about you? You got your eye on any ladies?” Seeming to catch his error, he stopped and his eyes went wide. “Any guys, I mean. Yikes. Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” said Tim. “And I’m focusing on the dives. I don’t want any distractions.”
“Oh, yeah. Sure. Me too.”
Tim smiled. He and Jason had become close friends in the time they’d been diving together. They had to trust each other in order to perform those dives in perfect harmony.
Tim put on his warm-up pants and a T-shirt, intending to get in some time at the gym before he took a shower, when he heard Isaac say, “The Russian team always puts Mozorov second. He’s great at the longer distances, but he’s not the fastest sprinter. If I can get out there and swim a forty-eight-second split, I’ll open up a big lead for us.”
Some other voice said, “But the French will put LeBlanc third. He’ll make up the time. Maybe you should swim anchor.”
“No, you want Conor as the anchor. That’s nonnegotiable. So I think we do Randy first, then me, then you, then Conor.”
“But we put Greg and Hunter in the prelim.”
“Yeah. I can’t swim the prelim. I mean, I will if that’s how it shakes out, but I’d rather get the rest.”
Tim and Jason rounded the corner. The other guy was Isaac’s training partner, that guy Luke. He was arguing with Isaac, but Tim didn’t hear what he said, because Isaac made eye contact with Tim, and Tim thought he might spontaneously combust.
So much for keeping cool in Isaac’s presence. This could become a problem.
Chapter 4
THE DAY before the Opening Ceremony, Tim woke up to a text from Isaac asking him where his room was. Tim looked at the other bed; Jason was gone—he’d made up his bed, in fact—so he’d probably left for breakfast and the gym long before Tim had even stirred. So Tim texted Isaac his room number.
I’ll bring breakfast, Isaac texted back.
Only when Tim let Isaac into his room did he make the connection between the man he was ridiculously attracted to and the fact that they’d be near a bed.
Isaac held up a brown paper bag. “Sorry. I couldn’t deal with people this morning, but I didn’t want to eat alone. Is this okay?”
“Yeah,” Tim said, closing the door. “But that doesn’t make sense. Am I not a person?”
Isaac grinned. “No, you don’t count as people. I actually like you.”
Tim smiled back, unsure of what to make of that.
“Two more days before this shit starts for real,” said Isaac.
“Are you swimming today?”
“Yup. Pool reservation’s in two hours. So I have plenty of time.”
“Same. I mean, my coach has the platform reserved for Team USA in about an hour and a half.”
“I have breakfast sandwiches. Egg whites and turkey sausage on whole wheat flatbread, but I got the chef to throw a slice of cheddar on each. Lean protein is all well and good, but a sandwich is not a sandwich without cheese.”
As if it were Mary Poppins’s carpet bag, Isaac opened the paper bag and pulled out two of what looked like softballs wrapped in tinfoil—the breakfast sandwiches, presumably, probably with extra sausage patties—a Styrofoam bowl that probably held potatoes, and two paper coffee cups. “I didn’t know how you like your coffee, so there’s sugar and those little creamer packets in here.”
“No sugar,” Tim said.
“Right. Gotta maintain your beach body.”
Tim gestured at Isaac, whose hard muscles were evident even under a loose white T-shirt and the basketball shorts he wore. “Again, I ask where this mysterious body fat you think you have might be hiding.”
“You should talk.”
Tim looked down. He hadn’t gotten around to changing out of his sleep shorts yet. He ran a hand through his hair, which was probably also a disaster, and he hadn’t shaved in two days. “God, I’m a mess right now, aren’t I?”
Isaac doctored his coffee. “Mess is relative.”
Tim laughed and shook his head. “Says you.”
“Okay, first of all, you’re an athlete at the Olympics.” Isaac held up his thumb. “You’re going to spend half of your time over the next week in or near a pool. More than half, probably. You’re going to be wet and sweaty. As an athlete, your performance matters more than your appearance. Well, unless you’re a female gymnast.” Isaac grimaced. “I mean, they’re great athletes too, but with makeup and glitter and everything.”
“I get what you mean.”
“Nothing against gymnasts.”
Tim laughed. “No, of course not.”
“I mean, that one male gymnast? What the hell is his