Here Comes the Flood Page 4

  Six dives later, Donnie finally seemed satisfied, so Tim and Jason cleared out of the area to let the Spanish water polo team take over the pool for practice.

  Back in the locker room, Jason chattered about the other medal contenders—the British team and the Italian team seemed most likely to be fighting for podium space with Tim, Jason, and the Chinese divers—and Tim half tuned him out. Then Jason said, “But, man, I can’t get over how beautiful everyone is. You know? There’s this British swimmer who is so gorgeous, I get totally tongue-tied whenever I get near her. Her eyes are green, and her body is… wow!” Jason looked dreamily into the distance.

  Tim smiled as he fished his street clothes out of his locker. Tim couldn’t disagree; an overwhelming number of people in peak physical condition walked around everywhere Tim had gone since arriving in Madrid. Of course, this was why athletes were handed a pile of condoms with their welcome kits when they checked into the Olympic Village.

  “Have you talked to her?” Tim asked.

  “Yeah, kind of. I mean, I said hello and introduced myself. I don’t think she’s interested.”

  “Why not? You’re a good-looking guy.” And Jason was cute, although he wasn’t really Tim’s type. He was a little too willowy, but he had a nice square jaw, close-cropped black hair, and of course, a diver’s body. Like Tim, Jason was biracial, something they’d talked about a fair amount in the past. Jason’s mother was white and his father was African American, giving Jason beautiful brown skin. Tim was half-white and half-Filipino, which mostly just made people ask him “What are you?” a lot.

  Jason shrugged. “I guess I’m all-right-looking. What 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 name? With the floppy hair. Uh, Jake… something Polish or Russian or something, right?”

  Tim shook his head. “What are you talking about?”

  “One of the Team USA gymnasts is, like, the poster boy for the network coverage of the Olympics. His name, I want to say, is Jake something. And now I’m mangling this. My point is just that he’s really hot. I’m showing my appreciation for gymnasts.”

  Tim giggled, then put his hand over his mouth because he couldn’t believe he’d giggled, and finally just let himself laugh. “What I hear you saying is that there’s a gymnast you have a crush on.”

  Isaac groaned and ran a hand over his face. “No, I… I made a joke about gymnasts, but they are all super strong. I think the makeup-and-glitter thing the women gymnasts do is fucking ridiculous, and it kind of minimizes how strong they are, but male gymnasts are… oh, forget it.”

  “No, finish the thought.” Tim grinned, giddy now.

  Isaac rolled his eyes.

  “Why, Isaac Flood, do I detect an attraction to male gymnasts?”

  “Fine,” Isaac said, holding a hand up. “I’m bisexual. Cat’s out of the bag.”

  For whatever reason, that made Tim giddier. “I was just giving you a hard time. I know exactly who you’re talking about, and he is smoking hot. Good jawline. And arms. He’s got great arms.”

  “Yeah. I like that too. Swimmers are so weird to look at, you know? Wide necks, the lot of us.” Isaac held up his hands as if he was going to choke himself, but then he dropped his arms. “Lot of my teammates would be super hot if their chins didn’t fade into their necks.”

  Tim snorted. “Well, whatever. I think swimmers are hot.”

  “Yeah?
”

  “Yup.”

  And then they seemed to arrive at an impasse, because Tim wasn’t quite ready to admit he thought Isaac was hot.

  On the other hand, Tim wanted something to happen here, especially now that he knew Isaac wasn’t straight. But how did one make a move? Before Pat, he’d only had a couple of random hookups to his name, and those were all guys who had approached him. And with Pat, well, Tim couldn’t even remember how that had gone anymore. They’d met at a bar or something, hadn’t they?

  Then again, Pat had probably manipulated all of it, so if there’d been some sweet meet-cute at the beginning, who knew how genuine the moment had really been?

  Fuck Pat sideways. Tim still got mad thinking about it.

  Pat had left Tim a twenty-four-year-old man with very little romantic experience who couldn’t figure out how to hit on a man he found ridiculously attractive.

  “What are you thinking about so hard?” Isaac asked, handing over a breakfast sandwich.

  Tim hesitated, at first intending to lie and say he was thinking about twists and somersaults. Then he decided to go for it, figuring he’d never get anywhere if he didn’t say how he felt. “Honestly? I was working out how to hit on you.”

  Isaac paused in unwrapping his sandwich. Then he half smiled and nodded. “Not what I was expecting you to say, but all right. I’ll tell you, though, I could use a friend right now, more than a good lay.”

  How should Tim have taken that? Was Isaac turning him down gently? Although what Isaac probably needed was something deeper than a quick fuck. “I can do that too. Just, you know.”

  Isaac looked up and raised an eyebrow. “What do I know?”

  Mortified now, heat flushing Tim’s face, he said, “You know how hot you are.”

  Isaac laughed. “That is not a thing I know.”

  Tim wanted a hole to open up under his chair. “Whatever. We can be friends. Forget I said anything.”

  Isaac still laughed as he grabbed a chair, flipped it around, and straddled it backward, facing Tim. “I don’t want to forget it. But I do want to be clear about something. Because I think we get each other. Like, you’re dealing with a media spotlight that makes you uncomfortable. Something bad happened to you, but you don’t want that to define your Olympic experience. I can’t escape it either. Poor Isaac Flood, right? He was a legend until he became an alcoholic. Then he showed up at Trials, and suddenly he’s qualified for another Olympics! It’s a goddamn miracle.” Isaac shook his head. “I just want to swim, you know? Of course you know, because you just want to dive. You don’t want to be the athlete who dated a movie star. You don’t want to be the gay diver. You want to be an athlete, period. God, that’s us both, for different reasons.”

  “Yeah,” Tim said, unsure of what Isaac was trying to tell him.

  “I showed up in Madrid expecting to get in there and get it done. To be my own man and swim my races and maybe win something. But since you and I started talking to each other? I realized I don’t want to do it alone. I mean, yeah, I’ve got my coach and my teammates. My mother and my sister are flying in tomorrow. But I just….” Isaac looked up. “No one understands. Adam, my coach, has been amazing, he knows what my goals are. My family has been sympathetic and supportive. But no one gets how hard this is. No one understands how badly I need this. Except, I think, you. And talking to you has been the best part of my Olympic experience so far.”

  Tim’s heart broke for Isaac. The alcoholism, that was harder to relate to, but needing a win? Needing to do it for himself, spotlight be damned? Yeah, Tim understood that.

  “For me too,” Tim said softly.

  Isaac reached over and ran his hand along the side of Tim’s face. “I like you a hell of a lot. I don’t want to fuck this up. Because I think we’re going to need each other for the next sixteen days.”

  That was likely true. Tim didn’t want to put their budding friendship in jeopardy either. He found himself leaning into Isaac’s touch anyway. He looked up and met Isaac’s gaze.

  Tim couldn’t help himself. Sitting like this, they seemed almost the same height. Tim leaned over and pressed his lips against Isaac’s.

  Because yeah, he needed Isaac’s friendship. But he needed this too.

  Isaac groaned and shoved his fingers into Tim’s hair, holding him there while they plundered each other’s mouths. Oh, Isaac was a good kisser. A great kisser. A tremendous kisser. The pressure of his firm lips felt strong and exciting against Tim’s. His tongue snaked out to run along Tim’s teeth. He tasted of toothpaste and coffee. And merely by being there in that room, Isaac made Tim’s heart pound and his skin tingle. But now that they were touching, Tim worried he might go up in flames.

  But he couldn’t stop. He reached out and ran his hands along Isaac’s arms, feeling all that warm, smooth skin. He’d heard people ragging on Isaac’s looks, calling his body freakish because his proportions were so odd, but to Tim, he was perfect.

  When they pulled apart, Tim had a moment of worry, thinking Isaac might be angry or reject him again. Maybe kissing Isaac had been a stupid risk.

  But Isaac smiled. “I suppose we could be the sort of friends who make out sometimes.”

  Tim laughed. “That sounds good to me.”

  ISAAC SWAM laps in the warm-up pool because it was the only way he could think of to shut off his brain.

  He couldn’t get Tim out of his thoughts. They hadn’t done anything after the kiss besides eat and then walk down to the Aquatics Center together. But that kiss was very much still on Isaac’s mind. Because while he’d been completely honest with Tim, and he needed an ally more than anything else, he wanted Tim too.

  He’d really only wanted to have breakfast away from other people this morning, but he’d wanted to see Tim too, so he’d texted. He hadn’t intended to do or say anything in particular. But Tim had the whole of it now. And he still wanted Isaac anyway.

  So this could happen, whatever was going on between them. Isaac wanted it to happen. But he didn’t need a distraction right now.

  He hauled himself out of the pool and went to find Adam. It was early still. Official swim heats wouldn’t begin for two more days. There were a dozen other swimmers practicing in the pool, but Isaac knew from experience that it would be much worse this afternoon.

  The diving pool sat on the opposite end of the Aquatics Center, which was a massive complex that housed four pools and was the main venue for all swimming, diving, and water polo events. So the diving pool was far enough away that Isaac could barely see the people congregating at the base of the dive tower.

  As Isaac stood near the blocks and waited for Adam—who was engaged in what looked like an intense conversation with Luke and Katie—he watched the divers, but he couldn’t see much besides when a diver jumped off the platform. Even then, the diver looked like a stick. They were too far away to be distinguishable. But Isaac liked to think he could see Tim, and that Tim was the best one.

  God, what was happening to him? When had he last even had these kinds of feelings for someone? Not since before rehab, he knew that much.

  Isaac shook out his arms. Adam walked over and said, “All right, Luke, Isaac, and… where’d Randy go?”

  “Sorry, Coach,” Randy said, walking over sheepishly.

  “Did Conor ever show?”

  “He was in the warm-up pool a few minutes ago,” Isaac said.

  “I want to run through the relay and practice exchanges. Luke and Isaac are probably fine, but Randy and Conor could use some practice. Katie, would you go fetch him? And remind me later to buy that kid a waterproof watch?”

  Katie ran off.

  Adam was rarely a difficult taskmaster, but he tended to get snippy during high-stakes meets. And it didn’t get any higher stakes than the Olympics. Adam had been appointed one of three official Team USA coaches, due to his long history of coaching gold medalists, even before Isaac became his star pupil. Other swimmers were allowed to bring their own coaches, so there were a dozen
of them milling about, working with forty athletes in all. In other words, Adam had a lot of personnel to manage, and he looked visibly more stressed than usual.

  Adam pulled out his stopwatch as Katie returned with Conor in tow. “All right. Since we’re practicing exchanges, the order is Luke, Randy, Conor, Isaac. I’m going to time you, though, so don’t slouch. I’d like to get the final time around 3:12, so let’s see if we can do that. I think we’re going to need 3:10 to win. Each of the other teams has a weak link, but you never know what might happen. Up on the block, Luke.”

  Isaac got caught up in relay practice, in looking at the time and critiquing the exchanges, until his turn up on the block, waiting for Conor to touch the wall. Then he just swam, not thinking about anything except his form in the water and how fast he could get down the pool and back.

  After he touched the wall, he popped his head out of the water. Adam frowned. “That was a forty-nine-second hundred meters, Isaac,” he said. “Whole relay took 3:15. We can do it faster.”

  Isaac wanted to tell Randy and Conor to ignore Adam, because these practice times were never as fast as the real thing. No one was willing to push his body to the limit yet, and there was no roaring crowd, no guy in the next lane about to touch the wall sooner. Swimmers did extraordinary things in competition.

  Conor, in the midst of his first Olympics, seemed more in awe than upset, though. He looked around the Aquatics Center as if he’d just stumbled into a dream. So Isaac kept his mouth shut, letting the kid have his moment, while Adam told them to take five so he could run drills with Katie. “But we’re going to run the relay again, and it will be faster,” he threatened as they left.

  “Didn’t see you at breakfast,” Luke said to Isaac as they walked back to the warm-up pool.

  “Got a breakfast sandwich to go.”

  “I know you think the team unity thing is bullshit, but it would be nice for the younger guys to see you’re a team player. On nights you’re not swimming, unless you really need the rest, you should be up in the stands cheering everyone else on.”