by Vivica Dorn
“Yes, yes, of course, no problem. We’ll start fresh tomorrow.”
Sam nodded and smiled again, more genuinely this time.
“Thanks for your understanding.”
Sam waded to the side of the pool and vaulted up and out.
Walking away, without a further glance at Michel, he said, “don’t forget to have a quick shower in the change room again to rinse off the chlorine. To protect your skin and hair.” The way Sam said “your skin” made Michel want to reach out for the tall boy.
But just like that he was gone, leaving Michel alone and shivering in the pool.
Putain, he thought again, c’est froide. J’ai tellement froid.
I’m so cold.
CHAPTER 6
A gaggle of excited students gathered around the bulletin board outside the pool change room, checking to see if they had made the swim team. Sam stood near the back of the group, head slightly cocked, a serene smile on his face, his hands in his pockets, perfectly embodying the posture of an unbearably cool college student. Due to his height he didn’t have to wait his turn or try to press to the front. He could see his name clearly on the list of male swimmers who had made the cut: SAMSON HENDRICK. He hadn’t really had any doubts that he would make it; he had been a competitive swimmer throughout high school and had kept in shape over the summer swimming at the beach, but it still gave him an egoistic thrill to see his name on the list, so starkly displayed in black and white.
“For fuck’s sake,” a voice piped up from somewhere below and to his left. Finn stood next to him, craning his neck, standing on tip toe, big blue eyes squinting.
“I can’t see it! Hey, man, can you check for me? My last name is Adamson.”
Sam directed his gaze to the top of the list and there it was: FINNEGAN ADAMSON.
“Sorry, bro, no such luck,” he said with exaggerated pity, the corners of his mouth drooping down comically.
Finn’s long-lashed eyes widened and he swore.
“Goddamnit! That fucking blows! I know I don’t have as much training as some of these guys but I really thought I had a shot...” Then he noticed Sam cracking up.
“Dude, what, are you kidding? Tell me you’re kidding! Come on!”
Sam knew he shouldn’t mess with the hopeful boy, but it had been just too damn easy.
“You made it, man, don’t worry. Sorry, I just couldn’t resist. I really had you going there!”
Finn smacked him on the arm, hard, and Sam laughed even more.
“Motherfucker,” Finn muttered, but he was smiling now, too.
“Who else made it? Anyone we might now?”
Sam scanned the list again, not recognizing most of the names. He hadn’t had much of a chance to introduce himself to any of the other swimmers yet. The name above his own caught his attention, though.
“Lance Gallagher, I think that was the tall guy with the reddish hair. The junior – the scary, seriously fast one.”
Finn grimaced and stuck out his tongue.
“Oh, yeah, that asshole. I don’t think he smiled or talked or even looked at anyone at either tryout. I bet he thinks he’s too good for everyone. He is a great swimmer though, I give him that. But I get the impression that he’s a real piece of work.”
Finn flushed and his mouth clamped shut as Lance Gallagher stepped up behind him, seemingly out of nowhere, and leaned over him nonchalantly, much taller than the smaller boy, his chest practically brushing the back of Finn’s head, his grey eyes stern, his jaw set.
Sam suppressed yet another laugh at the awkward way Finn held totally silent and still as the huge swimmer towered over him, his girly eyes huge and his lips pressed in a tight line. Lance didn’t smile when he saw his name on the list, nor did he attempt to make conversation with anyone in the group. He abruptly turned and stalked away without uttering a word to anyone.
“Jesus!” Finn practically shouted, hopping around and rubbing his arms. “That gave me goosebumps. Dude came up like a ghost behind me, did you see that? Did you see how close he got to me? What a power play, man, that was so weird. Of course it had to be when I was talking about him, that’s just classic.”
Sam smiled and shook his head as Finn jumped and danced around as if he had found a spider crawling up his arm. This kid’s alright, he thought to himself, glad to have made a friend who was both on the team and in one of his classes.
The two boys walked away from the posting towards the food court area of the athletic centre.
“Wanna get some lunch?” Finn asked, speaking loudly over the babbling of students talking and laughing around them. “Now that I’m not nervous about checking the list, I’m starving.”
“For sure, I haven’t eaten yet.”
They both opted for slices of pizza and found a table near the window, golden September sunlight streaming in. Sam relaxed and stretched in the warm, bright beam. He loved this time of year, when the heat of summer was just starting to abate and a cool breeze rolled in off the ocean, turning the air tangy and sweet.
“How are you finding Adams’ class so far?” Finn asked through a mouthful of cheese and pepperoni.
For a moment Sam’s stomach clenched. He almost got defensive, almost blurted out “why?” before he collected himself and realized how absolutely crazy that would look. He hadn’t had any contact with Michel since last night when he had had his meltdown and pressed himself into the beautiful TA with a fervour he hadn’t even known he was capable of. The shocked, disarmed look on Michel’s face when Sam had finally pulled back had shaken him to his very core, and the trembling of Michel’s red lips in the darkness of the pool had haunted him. Haunted him so much that he had immediately gone back to his dorm room to jerk off.
He was surprised he didn’t feel more conflicted about that, about the fact that he had desperately masturbated to the thought of a slim, pale male body and a fair face with green eyes. He had been raised in a progressive household, and one of his older cousins, Patrick, was gay, but he had never considered that he would be capable of such feelings himself. But in his characteristically laid-back way, he wasn’t particularly unnerved by the realization that he was attracted to another man. What unnerved him was the new, disorienting intensity of that desire. The burning depth of it.
“Ah, I’m not sure, it’s definitely going to be tough,” Sam said, not making eye contact with Finn and taking a bite of his pizza.
“I know!” Finn agreed heartily, chomping away. “And it sucks because we’ll probably have practise on Wednesdays and won’t really be able to go to office hours much, just on Mondays. Maybe Dr Adams will open up another block of office hours where we can go talk to him instead of Michel if we need to.”
Sam nodded noncommittally, taking another bite of his pizza and chewing slowly. He thought about last time he had been in Michel’s office and the offer he had made. There’s no way he’s going to want to continue now, he thought bitterly, dropping his pizza back on his plate with a harsh sigh. Once again Sam was struck by the strange sharpness of emotions flooding through him, all tied to that green-eyed TA. He had never had someone get under his skin like this. When his last girlfriend had cheated on him he had barely batted an eye, thinking that he must not be the jealous type, that he must not be the type to really get attached. So why the hell should he care if some stranger didn’t want him to teach him how to swim? It would be easier for Sam, anyway, less of a strain on his time as he adjusted to life on campus. He could get outside tutoring for the class if necessary, or maybe even drop it altogether. He didn’t need the course, after all. He wasn’t 100% sure of his major yet, but he knew it wasn’t going to be political science. So he really could drop it. And potentially never see Michel again. Kingston College was a large school with more than 50000 students. If Michel didn’t want to have his help with swimming anymore, this class would be the only way to stay connected to the European student. And Sam wanted to stay connected to him. Desperately. He physically felt it, low in his chest: a sore, empt
y ache when he contemplated never speaking to Michel again, never hearing him complain in French again, never running his hands over that incredible white skin again...
“Damn, son,” Finn said, shaking his head and looking concerned. “It’s not that serious. You look super down. Do you need this course?”
Sam locked eyes with Finn and nodded sharply.
“Yeah, I really think I do.”
“Don’t worry, we can help each other out. I think it’ll be alright.”
Sam smiled at his new friend, appreciating the words.
“Thanks, man.”
Not long after that they parted ways, ready to head to their next classes. Finn jogged out of the west entrance from the food court area, and Sam went back the way they had come, past the pool change rooms. The group of gawking, pushing students had dispersed, everyone having read the list immediately after posting. There was only one student there now, gazing closely at the paper with a serious expression. Michel.
Sam hung back for a moment, watching, his chest throbbing. The TA was wearing tight dark jeans and a soft-looking white sweater that contrasted with the slight touch of pink in his cheeks and the warm richness of his hair. Sam imagined reaching out, grabbing onto a sleeve of that sweater, feeling the soft fabric between his fingers, then moving down to grab that slender hand...
Michel’s expression changed. He smiled slightly and nodded to himself, and, looking satisfied, turned and walked away. He did not notice Sam through the crowd and Sam did not call out. Sam kicked himself for that fact, afterwards, when he realized he hadn’t confirmed whether Michel would come to their swimming lesson that night. Guess I’ll just have to wait and see, he thought, more irritated than he normally would have been. Than he should have been. And yet, despite the foul mood that threatened him, seeing Michel looking so intently at the swim team list had warmed him, all the way to his bones. He didn’t wonder about which name Michel had been looking for.
Sam Hendrick had a feeling that he already knew.
CHAPTER 7
Michel breathed deeply and gritted his teeth before pushing open the door to the athletic centre and heading towards the pool change rooms. A tall figure leaned against the wall, his eyes obscured by a baseball cap, his stance relaxed and yet also graceful. The figure straightened as Michel approached, and Sam gave Michel a stunning smile. Michel stopped short, his heart in his throat. What the hell kind of smile was that?! Why the hell did this guy look so happy?
“Hey,” Michel mumbled grumpily.
“Hey, Michel,” Sam exhaled, still smiling with a sincerity so aching it felt like a punch to the gut. “I’m really glad you came.”
Michel shifted from foot to foot, gripping the strap of his bag.
“Yeah, well, we had a deal. I don’t back out of deals if I can help it.”
Sam’s face fell a little but he appeared to shake it off quickly.
“Hey, I was thinking, do you think I could get your phone number? It would be easier to get a hold of you for when I’m available to help you with swimming, or for, you know, whatever...”
Michel raised an eyebrow.
“For whatever?”
Sam laughed and rubbed the back of his neck, bicep bulging against the sleeve of his T-shirt. Damn, he really was built like a god. Michel gulped.
“Well, I don’t know, for studying or something. It would just make things easier, I think.”
Sam put his hands back in his pockets, regarding Michel quietly.
“I’m not sure if I’m supposed to give my number out to students. You can always email me at my college email address.” Michel’s voice began to trail off as he saw the look of disappointment pull at Sam’s face.
Sam nodded, looking glum. Michel felt his heart lurch. What the hell, this American...
“Well, it might be ok. But there have to be rules. You are only to text me, not call me. And only in regards to scheduling. If you have an academic query, you can email me like everyone else. And, of course, don’t share the number with anyone.”
And there was that fantastic smile again. Michel couldn’t believe he had caved so quickly. When did I become so weak?
“Here!” Sam fished his phone out of his bag and jabbed at the screen before handing it to Michel. “Put your number in.” Michel had to suppress a grin at the childish excitement exhibited by the taller boy, and put a carefully crafted look of burdened annoyance on his face as he typed in his number. He kept his eyes focused on the screen, heat creeping up his neck as he tried to ignore the proximity of the other boy’s body. Once again Sam was standing unnecessarily close to him, and Michel could feel the tension snapping between them, electric and taut.
“Thanks,” Sam breathed as Michel handed the phone back. Their fingers touched for the briefest of moments, and Michel sucked in a breath, yanking his hand back.
“Um,” Sam said, his cheeks, Michel noticed, a little flushed, “you go on ahead and get changed. I’ll meet you in the pool area.”
“Why?” Did Sam have something else he had to do first?
Sam sighed and gave an odd half-smile, half-grimace.
“I just think it would be better. Go on ahead, I’ll be right there.”
Michel nodded stiffly and entered the change room, trying to understand what had just happened. He flushed as he remembered the way Sam had stared at him hungrily last time, the way his eyes had drifted to Michel’s crotch when he wore his swim shorts. And then he remembered Sam’s body’s reaction when they had embraced in the pool. And his own.
Michel sighed and shook his head vigorously, rolling his eyes. Maybe it really was better this way, changing one after the other, only getting close to each other with the cool water of the pool between them. He wouldn’t let Sam get so handsy with him this time. No way. Absolument pas.
Absolutely not.
After changing and showering, Michel stood awkwardly on the pool deck, arms crossed tightly over his body, goosebumps erupting over his skin, shivering. He reasoned that he should probably get in the water on his own to get used to the temperature and try to warm up his muscles, but as he eyed the eerie dark glass of the water, he knew he wouldn’t be able to do it on his own. Not yet.
“Ready?” A voice asked from behind him. Michel turned.
Sam wasn’t wearing the same baggy swim trunks as last time. He was wearing a sleek, tight, competition-style speedo, royal blue, the school’s colour. His wet hair dripped beads of water onto his chiselled shoulders. Even in the gloom Michel could see the sharp ridges of his abdominal muscles, the muscled curves of his strong thighs, and of course, the large bulge between them...
Michel swallowed, his throat suddenly tight. He whipped back around to face the pool, heart hammering. Get a grip! He said to himself, borrowing a phrase he’d heard on American TV shows.
Sam stepped up to stand beside him. Michel noticed that this time Sam kept a careful distance, not brushing against his shoulder. And yet, despite the lack of touch, a shiver ran through his arm and side. And it wasn’t due to the cold.
“I thought I’d go European style today,” he said, grinning down sideways at Michel.
“Hmmph,” was all Michel could manage. How eloquent.
“Anyway, let’s get in and get started. I won’t pull you in this time, pinky swear.” Sam crouched at the pool’s ledge then slipped into the water. Not wanting to be left behind, Michel did the same, the water making him gasp as it cooled his sensitive skin.
“If you dip your head under you’ll get used to the temperature a lot faster,” Sam said, watching Michel with what looked like a mixture of concern and amusement.
“No.” Michel said sharply. “I’m not doing that yet.”
Sam nodded, then waded closer.
“Yeah, I thought that may be your reaction. That’s ok, we’re going to start with something else. I’m going to get you to do a starfish – you’re going to float on your back in the water with your arms and legs spread out like a star.”
�
�I-I don’t know how to do that,” Michel said miserably. He thought of the way he had tried to float that day at the beach, the way he had tried so hard to stay at the surface. He thought of how impossible it was.
“Here, I’ll help you,” Sam said, reaching out for Michel. Then he stopped.
“Um, may I? Can I help you get in the position?”
Michel pursed his lips, looking at the earnest expression on the tall boy’s face, his outstretched hands.
“Yeah, ok.”
Sam breathed out quickly then moved closer to Michel. He placed one hand on Michel’s upper back and one on his abdomen. Michel flinched a little, his skin practically contracting at the touch. Sam set his jaw, but did not speak. Using the strength of his arms, he eased Michel off his feet and onto his back, gently holding him in place.
“Ok,” he said quietly, “now do the starfish thing. Spread your arms and legs. And try to relax.”
“Mhmm!” Michel squeaked, shaking, breathing quickly through his nose, his mouth and lips tense. He eased his trembling legs and arms out from his body and Sam slowly released him and stepped back.
“See, there you go, you’ve got it,” he murmured softly. Michel couldn’t look at him. He couldn’t tear his eyes from the far-off ceiling of the room. He felt like if he moved even the tiniest fraction of an inch, the magic of the position would disappear and he would sink to the bottom like a stone, the water rushing in over him with venomous waves, trapping him.
Michel’s heart thundered in his ears, and the sound of water lapping around him left him agitated. He was starting to shake violently with the effort not to move. Sam must have noticed, because he called over, “hey, Michel, try to relax ok? You’re doing great.”
Why did Sam’s voice sound so far from him? Had Michel begun to float away? Michel whipped his head up, trying to see how far he’d drifted from Sam. And suddenly he was thrashing, water roaring around and over him, just like it had that day in the cold, uncaring ocean. Panic rose in Michel’s throat as he felt himself dip below the surface.