My Coach, My Stalker

I have to push him.

Push him until he gives in and gives my body what it needs—the right way. The only way that can bring us closer. Not just as an athlete and coach, but as a man and a woman. If he lets go of his reservations and stops thinking of me as someone’s daughter, but rather an adult female, maybe…maybe there’s a chance for more. The possibility of being with the man I’ve loved to the point of agony for two years.

I take a deep breath and prepare to dive, but Everett’s hand moves in my periphery and I catch it. The way he adjusts the bulkiness that swells against the front of his pressed trousers. He does it discreetly so the hundreds of people in the Olympic facility don’t see him. Then he covers his lap casually with the clipboard. But I see him. I see him and heat blasts me from head to toe, a ticklish smoky feeling curling in my tummy. I’m panting and there’s no reason I should be out of breath. Someone shouts from the bottom of the ladder that they’re waiting to use the platform for practice dives and I shake myself, wetting my dry lips, trying to still the shaking of my muscles. Focus. Focus. You’re at the Olympics. This is your dream.

A gold medal isn’t my only dream, however. The man waiting for me at the bottom of this dive has been occupying so much space in my head for so long and I’ll never shake him. Can’t he see how badly I need him on top of me, taking me, giving me what my body needs? Mine satisfying his in return, solving the mysteries about sex that have been plaguing me?

God, I want that. I need it. Nothing but the full measure of him is going to satisfy my heart, though. Is he close to giving in?

Forcing myself to concentrate on the task at hand. A back one and a half somersault pike. Not the most difficult maneuver. Just a warmup. I’m sure the fact that my legs are the consistency of pudding won’t make a bit of difference.

Right.

Squaring my shoulders, I bend my knees and spring up, suspending myself in the air high above the pool, tightening my stomach muscles and lifting my legs up, over, flipping me back into a somersault—and quickly I realize I’m not going to make the half one, as well. I’m going to hit the water way too early at a bad angle. A very bad one. This is going to hurt.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I brace for the slapping sting of the water, but no amount of preparation stops it from hurting. I hurtle down several more feet than usual, the breath sucked out of my lungs, my skin smarting where it broke the surface. Dang it. I’m too distracted. My body refuses to do what it’s supposed to and at this rate, I won’t even take bronze.

I wince over a fresh wave of soreness on my way up to the surface, my legs not kicking as fast as they should—and that’s when I hear someone jumping into the pool above me.

No. Not someone.

Everett.

His big body cuts through the water in my direction, his eyes open and wild as he reaches me, wrapping an arm around my lower back and kicking back toward the surface with me in tow. We come up for air at the same time and we’re face to face, laboring to breathe, Everett’s hand coming up to rip off my swim cap, cradling my cheek, his gaze running laps around my face. “You took too long to come up,” he growls. “You hit the water backwards and I thought…Jesus, sweetheart. I thought you were hurt.”

Divers and coaches have gathered together close by, whispering about what happened. Agog over my coach jumping into the water to save me and his very, very apparent concern. But I barely see them. Or hear them. Because that same concern is spreading joy throughout my limbs and all I want to do is crawl inside of it. To live there.

Everett, apparently unaware of the bystanders, hauls me up against his body in the pool and I automatically wrap my legs around his waist, my soft cheek rubbing against his stubbled one, sending my pulse into a sprint. “I’m okay.”

“Don’t ever do that to me again,” he says raggedly, his open mouth grazing my ear.

“I’m sorry.”

Everett lets out a low curse and I notice for the first time that he’s shaking. “You’re going to get yourself killed like this. Your body isn’t going to perform without relief first.” Beneath the water, his hand cups my right butt cheek and tugs me toward his lap, grinding my core softly against his bulge. “I could see your hard nipples all the way down here.”