Page 17

“That’s it for the warm-ups,” Parker, our assistant coach, yells.

It’s too damn early in the morning for his booming voice.

“Coach Schmidt has an announcement, so a seat on the bleachers,” he instructs.

“Hopefully, he’s canceling this weekend’s friendly. I'm not in the mood to see those pricks from Emberwood,” Mack grumbles as we sit down.

“Speaking of Emberwood, I heard they have a freshman on the team who’s already a shoo-in for the Olympics,” Austin says from behind us.

I twist around. “Who told you that?”

If it’s true, they may have an advantage over us this weekend, which does not sit well with me.

“Marissa mentioned it,” he says.

Mack mimics my pose. “You still talk to her?”

“Not very often, but yeah.”

Austin and Marissa had a casual thing freshman year. He said it wasn't serious, and neither of them wanted to take it further.

“Not very often, my ass. This dude calls her at least once a week when he thinks I’m sleeping,” Sam pipes up, earning a punch in the shoulder from his brother. “Ow, dickhead.”

The doors swing open, and Coach Schmidt walks in. I watch as he says something to Parker, who nods before heading back the way Coach came.

Turning his attention to us, Coach gives one of his rare smiles. “Morning, boys. We have two students attending some of our practices for a project.”

His voice fades into the background as Parker reenters the room, and he’s not alone. Nervous energy stirs in my gut when I see who’s behind him.

I can feel the shift when the rest of the team notices them, too. When the whispers start, I know they’ve spotted her . Sensing he’s lost us, Coach mutters something about hormones and boys under his breath.

Beside me, Mack lets out a low whistle. “Damn, who the hell is that?”

I ignore him and sit up straighter. I’m still not used to the rush of excitement when I see her, but she’s become a surprising twist in my life. Not to mention, her presence is already a noticeable mood-lifter.

Bear trails behind Parker, glancing around nervously as she fiddles with the cuff of her hoodie.

Correction: my hoodie.

Knowing she’s wearing it makes me want to stand up and beat my chest like a damn gorilla in front of everyone.

She’s mine, assholes.

When her eyes find mine in the crowd, they widen in surprise. Being on the swim team hasn’t exactly come up in our conversations, so I’m sure she wasn’t expecting to see me.

I wink and mouth, “Nice hoodie,” which causes the cutest fucking blush to creep up her cheeks.

Mack elbows me, murmuring under his breath, “Do you know her?”

“Yeah,” I reply, keeping my voice low.

He probably expects an explanation, but Coach chooses that moment to speak.

“Christ, can everyone stop babbling and pay attention!” He shouts, and I notice Bear wince at his loud tone.

To anyone not used to his attitude, Coach can seem like a real ass, but the man says things how they are, no beating around the bush.

“Like I said, these two have a project. I’ll let them explain, but they need two volunteers,” he says. “And since I can already foresee what a shitshow this will turn into, I’ll let them pick who they want to work with. So, you two, come up here.”

Bear and the guy she walked in with go to stand on either side of Coach.

“Now,” Coach says, turning to the guy, “You are Mr. who again?”

“Evans, sir.”

“Right, Mr. Evans here has already picked Cone Head.”

Cone Head and Evans nod at each other like they’re already on familiar terms.

And no, his real name isn’t Cone Head. He got his head stuck in an orange cone at a meet once, and the fire department had to cut him out of it. The nickname just stuck around.

“Next up, Ms. Miller, was it?” Coach asks, and Bear nods in confirmation. “Any idea who you want to work with?”

I swear, the man has unlocked a whole new personality—his voice is the lowest I’ve ever heard it.

Bear’s gaze flicks to mine, but instead of saying my name like I want her to, she shakes her head, looking like she’d rather be anywhere but here.

“I’ll volunteer,” Mack murmurs

I shoot him a look. “You’re not doing that.”

“Why?”

“Because I am.”

I don’t even care what this project is about or what role I’ll play. Any excuse to spend time alone with Bear has my chest buzzing with excitement. I feel like I’m a kid again, and it’s Christmas morning.

Mack’s gaze bounces between me and Bear before a shit-eating grin spreads across his face.

“Ohhh,” he says slyly. “I see what’s going on. And here I am, thinking it’s just a coincidence that she’s wearing the same hoodie you had on Saturday night.”

I ignore him and stand up. “Coach, I don’t mind volunteering.”

Bear’s mouth sets in a hard line, but she doesn’t say anything.

“If she’s comfortable with it, of course,” I add because I’m still a gentleman after all.

Coach’s questioning gaze lands on Bear. She murmurs something to him, and he nods.

“All right, it’s settled. Now let’s get this practice started.”

While everyone around me hustles toward the pool, my attention stays on Bear. I’m about to head her way, but she’s already walking off.

“Well, well, well. Looks like someone’s been holding out on their best friend,” Mack says, clapping me on the back. Hard.

He’s right. I have been holding out, but there’s a good reason.

Things with Bear feel different. They have from the beginning. For the first time, I care about someone liking me for who I am. Not for my looks, talent, or any of that other superficial bullshit that can disappear in an instant.

But this isn’t the time or place to get into it.

“Let’s get through this weekend, and then we’ll talk about whatever you think I’m holding out on,” I tell him.

“You bet your ass we will.” With that, he dives into the water, and I follow.

Two hours later, Coach blows the final whistle. I brace my hands on the pool's edge and use the last of my strength to push myself up and out of the water.

This was the best practice I’ve had since starting training again.

My mind, my body, my technique—everything just clicked.

It was one of those rare days when being in the water felt good again.

Competitive swimming had been part of my life for so long that sometimes I forgot why I fell in love with the sport in the first place.

And yeah, my flawless performance had something to do with a certain blonde sitting in the bleachers.

Whenever I came up for air during a drill, I’d catch Bear staring. The second I looked in her direction, she’d look down at the notebook spread across her lap. It was adorable how she pretended she hadn’t been caught in the act.

What she didn’t realize was how much I enjoyed having her attention on me. Having her in a place where I felt confident and comfortable fueled me. When I pushed myself harder and swam faster, it was because I knew she was watching.

“Good work, everyone,” Coach’s voice cuts through my thoughts. “Tomorrow, we’ll have a shorter training day and talk about this weekend’s meet.”

He launches into his usual speech about etiquette and how we’re representing the school, so we better not swing our dicks around like cavemen on Saturday.

And with those inspiring words, he dismisses us.

Everyone disperses toward the locker room. Not me. I have other things on my mind.

Dropping my cap and goggles on a nearby bench, I wrap a towel around my waist and head straight for my new favorite spectator.

The closer I get to her, the more nervous I am. It’s a foreign sensation, and I will myself chill out.

Forcing out a silent exhale to shake the jitters, I say, “Hey, Teddy Bear.”

She’s turned away from me, shoulders tensing at the sound of my voice, hand pausing midair with the notebook. In a blink, she resumes stuffing the book into her bag.

When she finally turns around, her mouth opens like she’s about to say something, but then her gaze drops to my dripping, naked torso.

I watch, amused, as eyes trail down my abs. I flex them for good measure because, well, I can.

She blinks slowly, and then her dazed gaze meets mine.

“Are you feeling alright? You look a little flustered,” I tease as her cheeks flush even brighter.

Straightening her spine, she lifts her chin. “I’m fine. Is there something you want?”

Yes, actually there is.

I want to tie her down and make her mine. But unfortunately, it won’t happen as quickly as I’d like because I have to tread lightly with Bear.

She’s like a delicate flower, and my greedy hands aren’t made for handling precious things. But for her, I’ll learn how to handle with care.

“I wanted to see if you’re free tonight for dinner.” And since I already know she’ll shut me down—because Bear is fighting whatever this is between us—I add, “To talk about the project.”

“Sorry, I’m working tonight.”

“Tomorrow night, then?”

“Working again.”

“Sunday?”

There are 139 days left in the year, and I’ll go through each one until she says yes.

Luckily, I don’t have to.

“Sunday should work,” she finally says.

“Perfect. Then it’s a date. I’ll text you the details.” My shoulders relax, and I suddenly have this strange urge to pump my fist in the air.

“Not a date,” she corrects, biting her lower lip. “A meeting to discuss the project, remember?”

Not even her reluctance to call it a date deters my good mood.

Grinning, I say, “Sure, Teddy Bear. Whatever you say.