“This ex-fiancé of yours is an actor,” said Isaac, his tone flat.
“Um, hello? What rock do you live under, Flood?” asked Melissa.
Isaac shrugged. “I mean, I knew that. He’s on some TV show I don’t watch.”
“Not anymore,” said Tim.
“Oh, yeah, I heard it got canceled,” said Melissa.
Tim was losing patience. Not only had Melissa interrupted Tim’s nice conversation with Isaac—a guy he admired, who was, incidentally, smoking hot—but she was dredging up things Tim would rather not think about. He had no interest in reliving the last few months. He wanted to put it all behind him and focus on the Games. “I have practice scheduled soon. I better go.”
Isaac looked up, concern on his face. “You want to, I don’t know, get a meal or something later?”
Tim glanced at Melissa but focused his attention on Isaac. “You have your phone on you?”
Isaac nodded and pulled it out of his pocket. He handed it over, and Tim programmed his phone number into it.
“Text me later.”
“I will.”
Melissa raised her eyebrows, probably assuming that since Tim was so publicly gay, he was hitting on Isaac, even though he wasn’t. Isaac was a good-looking man—no, he was ridiculously hot, in point of fact—but Tim needed a friend more than he needed a boyfriend. Especially a friend who understood how oppressive the spotlight could be.
“Have a good practice today, guys,” Tim said. Then he left.
Chapter 3
ADAM FROWNED. “You’re in the air too long.”
Isaac nodded as he pulled himself out of the pool.
But Adam was still talking. “You gotta get into the water faster off the block. You’re hanging too much. Don’t show off, Isaac, just get in the water.”
“What was the time?”
“Three forty-five. You’re probably going to need to shave a second off that to get past the preliminary heats.”
Isaac grunted. The 400 free was his event to lose. He was the returning Olympic champion, and he’d held the record time for five years, until some young whippersnapper had broken the record at Worlds earlier that year. A time of 3:45 was embarrassing; he routinely swam that race four or five seconds faster.
“In the water faster,” Isaac said.
“And tighter turns. MacLean from Australia does turns better than you. Rolls sooner, gets off the wall smoother.”
Isaac rolled his shoulders but didn’t respond.
“And Hiroshi’s strokes are longer,” Adam continued.
“Are we done cataloging my faults?”
“Come on, Isaac. This is the Olympics, not a pleasure cruise. You came here to win, right?”
“Yes.”
“You’re too tight. Go take a breather. We’ll do it again in thirty. Get in the water faster, use your whole body, get longer strokes, make your turns tighter. You absolutely have it in you to win this. I’ve seen you swim better than this.”
“Yeah. Sorry.” Isaac stretched his arms above his head, then shook out his body. He could do this. Why was he so tense?
Because he couldn’t lose this. He could not. Sobering up and getting his body back into fighting form had been the most difficult thing he’d ever done. And he hadn’t worked that hard just to lose.
“Don’t be sorry. Calm down, loosen up, and do it better next time. I want to do some sprints too. Ryan and I are trying to work out who to put in the relay final. If you can get your hundred meters below forty-eight seconds, you’re in.”
Isaac went back into the locker room, pondering the relay. He generally preferred middle distances over sprints, but he always had fun at the relays.
But now he just wanted to find a quiet spot to sit, put on some music, and mentally fix his 400 free.
So, of course, Tim Swan, wearing nothing but the tiniest of swimsuits, stood right there in the middle of the locker room.
“Oh, hey,” Tim said as if he weren’t practically naked.
“Practice?” Isaac asked.
“Yeah.” Tim stretched his arms. “Springboard yesterday, platform today.”
Isaac nodded. “How are you feeling?”
“Great! I mean, I’m worried about the Chinese divers because they fly through the air like gymnasts, especially Liu, but if I maintain my form and don’t make any major mistakes, I’ve got a good shot at a medal. You?”
“I suck, so….” Isaac shrugged.
“Get out. You do not suck. What makes you say that?”
“I’ve been turning in slow times all day.” Isaac sighed. “I’m too tight. I have to figure out how to loosen up.”
“Are you nervous?”
“No. Well, maybe a little. I’m putting a lot of pressure on myself. Which is making it feel like all