Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131789 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 659(@200wpm)___ 527(@250wpm)___ 439(@300wpm)
“That would be a first.” Silas shakes out his arms and goes through his stretching routine to stay loose as we stand at the edge of the pool. “I’ve heard of a couple guys shitting the pool before, but never spraying the water with vomit.”
A little eddy of queasiness churns in my stomach. “This is why I skipped lunch.”
“Probably not a great start.” He tosses me one of his gel packets. “You’ll need the energy.”
We carry our stuff to our team bench to wait for the first heat to begin. At this point it’s just about managing nerves and keeping the muscles warm without otherwise expending too much energy. I don’t know what to do with myself other than pace.
Lawson jumps into the pool when it’s his turn to take a few warm-up laps. The guy is seriously impressive. The strength and precision of his strokes seem so at odds with his personality.
“Make it make sense,” I say wryly. “Lawson consumes more pharmaceutical cocktails than a cancer patient. How does he still show up and swim?” I’m all for recreation, but Lawson takes it to another level. If someone handed him uranium in tablet form, he’d try it.
Silas looks up to watch Lawson make the turn at the other end of the pool. “It’s his superpower. It’ll never make sense. Don’t hurt yourself trying to understand it.”
“Half the time I wonder if he knows where he is.”
“Half the time he doesn’t.” Silas gathers up his bag and warm-up jacket as Lawson starts another set of laps. “He’s had so many blackouts it should qualify for a world record.”
Silas’s nonchalance—or maybe it’s indifference—toward Lawson’s antics remains somewhat of a mystery to me. I honestly don’t get his relationship with Lawson. He takes endless heat for the guy for what seems like little to no reward. Eventually he’s got to get tired of eating shit while Lawson dances around his own private pleasure palace.
Which gets me wondering about something else.
“How’d you end up here?” I ask Silas.
“What, swimming?”
“At Sandover. You’re pretty much the guy a teacher would ask to housesit their Fabergé eggs and diabetic cat, so how’d you end up at a school for criminals, pervs, and fuckups?”
My research had revealed he’d been expelled from Ballard, but the report filed by his former headmaster was stingy with the details. Under reason for expulsion, all it said was “disorderly conduct.” And from what I’ve seen, there’s nothing disorderly about Silas.
Silas shrugs. He doesn’t look at me while he goes about another stretching circuit. “It was stupid. We were celebrating after a swim meet sophomore year at Ballard, and I had too much to drink. Next thing I know, I’m slamming the headmaster’s car into the goalpost on the football field.”
“Seriously?”
“My parents managed to talk the headmaster out of pressing charges, and the police let me off with a warning for the drinking. But I got expelled. Obviously. Ended up here.”
“Well. I guess you never can tell about people,” I say lightly.
“Wasn’t my finest hour.”
Wasn’t a good story, either. As someone who concocted a similar backstory for myself, I don’t buy it. Sure, even the All-American Boy can have a lapse in judgment every now and then. Some people can’t hold their alcohol. It’s all entirely plausible. Except that for no good reason I know he’s full of shit. Which is far more interesting than a little grand theft auto and underage drinking. What is the golden boy hiding?
“Hey, Shaw!” a familiar voice calls from across the pool. “Nice legs!”
Sloane just burst into the building with Fenn. She’s wearing an oversized Sandover Varsity Swimming T-shirt with the collar cut out so it hangs off one shoulder. It skims just above a tiny pair of cut-off jean shorts that make me think about the last time I had my face between her thighs.
“Damn, you’re shiny.” Fenn slides his shades over his eyes as the two of them approach. “They lube you up with baby oil?”
Fuck. Here we go.
“Go ahead and get it out of your systems,” I tell them. I knew this was coming. Hopefully they’ll tire quickly, and we can all move on with our lives.
“Hey, sweetie.” Sloane is now greeting Silas, leaning in to give him a side hug.
He hugs her back, and I don’t miss the way his fingers linger on her arm before he releases her. This time, the hot sting of jealousy is accompanied by a pang of suspicion. Silas might have a girlfriend of his own, but it’s getting harder and harder not to believe he’s lusting over mine.
“Gotta finish these stretches,” he says, nodding at us as he heads back to bench.
“I was right about the lotion strips, see?” Sloane drags her palms down my bare chest, and I flash her a warning glare because I cannot be seen sporting a hard-on in a fucking Speedo. “Feel that buttery smooth skin.”