Deep End: A Bad Boy Sports Romance by Roxeanne Rolling Read Free Book Online Page A

firing up the microwave again, another two burritos already loaded in.
    “Never mind,” I say, shaking my head.
    “You need me to leave the room… You know, give you s ome time alone before the big d ate with the reporter?” says Dave, eyeing me with one of those smiles Dave wears when he thinks he’s being real clever. Although with Dave you can never quite tell whether he’s being sincere or saying something tongue-in-cheek.
    “It’s not a date, dude,” I say.
    “Yeah, yeah,” says Dave, not buying a word of it. “But don’t you think it’s a good idea to clean the pipes before you meet her ? If things get hot, you don’t want to blow your load too soon, right?”
    Dave’s referring to a traditi onal swim practice, or at least it is in our swim house, where a guy’s roommate knows to give him space before a date, so that he can masturbate himself silly, so as not to be too excited before the date.
    “It’s not a date,” I say, making sure my words sound final.
    As I’m leaving, Dave calls out to me, just to be obnoxious . “I’ll jack off to her for you, then, dude.”
    Normally, this would just be regular ban ter between us, and it wouldn’t mean anything to me. But fo r som e reason, the thought of Dave jerking off to Allison makes me mad. My face is red, and I can’t contain my anger, which feels lik e it’s boiling up through my stomach and into my chest.
    “Not cool,” I say, turning around, so that Dave can see m y face, which I’m sure doesn’t look the least bit pleased.
    “Whatever, dude,” says Dave, cow er ing a little bit with his posture. It looks like he wants to curl himself into a little ball. After all, we already know who wins in a fight between us, even if he pretends not to remember me tripping him and knocking him out. “It was just a joke.”
    “It better have been,” I say, and leave.
    Allison’s waiting for me outside the pool building when I get there. She looks hot. I think she’s wearing something different than normal. Her shirt is a little tighter , and seems to be cut a little lower than what I’ve seen her in earlier. Ins tead of having her hair up, she’s wearing it down. It gives her a sexier, more mysterious look. I have to peel my eyes away from her, to make it not too obvious. But the way her hair hangs over her breasts—it’s stuck in my mind.
    “ You’re late,” she says. Her whole posture reads no nonsense, like she’s trying very hard to say, “I’m not taking a ny shit.”
    “I was off stealing another statue,” I say, making it clear that I’m joking with my smile.
    “ Hmmph ,” is all she says. “You sure are funny.” It’s meant as sarcasm, but I think I can already see her demeanor cracking a little.
    “Come on,” I say. “I’ll show you some of the basic stuff about the pool.”
    “I think I already know what a pool is.”
    “Yeah, but you don’t know anything about swimming as a sport , do you?”
    She shakes her head. “I used to be a swimmer when I was a kid, though.”
    “Another swimmer, t hen!” I say, my hand instinctively moving around her waist, in order to guide her into the pool building. But I stop myself just in time, and merely take her hand in what I hope is a platonic gesture.
    I take her around, showing her the blackboard with the practice diagrams, and relay team plans. I explain everything to her, down to the last detail. She has a little notebook with her that makes her look like a real journalist when she writes in it with a stubby little pencil. She seems intent on taking down every single detail, although it also seems like she’s writing other things in that little notebook. Is she writing about me? Even once I’m long done explaining the relay teams, she’s still scribbling away. What is she writing?
    I show her the trophy cases in the hallway. We haven’t done too bad for a college swim team. The last four years in row we’ve won nationals. We’ve already competed this year, and I