“Damn, I suck at this,” Dalton said under his breath.
“What?”
“Coaching. I suck at it. If I’m not yelling at you or saying something inappropriate, I’m knocking your block off in hallways.”
She laughed. “You don’t suck. You’re just always on full steam ahead.” She tried to rub her head, but Dalton was still checking over the spot with his own hands.
“It doesn’t look like I’ve caused permanent damage.” Then, in a move that seemed as natural as breathing, Dalton bent down and pressed his lips to the injured area.
The second his lips touched her head, they both froze. This wasn’t like the friendly smack after the tape room. This was something more intimate.
“Shit.” His whispered oath was cool against the damp spot on her forehead.
“Yeah.” She looked up at him, her mouth inches from his, and somehow, some way, their lips met. Jessi couldn’t believe she was doing this, but holy hell, she liked the feel of his lips on hers.
Since she’d started it, Jessi supposed she should pull away first. She had a hard time talking herself into it, though. “Dalton, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“I know. Me either.”
They pulled apart. Dalton propped his back against the wall and drew his knees up while looking to the ceiling as if it might provide insight to solving this current debacle. Since she didn’t have a better plan, Jessi did the same thing. After a moment of silence, she spoke up.
“Please don’t think that wasn’t nice, but we can’t be doing that again.”
“It was more than nice, Jessi.”
“Yeah, I know,” she said quietly.
“But you’re right—we can’t do that again. I’m not even sure why I let it happen in the first place.”
“Probably because you’re horny and I’m the best thing there is to offer around here,” she said in a desperate attempt to make a joke of things.
He nudged her shoulder. “Shut up. You know that’s not it.”
“Maybe not,” she conceded. “But we’ve got history, and we’ve spent a lot of time drudging it up. Our past was bound to catch up with us at some point.”
Dalton gave it some thought. “You might have a point there. So we agree that we won’t do that again?”
“Yep.”
“And we’re all good?”
“Yep.”
After a long pause, Dalton simply said, “All right then. Let’s get you to practice.” He stood and gave her a hand.
They walked off together, but neither said a word. There simply was nothing left to say.
Jessi looked down at her schedule for the day. In an effort to break the silence, she grabbed the first thing that popped into her head. “So we’re working with the rest of the flyers today, huh?”
“Yeah. I’ll be coaching all of you for the morning, at least.”
She didn’t know how she felt about that. On one hand, it would be nice to have others present to deflect some of the one-on-one time between them. She was also starting to swim like her old self again and could use some team practice. On the other... God damn it if she didn’t feel disappointed at having to share him.
“Well, I guess it was selfish to hope for your undivided attention forever.” She meant it as a joke, but Dalton didn’t let it go.
“Oh, I don’t think you have to worry about that. I’m pretty much entirely focused on you right now.”
“Kissing me will do that to a guy.”
“I’m aware.”
Somehow, he’d become her friend, of sorts, again. They were so much alike and so different that they came together well as partners. Then of course... he was just so fricken hot! That was the problem. She knew he was trouble. She knew she had to stay away from him. But there was something about him that had always pulled on her heartstrings. Being a chick sucked sometimes.
“Well, on the practical side, practicing with the others will keep us from doing something stupid. Besides, they need you too.” Jessi wasn’t the only one who would benefit from Dalton’s presence. She didn’t know all of the details of his employment, but she knew he was in charge of the flyers. He took his job seriously. He was setting grueling practices and seemed to have a single-minded dedication to getting them into shape for the Olympics. It would be selfish to try to keep that all to herself.
“There is that.” He nodded and finally looked down at her. One corner of his mouth tipped up.
She was glad to see they could get past that kiss.
By the afternoon, she had realized Dalton hadn’t gotten past anything. The man was frustrated. Her back ached and her ass burned from the miles and miles of dolphin kicks he’d forced the team to do. If they weren’t performing up to his standards, he wasn’t beyond his signature water bottle bombs. Despite her distaste over serving as a target, throwing things was a common tactic among swim coaches. Swimmers can’t hear, at least not well, when they are in the water. Throwing something at them tended to communicate eloquently what words couldn’t.
Still, Dalton seemed to like throwing them a little too much. He was currently at the other end of the pool screaming at some of the younger guys on the team. This particular group was in college. All were every bit as cocky as Dalton and Sawyer had been at that age, and, at the moment, they were being disabused of their overall greatness.
“If you’re whining, you’re not working. Now put your face in the water and swim!”
Despite herself, Jessi laughed. Dalton really was funny when he was coaching.
“Enjoy it while you can, Pruitt. You’re getting a reprieve.” Sawyer appeared next to her with his ever-present clipboard.
“Yeah? What’s up?”
“Today’s the start of the PR campaign.”
“Noooo,” Jessi whined.
“Yes.”
Jessi understood the delicate balance that was U.S. Olympics and press coverage and did her best to navigate between the two. Still, it was a tough job. She didn’t mind interviews. Media attention had never been a problem for her, but only because she didn’t let it. If things started to affect her swimming, she simply retreated to the pool and let the PR folks do their jobs. Sometimes, though, that was easier said than done.
“Why don’t you dry off and head up to Allie’s office?”
Allie was the head of their PR team, and Jessi knew her well. She loved Allie, but even if she’d hated her, getting out of Dalton the Terrible’s line of vision seemed like a wise decision today.
A half-hour later, she was being buzzed into Allie’s office on the other side of the complex. Poking her head through the door, she let out a tentative, “Okay if I come in?” Allie was a busy woman and Jessi always felt like she was disturbing her. She had no idea how to act toward people with real jobs.
“Of course! Come in, come in!” Allie got up from her desk and walked over to give Jessi a quick hug. “How are you doing? It’s been a while.”
Jessi immediately relaxed. Allie was a tall, sophisticated brunette with the ruthlessness necessary for the fast-paced job she performed. Sometimes she made Jessi nervous, but she always seemed to know how to make things comfortable.
“I’m good, Allie. How are you?”
“I’m great, but I don’t know how you’re going to be when you hear what I’ve got to say.”
“Just give it to me.”
“Okay.” Allie whipped back over to her desk and pulled up her screen. “So far, you’ve got a few satellite interviews with the twenty-four hour news stations. When those are over, you’ve got a sit down face–to-face with Claudel Lemaitre at three o’clock.” She paused. “Is that going to be okay, Jessi?” she asked seriously.
“Absolutely! Claudel and I are good friends,” she replied.
Actually, he was an ex-boyfriend who had just the slightest little tendency to forget the “ex” part now and then. Claudel was also a former French swimmer and international playboy. He’d always been a player, and she hadn’t been interested in him
at first—not after Dalton. But Claudel had worn her down. They’d had a fun relationship, broken up after college, and remained friends. Claudel liked to push the “friends” part.
Still, he was a good...ish guy. He’d put up his Speedo a few years ago and since then had been working here and there as an announcer and event promoter. He was good at it and made a nice living for himself. He was also markedly dispassionate about his career. As long as summering in the Alps and wintering in Monaco with a woman on his arm kept him from hitting on her, Jessi didn’t really care what he did.
Unfortunately, he’d shown up right in the middle of her personal crisis. If there was one thing she knew for sure, she was not in need of another ego-inflated swim-boy at the moment. Dalton McKinney was way more than enough for one woman to handle.
Chapter 9
“Who is the French fuck?” Dalton asked, coming to stand next to Sawyer in the observation room.
“Huh?” Sawyer looked up from the time sheets he was perusing. He looked bewildered to be suddenly sharing the room with someone. He came around quickly though, there being only one “French fuck” in the vicinity at the moment. “Oh, that’s Claudel Lemaitre.”
“The French kid?” Dalton had heard of him, but he had looked like a drowned rat the last time he had seen him—all awkward and lanky, his Speedo almost falling off of his skeleton of a frame. Of course, Claudel had probably been about sixteen or seventeen at the time and at his first international races, but still. It was a shock to see the kid all grown up... and sniffing around one of his swimmers.
“French kid, French fuck, call him what you want, but yes. That is Claudel Lemaitre, in the flesh,” Sawyer said and went back to his time sheets.
“What’s he doing getting all up on Jessi like that?” Dalton asked. He looked down at the pool deck and scowled. Lemaitre was finding little ways to touch Jessi, and by the look in his eyes, was thinking about how best to climb her frame. Practice had been over for a while now, and while the reporters had access to the swimmers for the next fifteen minutes, Dalton had an overwhelming urge to tell Lemaitre his time was up.
“Probably trying to get laid,” Sawyer replied nonchalantly, still not looking up from the time sheets.
“What?” Dalton felt the blood rising to his face. He was beginning to notice an irrational sense of anger he didn’t want to put a name to. The last thing he needed to do was get jealous over Jessi Pruitt. Not only would that be seriously ridiculous, but of all people, he certainly had no right to tell Jessi who she could and could not date.
“Dude, he’s French. Those guys are like, born trying to get laid. He’s also her ex-boyfriend, so...” Sawyer added and turned back to his time sheets. As if that explained a damn thing.
Annoyed by this obvious lack of concern, Dalton flipped him the bird once he turned his back. “Well, if he’s her ex-boyfriend, why are we letting him interview her?”
Sawyer sighed, put the time sheets down, and lifted his head to fix Dalton with a look of extreme annoyance. “One, because she’s a big girl and can handle herself. Two, because in that relationship, she decides if and when they sleep together. If she wants to, they do. If not, they don’t. It doesn’t affect her swimming, and she sure as hell isn’t going to get a chance to screw him while she’s locked away in her dorm room, so I’m not terribly worried about it. Settle down, okay, Daddy?”
There was something sick and wrong about being referred to as Jessi’s daddy...unless of course they were in the middle of fooling around and he asked her to call him—
Dalton brought his mind back around. He shouldn’t be thinking of Jessi like that, and he really needed to focus. Dalton was trailing off less and less since he’d been coaching. He still slipped up though.
Forcing his mind back to the current situation, he was unpleasantly surprised to realize that part of his anger toward Jessi and her little French boy-toy had everything to do with a hurt ego. It wasn’t that he thought she hadn’t slept with someone by now, or that he was under some grand illusion that she’d spent all these years pining after him. It was just that...well, yes, he’d always sort of assumed those things when he thought of Jessi. He wasn’t that much of a dick, really. It was just that his only lasting memory of their time in Brazil was of her being so enamored with him. He supposed his thoughts should really have focused on how epically devastated and disappointed she’d looked when she found him on that balcony.
He should have known better though. Women like Jessi didn’t lick their wounds for long. So, she’d gone and rebounded with le boy-toy. Great. Dalton only hoped for her sake that the little douche had been filling out his Speedo a little better by the time they’d hooked up.
For the purpose of seeing the sun rise the next day, Dalton fixed his scowl into what he hoped looked like a coach’s concern for his swimmer as opposed to a jealous ex-whatever-he’d-been. When he felt like he had his features under control, he turned to Sawyer. “How long are these interviews going to take? I’ve got a hell of a problem with Tanner’s dolphin kick, and a little board work wouldn’t hurt any of them.”
While it was mostly pretense, Dalton inwardly smiled at the thought of throwing kick boards and making them dolphin kick all the way down the pool...and back. Over and over again. He found his mood improving exponentially as he continued to build the workout in his head.
“I’m really proud of you, man.” Sawyer said, bringing Dalton back to the present.
It didn’t escape Dalton that Sawyer’s little touchy-feel-good statement had carefully avoided answering his question about how long the damn interviews were going to take.
“Thanks. How long?”
Sawyer ignored him and continued his masochistic attempt to make them both feel uncomfortable. “You need to learn to take a compliment. I’m serious. You’re doing a really great job. It’s only been a couple of days and you’ve got them shaping up nicely. I’ve never seen you so focused.”
“You weren’t there eight years ago when I was trying to beat your ass,” Dalton replied with a grin.
Sawyer grinned right back. He rolled his tongue in his cheek and gave a few short nods. Apparently, he had some fond memories of his own when it came to their rivalry. “Man, you really went after me. I gotta admit, after Omaha, I was scared shitless. I didn’t realize how bad I wanted to go out with a bang. I was beat up, tired, and ready to be done racing. Then you kicked my ass and I thought to myself, ‘No way in hell I can let that asshat beat me in Brazil.’” Sawyer’s grin widened into a smile.
Dalton grinned right back. “I really did kick your ass at trials, though, didn’t I? Good times.”
“Yeah. They were. But you really need to know how important you are to my goal for Canada.” Sawyer furrowed his brow and looked like a man who was going to say something that he really didn’t want to.
He cleared his throat. “So, um, I just want you to know that you’re the best coach I’ve got here and the only one I really trust. I handpicked you for a reason; the rest of the coaching staff was put together by the committee. I really appreciate being able to bounce ideas off you.” The words rushed out of his mouth. He took a deep breath before he looked up at Dalton.
“Are you done being a chick?”
“Yep.”
“Good. I’m happy to be here too. Can we be done with this?”
“Yep.”
Both men took a step in the opposite directions. For a second there, Dalton had been afraid they were going to hug. All of a sudden, Dalton’s original question popped back into his head. While he didn’t question Sawyer’s sincerity with that little bonding moment, he had sneaking suspicions that the man had been trying to divert his attention.
Well... Dalton felt righteously smug as he eyed Sawyer down. Sawyer had counted on Dalton’s knack for forgetting things and going on tangents. Sawyer’s fault for not realizing how much being near the water helped his attention span.
“What?” Sawyer asked. “Why are you staring at me like that?”
“How long?” Dalton replied.
Sawyer threw his hands up. “What are you talking about now?”
“You never answered me. How long will the interviews take?”
Sawyer pursed his lips. “Remembered that, did you?”
“I told you, the pool helps out with the ADHD. Sucks when I’m right, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Sawyer admitted. “All right, here’s the deal. The interviews will be over this afternoon. Except for Jessi’s. Lemaitre’s doing an exposé piece for one of the national news stations—”
“I thought he worked for French media?”
“He announces for French broadcasting. He does a bunch of freelance shit for all kinds of media, pretty much all over the world. Nice gig, actually.”
“Hmm. So, what you’re telling me is this little douchebag is actually a rich little douchebag who wants to do unspeakable things to my best swimmer’s body.”
“Pretty much.”
Dalton didn’t like that at all. If he couldn’t do naughty things with Jessi, there was sure as shit no way anyone else would either. Just the thought made him unreasonably upset.
“Okay, so again, why are we letting him interview her?”
“Because if I saw one spark of interest in Jessi’s eyes, I would have pulled the plug. I didn’t. She couldn’t care less that he’s here or that he’s the one doing the exposé. She’s here to swim, and that’s all that is on her mind. She wants nothing to do with the prick.” Sawyer slapped Dalton on the back. “Better get to it, Coach.” He started walking down the hall to his office.
“Wait a second, smartass!”
Sawyer didn’t stop. “What do you want now, asshole?” he asked over his shoulder.
“How many days will Lemaitre be working with my swimmer?”
Sawyer stopped in front of his office door and stared at it.
“A week. Make it work.” He stepped into his office and closed the door behind him.
“Fuuuuck.” Dalton exhaled. He tilted back his head and put his hands on his hips. Might as well come to terms with it.
In the Fast Lane (Fast Series Book 1) Page 6