Chapter 5

CHAPTER FIVE

DARIO

My muscles shake as I force myself to swim another lap of the pool. I've been swimming since I was eight years old. In high school, I was on the swim team and played hockey. Between the two, I had no social life. After I decided to focus on hockey, I continued to swim every morning before breakfast. I found it to be a great cardio workout, and when combined with gym time, I was ready to hit the ice.

I pull the goggles off my head and slap them on the edge of the pool, where I rest to catch my breath.

There is only one other swimmer here at this hour of the morning, and he swims much slower than I do. I would probably sink if I swam that slowly. I'm not sure if he's here to watch me, like a reporter, or if he really enjoys swimming like a snail.

I pull myself out of the pool and shake my head, spraying water like a wet dog. I raise my arms to the ceiling and roll my shoulders, aware that I'm being watched. I then run a hand down my chest and over my cock in the white speedos. I take my time with this part of my anatomy.

I grin to myself and enter the dressing area, taking one last look at the guy.

A few more people are in here getting ready to swim. I grab my things and head for the showers.

I throw my speedos, cap and goggles into a pile and enjoy the feeling of hot water on my muscles.

It doesn't take me long to shampoo my hair and remove the chlorine from my body. I turn off the water, dry myself quickly and wrap the towel around my waist, only to realize I'm not alone in here when another shower starts. Is that the slow swimmer? Must be.

I get dressed and head out, checking the team's group chat to see if I missed anything important.

"Morning, Dario."

I look up and grin at the three women behind the information desk. "Good morning, girls. Isn't it a little early for you ladies to be at work?" Maybe I'm a flirt. Okay, I'm a huge flirt.

"We had something to do," the younger girl explains. The three of them giggle, and I don't miss the blush they're all wearing.

"Well, keep it up." I wink and leave. At least I hold my laughter until I get in the car.

Something tells me they loved the entertainment I gave them. I noticed them about halfway through my swim and didn't think about it until I got out of the water.

I text Madden and Bradford to see if they want to meet for breakfast. We share an apartment, but none of us are very good in the kitchen. Madden replies that they will meet me at DeLuca's Diner.

I have my foot on the brake after shifting into drive as a red SUV pulls into the parking lot. My heart is pounding in my ears. It can't be her. I wait with bated breath. Gemma gets out of the car, a gym bag slung over her shoulder, and walks into the building I just left.

I lick my lips, wondering what she's doing here. Don't be stupid. She's here to swim. How did I not know she's a swimmer?

Hesitantly, I shoot out of the parking lot, and wonder how I can approach her about the swimming. I want to know what stroke she does. How many lengths? Is she wearing a one-piece or a two- piece? It will be a one piece. The pool is for swimming, not playing.

My fingers twitch on the steering wheel. I want to be in the pool with her. Most of all, I want to see her in a swimsuit. I don't know why I'm so fascinated by this girl. Probably because we're forbid‐ den. Isn't that supposed to be the sweetest fruit? It doesn't stop me from taking her coffee each morning. We both know it's an excuse to see her. My fingers always itch to touch her. I'd briefly held her in my arms in the apartment. It hadn't been enough.

Growling, I sit in my car and try to calm down, knowing that Madden will look at me and know exactly who I've been thinking about. He'd be right, too.

"Let's just get this over with," I mutter.

By the time I arrive, Madden and Bradford have already started their breakfast.

"I ordered enough for you. Tuck in," Bradford adds, his mouth full.

I roll my eyes. "Are you sure there's enough for me?"

Giving me the finger, Bradford continues to eat.

I grab a plate of scrambled eggs and sausage.

Madden looks my way, frowns, but says nothing. He's the only one who knows about my distraction with Gemma. Nikoli is also aware of the situation. Bradford can't keep anything to himself, so he's clueless.

"How was the swim?" Madden asks.

"Good." I grin. "Had an audience."

Bradford chuckles. "Cute?"

"Oh, yeah!"

"I think I need to take up swimming," he says. "What were you wearing in the water?"

"Speedos."

"You mean you put your junk in those little white things?" Bradford looks horrified. "Don't your balls get squashed? And how do you deal with a hard-on?"

I push him hard. "Stop thinking about my junk!"

Madden throws his head back and chuckles. "I'd like to see you squeeze your junk into a pair of them," he says to Bradford.

"No way. I prefer my junk free and unrestrained. Girls don't like sweaty balls."

"Is that right?" Julia, our server, raises her eyebrows at Bradford.

I snort as Bradford blushes at sixty-year-old Julia's comment.

I listen to the two idiots as I eat my breakfast.

Their mutual mockery is amusing.

After breakfast I need to go shopping because I'm tired of eating burnt food. My must-haves are an air fryer and a one-pot wonder. I don't think it's too difficult to follow the recipes for either appliance. I mean, you just push a button, and it cooks, right? How hard can that be?