29. Posey
Posey
The team’s favorite restaurant is an Italian place with all-you-can-eat salad and breadsticks that’s within walking distance of the pool but in the opposite direction from the hotel.
They’re buoyed by their relay-team win and numerous personal successes.
From what I can gather at the table, Brent and Ethan are on track for their season goals.
The coach makes a speech, after everyone is digging into the food, about striving to be their best and other things that are inspiring for even a non-athlete like me.
Across the table, a couple of Brent’s teammates take videos of the food and the plethora of jokes flying around building on the various signs I proudly displayed at the pool today. If no one snaps those up from the recycling, they’re missing out.
My favorite part of the dinner is how attentive Brent is.
If I were in the market for a boyfriend, I could do a hell of a lot worse than him.
From recommending dishes he thought I’d like, to slinging his arm across the back of my chair, to planting random kisses on my temple, I never have any doubt that I’ve got at least fifty percent of his attention at any given moment.
On the way back to the hotel, he laces our fingers together while he chats to some of his teammates and I talk to some of the girls.
Even Jessica, who was reluctant earlier to give me a chance, seems much more open.
I haven’t figured out exactly what her initial problem with me was, but if she follows Val on her socials, then me with Brent might have been a surprise.
As far as I’ve been able to tell, Val hasn’t acknowledged Brent’s absence from her feeds, and she’s ignored or deleted comments from anyone who dares to ask.
When we get to the hotel, everyone breaks off toward their own rooms on the second floor, and Brent doesn’t even hesitate to stay in the elevator with me to go to the fourth floor.
His arm is around my shoulders, and I’m pressed against his side, breathing in the scent of chlorine and bodywash.
I’m not sure when chlorine became an aphrodisiac, but for the rest of my life, I’m probably going to associate this smell with intense sexual pleasure. Not at all awkward for future me.
“What’s up? You’re quiet,” Brent says when the elevator doors close for our ascent to the fourth floor. “All that cheerleading wear you out?”
“Have I been quiet?”
“You’re normally the center of every conversation.” He gazes down at me.
There’s amusement in his tone, and I squeeze him.
If I’ve been quiet, I haven’t even realized it.
But ever since I took the bus here, I’ve been trying to grapple with whatever has developed between us.
Tonight’s dinner and Brent’s acceptance of my outlandish behavior at the pool only increased my confusion.
There are very few subjects that are off-limits, but once I say a word to Brent about turning this fake relationship into something real, I’m admitting he’s important to me.
He is, obviously. He’s great sex and regular lattes.
Deliverer of intense, feel-good affection. Guy who hits home runs off my curveballs.
But boyfriend? Real, legitimate, have-to-care-about-his-feelings, expect-him-to-care-about-mine boyfriend? That’s a leap.
The reality is that I could be a rebound. Someone to pass the time. The sacrificial vagina, which I found so funny a few weeks ago.
While I dig my room card out of my purse, I decide to wade into foreign waters. “Were you like this with Val?” I ask.
“Like what?” He trails me into the room with his swim bag still slung over his shoulder.
Instead of following me into the main sleeping area, he veers into the bathroom to hang up his wet suit and towel. When I don’t answer, he pops his head out of the bathroom and tries to catch my gaze. “Like what?” he asks again.
There’s probably no way to ask him without giving myself away. What exactly I’ll be giving away, I’m not sure. But the question I have doesn’t feel like one a fake girlfriend would bother with.
“So affectionate and attentive?” I keep my voice light, as though it’s genuine curiosity driving me and not a burning desire to figure out where we stand without asking the question.
A frown creases his brow, and he disappears into the bathroom without answering me. There’s a fluttering in my stomach at his silence, and I stare out the hotel room window at the other high-rise buildings around us. If there was still enough light, I’d be able to see Washington Park.
In the reflection, Brent approaches me from behind without touching me. I long to lean into him. Whenever he’s within touching distance, that’s what I want to be doing.
“Why are you asking about Val?” he asks.
Our gazes connect in the reflection, and I try to hold my ground. “Call it curiosity.”
He places his hands on the glass, framing me in, and his chest brushes against my back. His lips graze my ear, and a shiver slithers down my back. There’s no doubt where this is headed, and desire pools in my belly at the remembrance of how good it is to have him tight against me.
“What else could I call it?” He nibbles on my earlobe, and I arch into him before grinding against his erection. He chuckles, and one of his hands slides down to my abdomen and holds me in place.
“Just curiosity,” I breathe out.
He spins me around, and my back is pressed against the cold window. “I’ve never treated another woman the way I treat you.”
His words set off an explosion in my chest, and I tug him into a kiss. I drag his shirt over his head, and my fingers find the button on his jeans next. We shed our clothes in a rush, but when we tumble onto the bed, Brent holds himself over me instead of storming ahead.
“Tell me why you really wanted to know,” he says, and he brushes my hair off my cheek.
The gesture is tender, and my heart swells in my chest. There’s no way I can articulate all the conflicting emotions coursing through me.
The why feels complicated and dangerous.
It is curiosity, but he’s not wrong. My desire could be labelled something more.
“Never?” I whisper instead of giving him a real response.
“Never,” he says. “What do you think of that?”
I bite my lip, and I scan his sincere expression.
“I don’t know.” His admission is terrifying and exhilarating—what I imagine parachuting to be like.
I’m flying through the air, and I have no idea where I’ll land.
Soft ground or hard. Would he truly be a good boyfriend or is he just good at pretending?
“You’re not running screaming from the room,” he says with a smirk. “I’ll take my wins where I can get them.”
No running, but if we inch any closer to what neither of us is admitting, I might be tempted to flee. Instead, I arch into him, and his gaze heats. “It’s my turn to win now, and I’ll even scream for you.”
“Promise?” He brushes his lips against mine.
“I might even scream your name instead of god’s.”
He chuckles against my neck as he cups my ass and eases into me, but this time, when he withdraws and our gazes connect, the air hums with something I’ve never felt before.
Warmth floods my body at the tenderness and desire mingling in his expression.
I’m not sure if my expression matches his, but his look is how I feel.
For years, I’ve avoided anything that felt even remotely close to this, and now I’m starting to wonder why.
“Slow and steady,” he says. “There’s no rush.”
Instead of answering him, I kiss him deeply and tug him closer. Slow I can do, but I’m not sure about steady. Whatever I’m starting to feel isn’t in my control anymore, and I have no idea where it’ll lead.
The next morning, I get settled on my Greyhound Bus, which will take me back to Northern University campus, and I scroll through my messages from Destiny and Nadiya.
Other than telling them I arrived safely, I haven’t said much about my spontaneous trip.
Taking a bus on a whim is something I’d normally do, but the reason I got on the bus is out of character.
If Brent and I were just friends, I’d have gone to an important swim meet to support him, without question.
That’s what friends do. While he’s gauging his season’s success with each meet, this one wasn’t particularly important in the grand scheme of his swimming career, and I still went.
I don’t need Destiny or Nadiya to tell me I’ve slipped into unchartered territory.
I feel it. There’s a change starting in me, and I can’t decide if I need to create some distance or embrace the discomfort.
If I dwell on whatever is developing, I’ll freak out.
It’ll be a long three hours lost in my thoughts.
I flick through the apps on my phone, and I open the latest social media craze.
While I don’t use my accounts much, I always claim my name on each of them.
When I open it, my notifications are over a thousand despite never having posted content.
My heart kicks, and a slither of dread snakes down my spine. I tap on the icon to view where I’m being tagged.
It’s a video compilation from the weekend, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
Except as I watch it, I realize Brent and I are the stars of the videos.
We’re front and center laughing about the signs I’ve made, walking hand in hand from lunch, staring at each other over dinner, cuddled up together in the hallway outside the locker rooms. Wherever it was possible to catch us looking close and happy, his teammate has done it.
Strange to see us as others would have this weekend.
I’m so caught up in watching the clips of us that I haven’t fully registered why my account blew up. But once I’ve viewed it a few times and absorbed the vibe between me and Brent, I check the stats on the post.
Holy shit.
Thousands of shares, reposts, and views.
My heart rate picks up at the implication.
I’ve done a lot of dumb things or attention-seeking things, but I’ve never gone viral before.
I click on the comments, and my blood runs cold.
Although I was tagged in the original post, it’s Val who is being targeted in the comments.
@valentinaconsuelos Isn’t Brent your boyfriend?
@valentinaconsuelos When did you and Brent breakup?
@valentinaconsuelos Holy fuck. Is Faulkner cheating on you?
@valentinaconsuelos Wasn’t Brent in Bermuda with you a couple weeks ago? WTF is this?
Bile rises in my throat as I follow a few of the shares and reposts with someone else’s commentary attached to them.
Very, very few are supportive of me or Brent.
Most of the people are in a rage, assuming Brent cheated on Valentina or I somehow lured him away from her.
After all, their relationship was #couplesgoals for the last year thanks to her intimate photos and detailed posts. What a crock of shit.
She hasn’t responded to anyone’s tag, but I can’t imagine she hasn’t seen this. The original post is a torrent sweeping across the students at Northern University’s campus.
I’ve been in some girl-on-girl disagreements before, but never on this scale.
In every other situation, no one has come out a winner.
My best hope at an easy resolution is for Val to admit she and Brent broke up weeks ago.
Given that she hasn’t done that yet, I can’t imagine she’ll emerge sweet and demure.
No. She’s the type to go for the knockout punch, even if her opponent is already on the ground.
At the rate the post is being liked, shared, reposted, and commented on, there’s no point in responding. I can’t stem the tide. Instead, I’m going to have to learn to ride the wave. I hope I’m a strong enough swimmer.