olympics. Wherever he was now, he had to be facing a large helping of “now what?” I wished I were by his side, that we were somehow figuring out things together. But with each passing day, I had to acknowledge that didn’t look too likely. I finally sent him an email: Dear Chase, I’m sorry I got to know you without telling you everything. I’m sorry I wanted to learn your secrets and share them.

I’m in love with you. Please forgive me. Love, Emma It felt inadequate. It felt stupid. But at least it was something. Maybe eventually he’d want to talk to me, and maybe eventually listen, and maybe, just maybe, we could work our way out of the mess. I had to hope we could. § It was a Thursday afternoon in mid-September and I was down at the senior center, giving a one-on-one learn-to-swim lesson to a four-year-old. She wore a Tinkerbell swimsuit with ruffles and rhinestones. I used it as a distraction while I eased her into the water, her white-knuckled fingers gripping my arms instead of the side of the pool. “Do you like sparkly things?” I asked her, holding her in the water, gently bobbing up and down. See, nothing to be afraid of here. She warmed to the topic, telling me about a new pair of sandals with not just flowers, but glittery flowers. “Did you know we have a prize box?” I asked her and her eyes got wide. “When you do six lessons, you get a certificate showing what you’ve learned. And you get to choose a prize from the treasure chest. Some of them are sparkly.” That got her attention and before long, she was putting her face right in the water and blowing bubbles like a champion. “Mind if I give her some pointers?” asked a deep masculine voice I instantly recognized but didn’t dare believe I was actually hearing. Crouching down at the edge of the pool was none other than Chase. “What—?!” I nearly dropped my poor student, who looked up at the giant man like he might be a space alien. “Are you Chase Carter?” The little girl’s mother appeared by his side, all a-twitter. “You won gold in Rio! We watched you!” “Hi, ma’am.” He stood up and shook her hand. She didn’t want to let go. “You’ve got a good little swimmer here.” He gave a smile to my student, who now looked awestruck. “You think so?” I could see the gears spinning in the mother’s mind. Was Olympic gold in her daughter’s future? “How much do you charge for a lesson? I didn’t know you were teaching here!” “Sorry, I’m just visiting a friend.” A friend who could not close her mouth she was so shocked. But apparently I was the only one who felt that way. The rest of the facility erupted in excitement, circling around him, wanting autographs, asking questions. Giving me a sheepish look, he started shaking hands and signing things like a flier offering a community soccer clinic, or a card advertising a local business. The lesson over, I climbed out, wrapped myself in a towel, and waited outside the throng, still unable to believe he was there in Vero Beach, at the senior center pool, standing in regular old baggy shorts and a T-shirt but still looking every inch the elite athlete with his long, powerful build. Why was he there? It was probably a good thing, right? He wouldn’t have come to see me to tell me he didn’t want to see me. Or would he? It took him a while to disengage himself. An especially persistent elderly woman was clearly enjoying the freedom that came from old age to do exactly what she wanted. “One more!” she kept gleefully declaring, throwing her arms around him and pressing her cheek against him.

“OK,” he laughingly agreed. The woman, who had to be in her 80s, barely came up to the middle of his chest. Free at last, he came over to me, suddenly looking shy. “That didn’t go how I’d planned.” “It didn’t?” I asked, heart in my throat. “No.” He shook his head, looking out the window. “When your parents told me I could find you here, I pictured coming over and seeing you and it would just be the two of us.” Then he looked at me with those light blue eyes and I swear, it pretty much felt like it was just the two of us, even as others milled around on the pool deck watching our every move. “Do you have somewhere you have to be right now?” he asked. I could see his hand move as if he were about to raise it up to my cheek and touch me. But then, as if catching himself, he dropped it back to his side. “Yes.” I gazed up at him, answering the wrong question. Yes, I wanted to go somewhere with him. But he hadn’t asked me that. “Oh, OK.” He looked crestfallen. “Well, maybe later on? Or tomorrow? I’m hoping we can talk.” “No.” I continued making it worse as now he looked hurt. “What I mean—” I shook my head. “I mean, no I don’t have somewhere I have to be right now and yes I’d love to talk with you.” “Oh, OK.” That “Oh, OK” sounded a lot happier. He waited for me while I rinsed and changed into a sundress and flip-flops, my hair up in a ponytail as always. We headed out to his rental car, bigger than mine, and sat in the front seats as if we were going to head somewhere. But he didn’t start the engine. He turned toward me. “Emma, there’s probably a lot we need to discuss.” “I know. I want to explain. I’m so sorry about so many things. I was so stupid.” “Well,” he exhaled, not disagreeing with me. “Before I go any further, are there any other secrets I should know about? Are you secretly related to me in any way?” “No.” A hint of a smile started tugging at my lips. Teasing was a good sign, wasn’t it? “Are you currently, or have you ever been, a major league baseball pitcher?” That made me laugh. “Where did you come up with that one?” “Yeah, it’s unlikely. About as unlikely as I thought you being a secret blogger would be.” He looked at me, more serious. “I could barely believe it when I read that article.” I felt a stab of pain at the mention of it. I could still vividly remember the sick lurch in my stomach when I’d seen it and realized that I couldn’t stop it. It was out there, and he’d already seen it, too. That had been a bad day. “You’ve got to be honest with me, Emma. If you want to be with me.” What was he asking me? Was there an offer on the table? “I’m sick over it, Chase, honestly. The thought of hiding something from you ever again, I don’t even think I could do it if I tried.” “Please don’t try.” And that was it, I was over in his lap, in his arms, crying and kissing and apologizing and kissing again. “I’m so sorry. That was so awful.” “OK,” he rubbed my back, kissing my mouth, my cheek, my eyelids. “I believe you.” “I stopped having any plans to write anything about you so soon after we met, Chase. But I let it all go on too long. I should have explained everything to you straight away.” “I wouldn’t have worked with you, if you’d told me you were a blogger, too.” “No, you wouldn’t have.” “So, I’m not exactly ready to say I’m glad you didn’t tell me the truth. But I am glad I met you.” “You are? Really?” I couldn’t believe I was there with him, in his arms, touching him again. I could feel myself taking what felt like the first, deep breath of air I had in over a month, since I’d seen him last.

“Yes.” We didn’t talk for a little while then, letting our actions speak more than words, kissing, touching, holding. I shivered at the way his hand pressed against my lower back, held my waist, stroked my shoulder. He made every touch sensual, filled with promise. “I don’t know what’s next for me, Emma,” he finally murmured. “I don’t have a plan.” “That’s OK,” I reassured him. I understood how hard he’d been training, all focused on one goal. He hadn’t had time to wonder, “What’s next?” “I’ve been kind of a mess lately, actually,” he admitted. “Me, too.” Hello, moving back in with my parents and crying myself to sleep every night. He kissed me again, then cupped my chin and gazed into my eyes. “Want to find out what’s next together?” I kissed my answer, telling him yes with the nod of my head, the press of my lips, the caress of my hands, yes.

CHAPTER 22 Chase

Emma and I rented a place together in Vero, a smallish one but right on the water. I said yes to a few endorsements, with brands and products I actually used and liked. Sure, Speedo could use my image to sell their gear. I’d relied on the brand my whole life. It kept some money coming in to combine with Emma’s while we figured things out. We took our time. After all the rush of training, getting ready for the games, all the pressure of secrecy and the looming competition, it felt amazing to just hang out. We lazed in bed, took baths, grilled out on our deck. We had a phenomenal deck. Not as big or entirely private as Liam’s—that was pretty hard to come by—it still made a sweet spot to sit out on and watch the sunset. We were all good. As far as I was concerned, there wasn’t anything to apologize for or even explain. What was done was done. I believed her completely when she told me that she’d regretted her original intent soon after having worked with me, and shortly thereafter decided she could never betray my trust in writing a feature article. But Emma still wanted, or needed, to talk about it all. I knew what that was like. Guilt could eat away at you, corroding your sense of self, your confidence in your own abilities. I’d wasted years hating myself for what I could now see was an event beyond my control. What I’d had control over—and what I shouldn’t have done—was step on that stolen boat. After we’d gotten caught in a near-hurricane-level storm? I couldn’t judge myself for getting tossed overboard. I’d been a mere chess piece in the hands of an angry giant, tossing our game board around in fury. I wanted to help Emma get to the same place. Yes, she should never have accepted the position with the intent of exposing my past in her blog. That was bad. But life didn’t end there. She’d made a bunch of choices afterward, and those I was much more interested in discussing. Like what were we going to do next? I said we because even though she was gainfully employed and I was the one figuring out what the hell I was going to do with the rest of my life, we were having a lot of fun together coming up with ideas. “What about a swim school?” she suggested one night, her toned legs across my lap as we sat outside enjoying the ocean breeze. “I’ve thought about that,” I agreed. It seemed like a natural path. I’d been around swimming my whole life, surrounded by coaches. I was sure I could figure it out. She held up her hands as if envisioning a sign. “The Chase Carter Swim School.” “The Carter-Nelson Swim School,” I countered. She’d have to be a co-founder. I saw how much she liked giving those little kids lessons. That could be her focus. I could zero in on the older swimmers, the ones with drive and Olympic goals. I could train them, push them—

“But that might get too intense,” Emma interrupted my thoughts. “It might turn into a pressure cooker for Olympic hopefuls. But you know how few kids actually make it to the games.” “You’re right.” It was a good thing she was there to keep an eye on the crazy in me. It kept trying to surface, find a new, impossible goal to strive toward in an endless quest. Except when I held her there in the warm breezy night, stroking her thighs, listening to the sound of her voice in the dark. Then I felt pretty happy to sit and enjoy. “What about a rehab center?” I suggested instead, thinking of her expertise. “A center for athletes, with physical therapy and a fitness room.” “Like a gym, but with an emphasis on rehab?” She seemed to like the idea. We discussed the pros and cons, who the target audience would be. I liked the idea of a center dedicated to helping others. I’d spent a lot of time looking inward, focused on myself, working on my physical strength, stroke technique and endurance all with the goal of improving my times. It was time to widen my lens. I didn’t know how yet, but I was becoming more and more sure that I wanted to give back. § I still hit the pool every day. Old habits died hard. I found a high-caliber facility associated with a local university and worked out harder than anyone in it. Which wasn’t difficult, because most people there were normal. I was the insane one. Sometimes people would sit on the pool deck and watch me swim. When I got out, they wanted to talk about the Olympics, and how I should do it again. I’d only be 30 years old in the next go-round. I could do it. I knew they were probably right. I might not match my performance, but I’d probably get close. If I killed myself day in, day out, every day of the next four years, devoting each shred of energy and time to that one goal. I didn’t want to do it. I felt that with certainty. Even in the void of what next, I knew that wasn’t it. I wanted a fuller life now, a broader umbrella, and I wanted Emma right at the center of it with me. Later that afternoon, she came home. Her schedule was somewhat erratic, and her office wasn’t too far from our apartment, so we’d meet up when we could. “How was your swim?” she asked, giving me a kiss. She wore one of her subtly sexy outfits, the little tank top and short skirt revealing her fit and lithe body. “Fine,” I nodded, hatching an idea. “How long do you have before your next session?” “My last client cancelled!” She looked at me with excitement. A whole evening together, uninterrupted. “I think we have some time for a massage,” I declared. “Is that right?” she asked, cocking her eyebrow. “I’ll work on you first.” I gave her a heated look and she laughed, teasingly, turning to get herself a glass of water. “But you’ve just done your swim,” she reminded me, taking a sip. “I don’t want you getting all tense.” “If you insist,” I agreed, knowing I’d still get to have my way with her. And it wasn’t so bad, receiving a massage. Both options promised a high likelihood of enjoyment. We had a massage table set up in the living room. Didn’t everyone? Or, at least every serious athlete lucky enough to be hooked up with a professional therapist trained in massage. I was a lucky dawg. She was no longer working in an official capacity as my physical therapist, of course, but I still reaped the many benefits. No one touched me like Emma. Especially now that there were no rules holding us back. “Now get undressed and lie down,” she told me, sternly. “I think I’ll really have to use a lot of oil on you today.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief as she lubed her hands. I stripped down to nothing and lay on

my back. She rubbed me, slowly, torturously, all over my chest, my quads, everywhere but where I wanted the most. “Emma,” I growled in warning. I could take some teasing, but sooner or later I’d get what I wanted. She giggled, playful with a hint of excitement and maybe even a bit of nerves. I still surprised her sometimes, coming at her raw and dominant when she didn’t expect it. I loved taking her breath away, then hearing it come back in a needy pant and moan. “You need to let me work,” she chastised, stroking, kneading my muscles. “I have to take care of you.” Wicked temptress, she slid her hands along my hips, at my lower abdomen. As she rubbed and massaged, she could see every inch of me, my swollen cock long and rock hard. I loved seeing her get caught up in her own lust. At first she was playful, teasing and coy. Then something shifted. She glanced at my cock, a drop of pre-come at the tip. Then she glanced again, her pink tongue darting out, licking her lips. She liked the taste of me. My cock jerked in response, a little more pre-come leaking out. She moved closer to my middle. She couldn’t take her eyes away. “I think,” she offered hesitantly. “I think you might need some attention here.” But before she got her treat, I sat up and turned the tables. Or who lay on the table, anyway. She didn’t get what she wanted, not yet. Not when torturing her was so much fun. “Strip for me. And lie down on your front. Now,” I ordered. I slathered my hands in warm oil, too, watching her as she complied with my orders, slipping out of her clothes, her panties and bra, too, until she was completely naked, lying there waiting for me. Slick on her skin, my hands kneaded, pulled and pressed into her. I loved seeing her hips start to wiggle and grind into the sheet. As if pushing her clit into the table could give her the kind of release she needed. No, I had what she craved. “Up on all fours, baby.” I coaxed her, helping her up into the position I liked. Down on her elbows, up on her knees, I got her at exactly the right angle. With her knees spread apart, her ass tilted up, I could get right at so much of what I liked, her round, pink cheeks, her pretty little asshole, her dripping wet pussy. I stroked and massaged as long as I could. Until her whimpers and pleas got the best of me, too, and I leaned down for a light lick. “Ah!” she gasped, so sensitive, raising up on her hands and turning around to look at me. “You need to let me work on you.” I took pleasure in repeating her own words right back at her. With my large hand at the center of her upper back, I pushed her back down into position again. “Stay still or you won’t get what you need.” With a whine, she did as I said, back down on her elbows, knees even wider apart so I could see her glistening sex. I grabbed her hips, my fingers along her ass cheeks, pulling her apart so I could really get in there. I licked, slowly at first, eating her pussy like the ripest, juiciest fruit I’d ever tasted. I moaned at the succulent sweetness, so turned on by the sounds she made, the way she white-knuckled the sheet. When she got close, I brought my oiled thumb over to her ass, using some of the arousal dripping down her legs to coat her entrance. Sucking on her clit, I pressed against her tight ring, forcing it open, my thick thumb popping inside. She screamed, at the brink, tense and quivering as I licked and sucked her pussy, starting to thrust in her ass. She loved it when I claimed her, showed her how good I could make her feel, because she was mine, all mine. She started bucking, pressing against me, shuddering and groaning and I sucked hard on her clit, pulling it in, giving it a light bite as I pushed into her asshole. “Yes!” she screamed out, climaxing hard, coming in my mouth as I sucked in her luscious wetness. I stroked her, milking the pleasure out of her, licking every last drop as she quivered and sighed. Kissing her ass cheek, I praised her. “So fucking sweet, baby.”

“Oh, Chase,” she groaned, sinking down, her face pressed to the side. I gathered her in my arms and carried her into the bedroom. She needed a moment to rest and catch her breath. Too bad I wasn’t going to give it to her. Pulling her against me, cupping her from behind, I wrapped my hands around her. Grabbing one of her breasts, dipping down into her slick pussy, I held her there, sucking on her throat, licking and whispering in her ear. “You come so pretty, Emma. I need to see it again.” And that was how we spent the night, pushing boundaries, sinking into each other with passion that left both of us breathless, sweaty, panting, and ultimately falling asleep with big, fat, satisfied smiles on our faces. § Emma had never been to New York City, so I took her there for a few days in October. The leaves in Central Park were crisp and bright. The sun was still strong enough for long days of walking around and sightseeing. And my father was in town on business, so we met up with him for dinner. Halfway through our meal, an old friend of my father’s, Mark Fisher, joined us. He’d known me since the day I was born, he liked telling me, and he wanted to come congratulate the Olympic champion. We got to talking. It turned out Mark had made tens of millions as a venture capitalist, and now he wanted to make a difference. He had a bunch of ideas and was especially concerned about childhood obesity and the increasing reliance on screens for entertainment. “Kids don’t run around and play outdoors anymore,” he lamented. “I used to spend all summer climbing trees and riding bikes. Now kids stay indoors playing video games.” I didn’t have any answers, but I knew what he was talking about. I believed strongly in the benefits of physical activity, exercise and athletic pursuits, and I saw what he was saying. A lot of kids didn’t do that anymore, especially kids whose parents couldn’t afford all mine had, with the club and team fees, the gear, the constant driving back and forth to practice. We didn’t decide anything that night, but Mark and I kept talking, texting and emailing which then grew into scheduled phone calls. In November, when he flew down to Vero to spend the day brainstorming, I knew we might be on to something. I believed passionately in swimming. You could do it from the day you entered this world until the day you exited. It kept you healthy, didn’t impact your joints, engaged your body and your mind. Not to mention that drowning was one of the leading causes of death in children. I knew something about that topic. We started hatching the idea for a center, called Swim For Your Life. Mark would fund the construction and set up a generous scholarship fund for kids with limited means. Emma and I would run it. The center would be open to the public, offering a recreational pool, swim lessons and a swim team. It would have all that, plus a fitness center with, you guessed it, physical and massage therapy. Emma was a big part of the planning process, at the center of creating the vision and helping us articulate not only the big ideas, but the logistical planning. “We should offer a camp in the summers!” She got just as excited about it as me, brainstorming ways to keep kids active and engaged, swimming and playing and, of course, with Emma, running. “We can have a big field outside! With a track!” The possibilities were endless, as were the needs. With more and more schools strapped for cash, cutting funding for physical education programs, kids needed a place to go and be healthy. In the winter months Emma and I worked together to start making our dreams a reality. We found a fantastic lot at an affordable price, thanks to the comparatively reasonable real estate prices in Florida. While we got all the engineering surveys done, the soil reports, the structural calculations, my mom flew

down for a couple weeks and worked with a landscape architect to design the grounds. There would be flowers, lots of them, and a vegetable garden that the kids could tend and learn about how food grows. Emma’s parents got in on the fun as well. Her mom gave a lot of input into the rehab component, especially the water therapy programs we could offer. Her father managed commercial properties for a living, so he was a natural to not only consult, but offer the manager position. We had lunch one day, just the two of us, and I proposed it to him. He’d get a raise, the opportunity to work with his daughter and full oversight of the facilities. “I’d be honored,” he said, shaking my hand. I hoped to get that same reaction from him to a question I planned on asking sometime over the coming year. I still felt the way about Emma that I had from the start. She was the one for me. We hadn’t talked marriage and kids yet. I was making myself wait, for once in my life not rush after the goal but let it unfold, at a natural, comfortable pace. But that was hard for me. A large part of me wanted to haul her caveman-style down to city hall that afternoon. We could seal the deal quick, making her mine, forever and ever. But I knew she’d like a wedding with her family involved. And my mom would like that, too. Liam would want to be there and, who knew, maybe Jax and even Ian would show up. And there were my teammates, they’d want to come, and Emma still lived in the town where she’d grown up so she’d have a bunch of friends and family she’d want to include. Hell, we’d be lucky if we got away with a guest list of a few hundred. Not that I assumed she’d say yes, but I hoped she would. Seeing her there in meetings, planning for our new center, I couldn’t believe how I’d hit the jackpot. She was the real deal, so kind and nice and thoughtful. And a naughty, hot freak in bed. I’d caught myself a unicorn. And I planned on never letting her go.

CHAPTER 23 Emma

We spent Christmas together in Vero with my family. Chase met the whole extended Nelson clan, complete with cousins and aunts and a pet boa constrictor named Neil. That belonged to my Uncle Ralph. This year, Neil didn’t eat anything. Last year he’d disappeared for a couple hours, then reappeared at the entryway with a suspiciously large lump in his middle. This year, Uncle Ralph kept him closer, wearing him like a scarf for most of the holiday. Chase rode it out in classic style, nodding patiently to long explanations about how to make tuna casserole (Aunt Roberta) and showing my nine-year-old cousin Kenny how to swim butterfly. In the kitchen of my parents’ house. “They’re best friends, not enemies,” Chase told him, moving his hands closer together at the end of the swoop. He was so good with kids, charming and funny and patient. Someday he’d make a great dad. He saw me gazing at him, all starry eyed, and he gave me a wink. Geez, I was so head over heels for him. A fact I reminded myself of frequently as we flew up to Massachusetts to spend the week after Christmas with his parents. His father really rubbed me the wrong way. He seemed competitive with his own son, bragging about his latest business deal, displaying his latest girlfriend as if it were a competition, her against me. I did not do well around people like that. The more it felt like someone was trying to provoke a reaction, the more I clammed right up. The few days we spent at his father’s house, I spoke less and less, growing quiet as a mouse. Thankfully, I wasn’t the only one who saw it. It didn’t make me happy to see Chase upset over his father’s behavior, but it did make it easier that he didn’t like it either. “I’m sorry. He isn’t always this bad,” he assured me. “It is not your fault,” I reassured him. “And I’m fine.” Which was true, but I grew more relaxed in the following days as we visited his mother. She and I had had fun with the landscape architect, planning the grounds for the swim center. She struck me as quiet, thoughtful, and much more grounded than I’d originally feared when I’d seen her in Rio. It turned out she got really tense around her ex-husband. Now I understood why. While we were visiting his parents, Chase headed back to the old pool he’d trained at while in high school. It was technically closed over the vacation week, but they gave Chase a key. For him, anything. One afternoon, I accompanied him for a workout of my own. I lasted about a half hour in the water, then took a hot tub, sauna, shower, plus blow dried my hair and changed. When I came out, he was still swimming and went at it for another half hour. I sat by the side on a bench and scrolled through my Facebook and Instagram feeds on my phone. Lots of photos of Tori, having a blast. She hadn’t slowed down a bit. We hadn’t seen each other that much in the past few months, and, honestly, that felt about right.

“You’re Chase’s friend?” An older gentleman came over, introducing himself as one of Chase’s first coaches. “I came over to say hello.” He made his way over to the pool and Chase and he talked for a few minutes, all smiles and laughter as they reminisced. “He sure seems to be doing well,” the coach commented as he passed me again on his way out. “A kid with that kind of drive? I’ve seen it go both ways.” We both watched Chase fly through the water, as if he had wings in an empty pool. Not in training for any future event, he was just enjoying himself by pushing himself to physical exhaustion. “Some kids?” the coach reflected. “They push and push, but then they don’t know what to do when it’s all over. They don’t know how to stop. But Chase seems like one of the lucky ones.” He looked at me, kindly. “I’m sure you’ve got a lot to do with that.” He walked off, leaving me to my thoughts as I watched Chase swim. Was he doing all right? Did he miss it, training for the Olympics? Maybe he wanted to do it again in 2020? I’d get on that treadmill again if he wanted, support him however he needed down that long, arduous journey. But it would be a hard one, pushing uphill as the years and endless hours of stress and overuse took a toll on his body. Thirty wasn’t old in an objective sense, but for an elite athlete it was right on the cusp, if not over the hill. I’d hate to see Chase push and push, only to get sidelined by an injury, or make it to the games and not be able to recapture his former glory. Plus, a small part of me hoped he’d be happy without it. It must be hard, having had such an exciting, coveted prize to pursue for so long, to now wake up each day with, simply, life. But to me what we had going on was thrilling. The chance to do something really fun and good, running Swim For Your Life together. It was my dream come true. But was it his? I still had the question on my mind as we drove back to his mother’s house, about twenty minutes away. Snow flurries were falling, pretty from the inside of the car but Florida girl that I was I already felt cold before I’d even set foot in it. I put my seat warmer on high. “You all right there, softie?” Chase asked from the driver’s seat. “What do you have the heater set to? 85?” “Around that.” And I would not apologize for it. “Don’t let Liam catch you doing that. He’ll never stop giving you shit about it.” He was probably right. I’d deal with that bridge when I had to cross it. Like tomorrow, when we headed out to Naugatuck for Liam’s New Year’s Eve party. “Do you miss it?” I asked him, studying his handsome profile as he drove. “What? Boston?” he asked. “I haven’t lived here since I was 18. I lived in California for four years, then Arizona. I always like visiting up here, but it’s not a home to me like Florida is to you.” “I don’t mean miss Boston,” I clarified. “Though I’m glad to hear you like Florida.” He flashed me a smile. “What I meant is swimming. Competitively. I see you in the pool and you’re, just, larger than life.” “Honestly?” He paused and I braced myself. This was it, the moment he broke it to me. He wanted to train again for the Olympics. “Nope,” he answered, and I let out the breath I’d been holding. “I’ll admit, for about a month after the games I didn’t know what to do with myself. I didn’t know how to get through a normal day without hours and hours of a rigorous training program. But I’m settling into it now. I’m excited about the center we’re building. And you’re in my life again.” He gave me another smile and even I, surrounded by snow outside the car, felt warm right down to my toes. “I’ve never been happier,” he said. “Me, either,” I agreed wholeheartedly. §

The night before New Year’s, we checked ourselves into a hotel on Naugatuck. The ferry ride over had been choppy. I wasn’t the only one who felt slightly green. Chase fixed himself a stiff drink, and one for me as well, and we settled down together on a couch. “That sucked,” he admitted. His white knuckles had said it all, though on the ferry he’d maintained a tight-lipped “I’m fine” attitude. “That definitely sucked,” I agreed. The ferry had actually had to slow down from its high speed to accommodate the swells. I’d seen one passenger throw up into her handbag. Another barely made it into the bathroom. Fun stuff! “I’m glad we’re here, though.” He took my hand in his, rubbing his thumb along it. “Liam throws a great party. New Year’s is a blast, but his annual Fourth of July party is the stuff of legend.” He went on to tell me a few funny stories, how celebrities vacationing on the island always seemed to find their stumbling way over to Liam’s. Last year he’d had an NBA player, a rapper, and a Hemsworth. “Wait, what? Did you say Hemsworth?” My voice rose an octave. He nodded, “I did.” He looked at me keenly. “Does someone have a crush?” “What? Pfst.” I gave a completely unconvincing dismissive sound. Hells yeah, I had a crush, as did half the people on the planet. “Well, I’ll have to make sure he doesn’t make a repeat appearance,” Chase concluded. “By the way, you should know, Liam had your back.” “What do you mean?” “In September, after the games, when we weren’t talking.” “When you weren’t talking to me,” I clarified. “Right, well, he told me I was being an idiot.” I’d always liked that Liam. Now I did even more. After a long, hot shower and a sweet, wet blow job, all thoughts of the bumpy ferry ride had been vanquished. A generous man, Chase returned the favor, turning me into a molten, writhing mess as he ate me out, then fucked me good and long and hard on the bed. As we drifted off to sleep, a thought popped into my head. I’d wanted to talk to him about it earlier, but I’d been worried about his reaction. Now, post orgasm, I felt no stress. It was the right time to ask. “What do you think about starting a blog?” I murmured. “Yeah right.” He laughed, lazily, clearly assuming I was joking. “No, I’m serious. We could blog about all the goings-on at the center. And I could profile some of the kids there. We could get them some visibility, maybe link it to a college scholarship fund.” “OK, on one condition,” he warned me. “What is it?” “You wear a big hat the whole time that says in all caps, “I’M A BLOGGER.” “Oh my God.” I swatted his broad chest, laughing, feeling the rumble of his laughter, too. That was the thing about love, it turned even the most painful of memories into something you could tease and laugh about. “There was something else I wanted to tell you.” I feigned forgetfulness, drumming my fingers on his arm. Then I pulled myself up the length of his gorgeous body and gave him a full kiss. “Chase, I love you so much.” “I love you, too, Emma.” He held me in the darkness, our hearts beating in sync, safe and warm and happy together. Life was good. THE END

Thank you so much for reading In Deep! I hope you loved every page! It’s such fun sharing the story of Chase and Emma with you. Want a FREE bonus chapter of Chase and Emma post In Deep? Sign up for my newsletter here and/or my Facebook author’s group Callie’s Corner here. I’ll send the chapter out on my newsletter a week or so after release and post it permanently on my group page. And, as a newsletter subscriber or an author group member you’ll be the first to know about my new releases, sales and other freebies. I’ve got a whole lot of hotness planned! Find out the whole Callie Harper scoop on my website, www.callieharperbooks.com. It’s got it all—my books, info on the standalones in the series, bonus content. Check it out! First Chase and Emma kicked off the All In series with In Deep. Next up is Liam. He’s the good guy, the hero, the one everyone relies on. Except for the one woman he wants most. You can’t always get what you want. At least that’s what he’s tried to tell himself. Until she moves back to Naugatuck. Stay tuned for Liam’s standalone story All of Me, out in late 2015. But you don’t have to wait that long for more Callie Harper goodness! I’m thrilled to share the fifth and final standalone in the Beg For It series. Each of the members of the Kavanaugh family have their own book, which can be read in any order. Here’s a sneak peek of Undeniable (Dom & Gigi), to be released October, 2016.

UNDENIABLE (GIGI & DOM) He’s the one she couldn’t have. She’s the one he couldn’t forget. They haven’t seen each other in four years. He’s been serving with the Special Forces. She’s finished college. They’ve had time to move on. Neither one has. Now there’s a death threat. Her family’s business has pissed off a drug cartel. Her life’s in danger. They’re thrown together, on the run. He has to keep her safe. From everyone. Including himself. NOTE: Undeniable is a standalone hot adult romance. It’s the fifth story in the Beg for It series—which can be read in any order—about the Kavanaugh family and the dominant, alpha men and the strong, sexy women who make them finally meet their match.

EXCERPT Gigi When he walked into the party I dropped a full glass of champagne. And it was a real glass, so I sent shattered fragments flying everywhere. It seemed fitting. When he’d left without a trace four years ago, I’d felt completely shattered. Now he stood 20 feet away from me looking even more devastatingly gorgeous than before. I didn’t know how that could be possible. He’d spent the past four years in the Special Forces; I’d gotten that much out of my older brother, Colt. I knew the two of them had kept in touch after Dominic had saved his life. After he’d nearly ruined mine. When you fell in love at 18, it felt like the world was opening up, full of promise and new beginnings. Especially if you thought the man you loved felt the same way. And I didn’t mean puppy love, full of rainbows and princess dreams. I meant honest, real, I’ve found the person I want to be with for the rest of my life love. But then Dom had left, no warning, no forwarding address. It might have had something to do with the fact that his mother married my father. We hadn’t seen that coming. But the marriage had only lasted a year and a half. My father had passed at only 67 years old from cancer. Dom hadn’t even come back for the funeral. But now here he was at our family’s annual holiday party. Wearing a tux. And making me drop champagne glasses. “Are you all right?” someone next to me asked. A server hustled to sweep up the shards. “Oh, of course. How clumsy of me.” Dropped glasses happened every year at this party, usually toward the end of the evening courtesy of the open bar. I’d started things off early. Seeing the long-lost love of your life walk through the door had that effect. He spoke briefly with my brother, Colt. But then he made his way over to me. I knew he would. Nervous, I flitted among partygoers, maintaining my ever-cheerful exterior even as I remained hyperaware of his every move. I was famous for my composure, my happy demeanor. No one knew what had happened between me and Dominic. No one even knew I had a secret to keep. He stood before me. “Gigi.”

I’d recognize that voice anywhere. I still heard it in my sleep, low and dark. I didn’t have to look up to know it was him, so I didn’t. I kept focused across the room where some acquaintance or other was giving me wave. Perfect, bright, upbeat as always, I waved back. But a storm raged inside me. “How are you?” He still stood there, so tall, broad and powerful. Of course I knew in the military he’d have pushed himself physically, but he’d already been in killer physical condition when I’d last seen him. Now? He looked like Thor with short, dark hair. “Oh, fine!” I answered in bright falseness, the exterior I wore for everyone else in place. Everyone else accepted it without doubt. Dom reached out and grazed my hand with his. I couldn’t ignore that. I looked up into his eyes, the ones I’d dreamed about for years now, so dark and yet the more you looked into them the more depth you could see, shades and hints of light. “How are you?” he asked again. I looked up at him, all pretense instantly gone. Stripped naked, bare for him, all my emotion in my gaze. How was I? I was still in love with him. Deeply, madly, irrevocably. That’s how I was. I drew a shaky breath. And then a friend intervened, a party girl, one of New York society’s finest. Exactly the type I tended to hang with, all surface, all the time. It was easier that way. When no one around you had any depth, then no one suspected you did, either. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” she asked, flashing him a seductive smile. His eyes never left mine. “Of course!” I fluttered, shifting easily into social butterfly mode. “Samantha, Dominic. Do you know the two of you are both from California? I’m sorry, please excuse me. There’s someone I have to say hello to.” And just like that I extracted myself from the situation. Now I simply had to staunch the bleeding from the freshly opened wound in my heart. That shouldn’t take long, maybe only another year or so. Dominic. Back in New York. Never in my wildest dreams had I imagined he’d return tonight. All right, in my wildest dreams he’d done a lot more than find me at a party and say hello. I took a deep breath, then reminded myself to let it out. It had always been like that around him. Hard to breathe, with him staring directly into my soul. I guessed some things never changed. I’d just have to make sure we never ran into each other again.

Dom I got the call late at night. I’d grown accustomed to midnight emergencies. In the Special Forces, you didn’t exactly keep regular hours like a nine-to-five desk jockey. But I’d finished my four years of active duty. I was now officially in the reserves, technically on call but no longer storming and raiding in foreign, war-torn countries, watching my friends get blown apart by IEDs. Big difference. At least I’d thought. When I’d seen Colt at the holiday party Saturday night, I’d expected a follow-up call. He’d stayed in touch relentlessly over the years, tracking me down even when it was damn hard. And it was damn hard most of the time. I’d grown to respect him, his loyalty, his friendship. The man remembered who’d helped him when he’d needed it. That said a lot about his character. But I hadn’t expected him to call at 2 a.m. Monday morning. I’d been awake, lying in bed, thinking about her. At the party, Gigi had looked like a fucking beam of sunlight struck down through a crack in the ceiling in that shimmering silver dress with her soft, creamy skin and gleaming waves of strawberry blond hair. All the times I’d dreamed of her, envisioned her like a talisman of hope in the middle of my darkest

hours, I’d tried to convince myself that I’d exaggerated. I must have embellished the truth over the years. No one could be that staggeringly beautiful. Then I saw her again and realized my fantasies hadn’t even done her justice. Her full lips, her petite frame. The way she held herself, graceful and light. The way she couldn’t meet my eyes. Then how she’d looked when she finally did, gazing up at me with her dark blue eyes wide and brimming with unspoken emotion. I saw a mixed-up brew of confusion there. And maybe longing? I might have seen a hint of that. Late at night, I sure hoped I had. I’d already felt pretty worked up before Colt’s phone call. But his words jolted my adrenaline into hyper-drive like a hostile raid. “We have a situation,” he’d begun, asking if I could be downstairs in five minutes to step into his limo. Inside the car, he gave me the highlights of his current shitstorm. He was right. It was a bad one. Colt was CEO of the family business, Kavanaugh Investors. I knew enough about human nature to understand without being told, you didn’t become a billionaire without getting your fingers dirty every now and then. No one amassed that kind of wealth and stayed squeaky clean. It turned out his former COO had been dealing dirty for years, getting in way over his head with exactly the kinds of people you didn’t want to mess with at all, ever. I knew about those kinds of people. I hadn’t grown up with a silver spoon in my mouth like Colt. I’d grown up in Fresno, my father in a motorcycle club, my mother in a strip joint. It was cool on Sons of Anarchy, but not so cool as a seven-year-old needing regular meals. But it had given me more of an education than all of Colt’s Harvard degrees. Most everyone I knew had a dark side and, given the right conditions, they’d go there. Greed and power were ruthless motivators. Colt’s old COO had gotten into it with a Columbian drug cartel. I didn’t get all the details, we didn’t have time, but the gist of it was he’d gotten Kavanaugh Investors involved with the coffee trade, which had pissed off those involved with the cocaine trade, and now the cartel had issued a death threat. The thing about a Columbian drug cartel was they really knew how to hit where it hurt. A typical bad guy would have taken a swing right at Colt. A more clever bad guy would have targeted his new wife, and that would have been effective. But Colt had her under wraps, heavily guarded since intel had reached him that this could become a problem. But these guys? They were the real deal, experts at cruelty and getting what they wanted. So they’d made a death threat against Colt’s beloved, vulnerable younger sister. Unprotected, living single in the city, Gigi would make an easy target. Or so they thought. “You’re the one I can trust,” Colt told me, intense, fervent, more desperate than I’d ever seen him. “You’ll keep her safe.” “I’ll get her out tonight,” I agreed, not even bothering to formally accept the assignment. No one would hurt Gigi. I didn’t care what they tried to do. I would stop them. “I’m working on a place—” “I know a guy.” I took charge of the situation. Colt knew how to make all sorts of business arrangements, but he didn’t know how to make these kinds of plans. We needed a heavily-guarded safe house, the kind of place we could disappear for a while until Colt straightened out the mess. “Thought you might.” Colt exhaled with relief. I wanted to tell him he should keep on holding his breath, this thing was far from over. But I’d let him worry about that. I had my mission now. I needed to grab Gigi, steal her away without a trace under the cover of night and hide her from anyone trying to do her harm. I was on it. I would succeed. I had only one question. Who was going to protect Gigi from me?

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Thank you so much for reading! Thank you, thank you to my family and friends for their love and support. I am so grateful every day for each of you! Linda Russell at Sassy Savvy Fabulous PR. Oh my goodness, what would I do without you? You are tireless, patient, creative and really fun to work with. Thank you so much for believing in me! Perfect Pear Creative, I’m IN AWE over the cover you designed for In Deep. Genius! I’m so thrilled to be working with you and can’t wait to see what you come up with for the rest of the All In series. A huge thank you to Candy and the team at Help Me Edit for proofreading. I so appreciate how quickly and thoroughly you read my work. Thanks also to Jenny Wootton for her close, perceptive read! Sophie at Bookalicious Babes Blog, you’re absolutely lovely. Thank you for the early read of this book, for your consistently great advice, and for being an early and constant supporter of my writing! You’ve helped me so much in understanding and navigating this wonderful and wild book world, and I’m deeply grateful. Thanks to Kylie, George and the rest of the group at Give Me Books. Michelle, graphics guru extraordinaire, thank you for your patience and persistence. Special shout out to all my peeps in my FB group Callie’s Corner!! You all make it so much fun to share my writing. I’m so grateful to all of the wonderful bloggers who’ve invited me to do takeovers, shared their reviews of my ARCs, posted freebies and generally helped spread the Callie Harper word. Thank you for sharing your time, blog followers and support! Sending out much love to the fantastic, entertaining writers I adore reading. Lauren Blakely, what can I say? I wouldn’t even be writing these books without your encouragement. I’m so grateful for your advice, your support and your friendship! And last but definitely not least, I have so much love for all of the amazing book lovers out there! I love your messages, emails and posts. Hearing from you makes my day! Thank you for reading my books. I look forward to bringing you many more entertaining reads in the future!

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