The music is so loud I can barely hear anyone. There are swimmers all over, accompanied by one or two sorority type girls each, their faces completely covered with makeup.
Matt gets me a drink from somewhere. It’s some kind of cheap gin mixed with fruit punch, probably just so they can get all the girls drunk.
Matt is yelling something in my ear, but I can’t hear what it is he’s saying.
People are playing beer pong all around. The rest are cheering, and dancing wildly. The lights are low, mostly off, leaving the darkness illuminated almost entirely by strobe lights of all different colors.
“What’s that they’re taking?” I say, pointing to a shady looking guy who’s distributing pills to a group of swimmers and their girls.
“Ecstasy,” yells Matt. It’s the first word he’s said that I understood since coming inside.
I make a mental note about the ecstasy. I know it’s illegal, and, in a situation like this, with dancing, and alcohol use, possibly very dangerous, causing serious dehydration. This is a little gem of a juicy detail, exactly the kind I’m looking for.
Trying to act casual, I take a survey of the house, or at least what I can see, given the lights. The place is in really horrible shape, and practically everything I see is a real safety hazard, not to mention some sort of health code or zoning regulation violation.
“Can we go somewhere private?” I yell to Anchor, I mean Matt. It seems too weird to call him Matt. Anchor seems to be his natural name. I really should be observing the party more, taking mental notes (because I know my voice recorder isn’t going to get anything salvageable with all the background noise), but I’m overwhelmed and really can’t take any more of this.
I turn to look for Matt, who hasn’t yet responded.
Somehow, in just a few seconds, he’s become the center of everyone’s attention. He’s hanging off a chandelier, that looks like it might fall down any second, as it creaks under his weight. It’s little glass bulbs are breaking, being crushed by his wildly-moving hands which are moving like he’s on the monkey bars.
I can’t help but admiring the agility with which he moves. His body is so big, and his chest is so bulky, but he moves just like a gymnast, doing little tricks with his hands and body.
The crowd is equally impressed, and for a moment, all the beer pong games and dancing have stopped, so that everyone can cheer him on.
He’s clearly the king of the party, not to mention the swim team, and he’s loving every second of it.
9
Anchor
I’m loving the party. Aside from the feeling I get during a swim race, this is one of the best feelings in the world. I feel like I’m at the top of the heap, king of everything. Everyone loves me, that’s for sure.
I haven’t even had to fight anyone this time. That’s just because no one’s been looking for trouble tonight.
“You want to get out of here?” Allison asks me. “Somewhere more private?”
I give her a big grin. “Sure,” I say.
Sure, there are plenty of other girls here I could hook up with easily enough. Hell, the last time we had a party this big, about a month ago, I slept with one girl, came back down to the party from my room, and then took another one up. Two in a row, not bad. There was nothing to it. At least not for me. Even Dave got laid that night, so it was a good night for everyone.
But there’s something… special about this Allison. I like the way she’s shy as hell. I like how she’s not like the sorority girls that always flock to our swim parties.
She doesn’t look like them either. There’s something different about her body. Normally she dresses in a really boring way, though, but tonight she’s dressed like I’ve never seen her before. She’s really showing off all her assets. Shit, I can’t take my eyes off her. And I think she wants me, too. She’s doing this kind of secret flirting thing. She keeps accidentally brushing her body up against mine, and then holding it there for a second, before pulling away, to show me she doesn’t mind in the least bit.
I lead her by the hand out the back entrance and we walk through the night, with the stars sparkling overhead.
I didn’t take any ecstasy tonight, although I bet half the swim team is flying. It’s not that I have a problem with drugs, but I just don’t normally need them. Being the king, I pretty much feel like I’m on ecstasy whether or not I’ve taken any. I am a little buzzed though, and I barely even notice when I put my arm around her waist as we walk away.
“Where do you want to go?” I say.
“What about the pool?” she says, giving me a special look.
I was thinking she might suggest we go back to her dorm room, and I’m a little disappointed at first. But then I think about it for a second, and realize the pool where I’m the absolute best. Hell, my name’s written on over half the walls there, and I’ve got more than a dozen trophies in the cases. How can she resist me there?
“We’re not supposed to go there,” I say, giving her a wink.
“But don’t you guys do stuff like this all the time, breaking into places you’re not supposed to?”
“Pretty much,” I say.
I talk my usual talk, on our way there, telling her about some of the records that were hardest for me to break. It’s hard to contain myself, because of the beers gurgling in my stomach, and I can’t resist telling her some of the stuff we’ve gotten up to over the years.
She really seems interested in all the mischief we’ve caused around campus, and all the pranks we’ve never gotten caught for. I figure she just really likes a bad boy, being shy and all.
I really want her. I want her tonight. I love the feel of her hips under my arm, moving in a tantalizing way with each step she takes. I keep finding myself checking out her ass as she walks. Her skirt is tight and short, just the way I like them.
Well, if she wants a bad boy, I’ll give her a bad boy. I find myself telling her practically everything. I tell her about the time Dave and I broke into our math professor’s office and stole the answers to the final. I tell her how Dave bought a bunch of anabolic steroids online and how he and a quarter of the swim team used them during the summer months to add mass, and about how I researched how to pass the urine tests, so they wouldn’t get kicked off the team. I make it clear, however, that I don’t need the steroids, and never used them myself. In short, I tell her everything, every detail, and she’s all ears.
Before I know it, we’re outside the swim building.
“It’s locked,” she says, trying the door, but there’s a twinkle in her eye. I know she’s just waiting for me to explain how we sneak in.
And she’s not going to be disappointed.
“I’ve done this a thousand times,” I say, taking a key out that I have stashed in my wallet. “Coach lent me his key ring once, to grab something from his office, and I couldn’t help myself. I made a copy of this beauty, and it’s gotten me out of some tough situations, when I had to hide from campus security.”
“I bet you’ve taken a lot of girls up here, too, right?” she says, with an innocent look in her eyes that just makes me want to fuck her right then and there. I want to push her against the brick wall and fuck her from behind, but I contain myself, and just unlock the door.
I wonder if she’s noticed the erection growing in my pants. At least I threw a long polo shirt on before leaving the swim house, and it hangs low enough that it partially covers my crotch and my growing bulge.
I take her up to the balcony. I know where the light box is, and turn on the lights to the pool, so that we can gaze into the water that sloshes gently inside the pool, even though no one’s in it.
“We have the whole place to ourselves,” I say.
“That’s just the way I like it,” she says, sliding her body closer to mine, so that she’s sitting on the bench right next to me. I can feel her body against mine.
She seems so different tonight than my first impression of her
, when I thought she was a shy nerdy girl, that night when Dave was hitting on her.
I would think she’s a different girl altogether, except for the fact that I can feel her body trembling against mine. I know she’s nervous. She’s probably never been with a top athlete before. I can imagine the kind of guys she’s hooked up with during college—the nerdy, bookish guys who want to be “nice,” to her, above all else, even when it means sacrificing all that makes them men, sacrificing all their sex appeal.
I vaguely remember that this girl is completely off limits. Coach said so. And he said my Olympic career is on the line. If I hook up with her, I’m off the team.
But then again, to get kicked off the team, coach would have to find out. And how’s he going to find out?
I can’t resist her any longer, and lean in for the kiss.
Our lips meet.
It feels way more intense than a regular hook up. It’s not one of those sloppy drunk kisses the sorority girls give. There’s meaning behind this one. Something powerful. Something deep.
10
Allison
I shouldn’t be kissing him. First of all, he’s a dumb jock. I hate him, in a way, and everything he represents.
But as I’m kissing him, it just feels so good. It feels so right. Our lips are pressed together. It’s a kiss like no other I’ve ever had.
I’m aware that his hand is creeping around my back, massaging me. I’m aware that his other hand is getting dangerously close to my breasts, but I don’t want to stop him. I want him to keep going. I want him to take me. This is my deepest desire, my strongest desire, coming to the surface, overtaking every other conviction I’ve ever had.
But I shouldn’t be kissing him. I’m thinking this at the same time I’m thinking how good, how absolutely amazing, this feels.
Real reporters don’t make out with their inside sources!
If Beaumont finds out, who knows what will happen?
There’s no way I’ll be working for The Journal with behavior like this!
But I keep going. I’m kissing him back stronger than I’ve ever kissed anyone back.
Suddenly, there’s a noise from somewhere down below in the pool. We’re supposed to be alone. Is this some kind of dumb swimmer trick? It’s not surprising to me that this is the first thing my mind goes to: after all, I don’t trust Anchor farther than I can throw him, which isn’t very far at all. I doubt I can even pick him up.
Anchor had turned some of the lights on, to get a nice effect down at the pool.
Now more of the lights turn on. It seems like all of them are on down below. It’s still dark up here in the balcony.
Anchor has pulled away from me. He’s frozen still, but I can’t read his expression, except to know now that it isn’t some trick. He isn’t expecting anyone else here either.
My heart is thumping strongly, as if it’s about to burst through my chest. It feels like it’s beating so loudly that someone down in the pool area would be able to hear it.
“Who’s there?” shouts someone, down below.
I remain frozen.
“It’s coach,” whispers Anchor, sounding terrified himself. I suddenly realize there might be more to this jock than I thought. Or maybe not: after all, he’s probably just worried about getting kicked off the team. From what he told me earlier, it sounds like he’s been in trouble so many times with the coach that one more wrong move and he’s off the team, despite being the (self proclaimed, no less) best swimmer ever to grace the college’s pool with his hunky presence.
Despite the tenseness of the situation, I notice that I’m calling him Anchor again in my head. What a stupid name.
But part of me likes calling him that. And part of me likes being the girl that the fastest swimmer took away from the party to make out with. It’s the part of me that never had a date for the high school prom. It’s the part of me that’s been secretly dying for attention from a guy all these four years at school.
“I know someone’s up there,” yells the coach. It sounds like he’s stomping around down below.
“He’s trying to find the light box for the balcony,” whispers Anchor.
Shit.
Suddenly, the situation seems a lot more serious.
I think I can hear coach coming up the steps now.
If I’m caught here with Anchor now, Anchor’s not going to be the only one in trouble.
I know I told Beaumont that Anchor’s going to be my inside source, and that I’m going to extract all kinds of great stuff from him for the story, but that doesn’t mean he’d approve of me breaking into the pool with Anchor way after hours to make out with him. There’s not going to be any good way I can explain this away, no matter what spin I try to put on it.
Real reporters don’t commit crimes with their sources, and they certainly don’t make out with them!
“This way,” whispers Anchor. “I think I know a way out.”
I feel pride surging up through my chest, as I watch Anchor moving silently and gracefully over to the wall, keeping his body low so that he won’t be visible from down below, in case the coach has come with someone else, and they’re waiting down below by the pool.
I don’t know what Anchor’s thinking, though.
It sounds like the coach is making his way up the steps. He’s almost here.
I can hear his heavy body on the stairwell.
“Through the vent,” hisses Anchor to me, motioning for me to come over.
I dash over to where he is by the wall, trying to keep as low as possible, trying to make no noise, but I can hear the flats I’m wearing smacking against the concrete floor loudly.
“I know you’re in there,” yells the coach from the stairwell. I can hear him fumbling with the door to the balcony. I wonder if Anchor had the foresight to lock it. Probably not. “There’s no other way out of here,” yells the coach, sounding seriously upset. After all, this is his pool.
I look up, and Anchor has somehow undone the grill to the vent. It must be part of the air-conditioning system, although I find it hard to believe there’s ever been air conditioning here, given how hot and stuffy it always is up here.
Before I know it, Anchor has pulled himself up into the vent.
“Come on,” he says, not even trying to keep quiet now.
I spin my head and look behind me. The door swings open. The coach’s foot comes into view.
“I can’t do it,” I whisper.
“Yes you can!” says Anchor.
I look him in the eyes. I see only fierce determination. His hand is reaching down towards mine.
I grab his hand, and he pulls me up and into the vent.
The space inside is huge, and I crawl deep inside into the darkness, not knowing or caring where I end up.
Turning behind me, I can tell Anchor’s closed the vent, because we’re suddenly enveloped in complete darkness.
Anchor’s hand reaches out and touches my leg, letting me know he’s here with me. He’s silently urging me to be quiet, but I don’t need any encouraging. I don’t want to get caught just as much as him, probably a lot more so.
“Damnit all to hell” yells the coach. Out in the balcony, he throws something, and curses again. “How the hell did they disappear like that?”
Anchor gets in front of me and leads the way, through the dark tunnel. I follow him, with one hand on his ankle for guidance.
Somehow, he knows his way through these ducks, even in the darkness.
I don’t have any idea where we’re going or where we are, but after about ten minutes of crawling through the creepy darkness, where we can’t see anything at all, and can’t hear anything, except our own breathing, we’re out.
Anchor is pulling the grate off in front of us, and it seems like in a second, he’s down in the hallway where we first came into the pool building.
He helps me down, and after I jump down, he catches me with his strong, muscular body. He
feels like a pillar of rock that can’t be moved.
“Come on, coach will be back here any second,” he says, and opens the door leading to the outside. It’s the same door that we entered the swim building, with the help of Anchor’s copied key.
We run away from the building together, through the darkness. Suddenly, the feeling of terror and tension breaks, and I’m giddy and laughing.
Anchor looks at me, and I catch his expression in the moonlight. He’s grinning at me, like he understands how I’m feeling perfectly well.
Despite myself, I grab his hand as we run.
I don’t know where we’re going, and we don’t say a word to each other. I’m still laughing, a high pitched laugh that borders on a childish giggle, and, without realizing it, I’m leading Anchor right back to my dorm room, quite far away from the swim house where the party is likely still raging.
I realize I’m calling him Anchor in my head again.
“Where we headed?” says Anchor, as we stop under a campus streetlight that’s overlooking one of the paths.
It’s late at night, and our shoes are soaked with the dew from running through the grass.
“My dorm?” I say, not sure if I’m asking a question, or giving him an answer. I’m out of breath from running, panting a little, but Anchor’s in such good shape he doesn’t look the least bit tired or phased from sprinting across half the campus.
He just gives me a big grin, like he was expecting this answer, like he already knew what I was going to say.
Suddenly, his hands are around my waist. I feel myself sinking into his body, as I press myself against his strong and powerful chest.
He kisses me, leaning in, and the feeling is…
I don’t know how to describe it. All the clichés apply. It’s a magnificent kiss, just like in the movies, and I know I can’t resist him any longer.
All the thoughts of inside sources, becoming a professional journalist—all these are the last thing on my mind right now. They just feel like insignificant little shadows of former worries, things I can’t be bothered with right now.
Deep End: A Bad Boy Sports Romance Page 6