Page 2 of Forbidden Billionaires: Vol. 10

"Before we head out to the aquatic stadium, let's take a look at the updated medal count."

I let out a sigh of relief. Or maybe I was just panting from running in the ridiculous humidity or from seeing Gabriela Santos. Either way, I was glad I made it on time to see Chris' race.

The screen switched to a graphic showing a list of countries and how many medals they had earned. The United States was first with 14 gold, 9 silver, and 13 bronze, followed closely by Brazil who had an identical count, except for 2 fewer gold.

"The US is ahead in the count," said Owen. "But the real story here is Brazil. Bob, what do you make of all this?"

Owen had been joined in the studio by Bob Stimpson, a former four-time gold medalist at the International Tournament of Athletes.

"What Brazil has done here has been extraordinary," said Bob. "Before the tournament started, they were targeting 30 medals total, and now here they are with that many medals and we're only halfway through the games."

"And it's not like the tournament was front loaded with sports that they're traditionally strong in," added Owen.

Bob nodded and shuffled a stack of papers.

"That's a great point. In fact, they've been struggling in many of the events that you'd expect them to win.

Their men's soccer team has looked okay, but they certainly aren't firing on all cylinders, and their number one ranked women's volleyball team has really failed to impress.

They're actually in danger of not even making it out of the group stage if they can't beat the US tomorrow. "

No way they'll beat us. Especially if Gabriela has a foursome with those guys.

"Looking at the schedule here," said Owen, "how many more medals do you think Brazil can expect to win?"

"Before the games began, I would have said maybe 10 or 15 more, but we seem to have grossly underestimated their home field advantage. At this point I wouldn't bet against them finishing in the top three."

"Alright, we'll have more on this later, but first let's take it out to the aquatic stadium and see if Brazil can continue to rack up the medals or if Chris Hamilton can bring home a gold for the US after his dominant performance in the heats yesterday. Over to you, Jim."

"Thanks, Owen," said another announcer as the camera switched to a view of my insanely sexy boyfriend stretching next to the pool.

The races were fun to watch, but watching his abs while he stretched was even better.

The bulge in his swim suit wasn't bad, either.

After dating Chris for two years, I realized that a good standard to measure men by was whether or not they could look hot in a swim cap and shaved legs.

Chris certainly passed that test. I still couldn't believe how lucky I was.

When I met Chris in college he was the ultimate player.

But he gave up that lifestyle for me. Sure, girls still stared at him and tried to make passes at him, but he denied them every time.

I was enough for him. My eyes and probably millions of girls back home rooting for him to win were glued to Chris on the screen.

And I couldn't help but smile at the fact that I was the one that he wanted.

Owen Harris may have been my first major crush, but Chris was my first everything else.

"So here's the lineup for the final of the men's 100 meter butterfly.

" A list of swimmers and their times in the heats popped up on the screen.

Claude Beaumont was his biggest competition for the gold, and he was in the lane right next to him.

According to the list, Claude had only been half a second behind Chris in the heats.

Come on, baby, you can do this.

The swimmers were finishing their stretches when Kristen walked into the building.

"Did he win?" she asked.

I glanced up for a second. "Should start any minute."

"Oh. Well, you should probably bring that in the locker room so you're not late."

She was right. Coach Hammond had a rule that we had to be in the locker room five minutes before practice started or we were considered late. And being late meant being benched for the next game.

"Right, okay. Be right in," I said.

With my eyes still glued to the screen, I got up and made my way towards the locker room.

"Alright, it's time to see if Chris Hamilton can do it again. If he can match his time from yesterday, he'll almost certainly come away with the gold," said the announcer as the swimmers all got on the blocks.

A voice on the PA said, "On your marks," and then the buzzer sounded and the swimmers were off. The screen zoomed out to show all the swimmers. Chris had gotten off to a decent start. He was maybe one arm's length behind Claude. Not a big deal. He always finishes strong.

I pushed through the locker room door as the swimmers hit their first and only turn. Chris had caught Claude and looked to be a few fingertips in front of him.

"You got this," I whispered.

Chris was two strokes away from the wall when I walked directly into someone. My phone flew out of my hands and crashed to the locker room floor.

"Whoa!" yelled a guy. "What are you doing in here?!"

I looked up for the first time since the race had started.

The guy in front of me had his hand on his junk and was scrambling to put his towel back on.

My mouth dropped as my eyes landed on his chiseled abs.

His chestnut hair was shaggy and stopped right above his baby blue eyes.

His bewildered baby blue eyes. Oh my God.

I had wandered into the men's locker room.

And I'm staring at a naked man that's not Chris!

All I could think to do was scream and run away.