SOPHIE BROOKS:
Party, hook-up, hangover, repeat.
I don't do rules, responsibility, or monogamy.
So when the chance to sleep with the hottest Olympian swimmer in the country presents itself, you can be damn sure I take it.
And sneak out before he wa...
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As expected, Coach flips into full-on drill-sergeant mode after that initial week, and come Friday afternoon; the rookies look like they are fighting for their lives.
Half exhausted, half terrified, and with a healthy splash of reevaluating their life choices.
I'm doing drills with Kimmy, following her around the lane with a pull buoy between my thighs. As I'm nearing the end of the pool, someone sticks a hand into the water. It's not hard to recognize it as Davis's.
I pause at the edge, pulling my cap away from my ears to hear what he's saying better, and look up at him.
He's removed his cap and goggles. "Coaches want to talk to us," he says evenly, but I can see the curiosity burning in his eyes.
He steps back as I pull myself up on the edge, taking off my own gear while scanning the area for Coach Matthews and Coach Lewis. It's Lewis's first day training us, and they explained that she will primarily work with butterfly and breaststroke while Matthews will be focusing on front and back crawl, which means I probably won't be working much with our new coach.
When my eyes land on them, I instantly realize who's standing beside them. His presence is impossible to ignore.
Zeke Mitchell.
I feel like a thirteen-year-old fan girl right now. Even though both Davis and I were on the U.S swim team with Mitchell in Paris, we didn't exactly socialize with him. We were like small goldfish in a giant pond, and Mitchell was a freaking great white shark.
I wonder why we're being called over to talk to him. Davis is also a pro swimmer, like Mitchell, so it would make sense if they worked together sometimes, but I can't phantom what I might have in common with the Olympic legend.
Davis casts me a look as we walk side by side towards the three people waiting for us; however, we have never mastered the non-verbal conversations, and besides, I'm sure he's just as clueless as I am.
We stop in front of them. I try to direct my attention towards our coaches, but it's hard not to glance at Michell every few seconds. He's in his swimwear, all those muscles on display, and the whole thing is distracting. He's like a fucking brick wall.
He's watching Davis and me with a slightly superior smile, his arms crossed over his chest, looking utterly relaxed.
"Good, we wanted to introduce you two to Zeke Mitchell," Matthews says, thankfully snapping me out of my thoughts before Mitchell starts to think I am checking him out.
Davis is the first to react. He smiles an easy, pleasant kind of smile and reaches a hand out to Mitchell. "Hi, I'm-"
"David Davis," Mitchell interrupts him, nodding while shaking his hand. "I saw you in Paris."
Davis's eyes widen a fraction, but I don't think Mitchell notices because he's turning his attention to me, grabbing my hand in a vice-like grip, although I don't think this is a scare technique. He's smiling. "And Jayden Sennels. Too bad about the freestyle final, but better luck next time."
