Dario exhales out a big breath, and hopefully his horniness, too. “Is that so?”
“Back in high school, I always wanted to try out for the swim team, but it involved a lot of traveling and suits and caps that my parents couldn’t afford,” Charlie says in an unguarded way. “There’s a dormant competitive spirit inside of me begging to bust out.”
Something was begging to bust out of Dario as well, and it certainly was not a competitive spirit. But a race would distract him well enough, so he agrees to it. They meet in the deep end of the pool where they lay out the rules. Three laps. First person to slap the tile at the end of the third wins.
“We do not have a judge,” Dario points out.
“We’re adults. I think we can play fair,” Charlie says. “Only I have an advantage.”
“What’s that?” Dario asks.
Charlie gestures to his naked form. “No lag.”
“Right.” Dario wishes Charlie weren’t drawingmoreattention to the places his eyes have been avoiding.
“You could also shed your suit.”
“I’m good,” Dario says. “Thank you. This is how I’m comfortable.”
Charlie smiles, nods, and doesn’t pry, which Dario appreciates.
After a countdown, they crest through the water like two Olympians. Dario settles into the familiar, rhythmic stroke. He keys into his breathing and does a near-perfect somersault turn in the shallow end to swim back.
The contest churns up memories of childhood and his brother, Emilio, and how much fun they used to have in this pool, back before their father’s death poisoned their relationship. Back before inheritances pitted them against each other in fiercer ways than any childhood dare ever could. Winning a chocolate empire was much higher stakes than winning the privilege of naming their pet frog.
On the third lap, they both reach for the edge of the pool at the same time, slamming their hands down under a wave of water that splashes out of the pool and covers their eyes.
“Who won?” Charlie asks.
“I think we tied?” Dario says, jumping on one foot to get water out of his ear.
“Figures,” Charlie says with a laugh.
“Figures, what?” he asks when he can hear right again.
“I was going to suggest that the loser owed the winner a kiss,” Charlie says, scraping his upper teeth along his bottom lip. “If you still enjoy me…”
Dario fights to catch his breath. “Wouldn’t that mean we’d both won?”
Charlie moves closer; their toes touch. “Would it?”
Boldness is an arm to Dario’s back, pushing him toward the tattooed American with the alluring pink lips. “Let’s find out,” he says.
They kiss, and it’s like their hearts are now in a race to see which can beat faster. Charlie’s lips are so soft that the slight taste of chlorine doesn’t bother Dario one bit. It’s the kind of kiss he could never come up for air from. He’d happily drown inside this moment.
Their tongues twist together as Dario gasps against Charlie’s mouth. There is no hiding his erection now as it strains up against Charlie’s inner thigh in search of another’s touch.
Someone else clears their throat from closer to the house. “Do you two mind? Some of us aretryingto sleep!” It is unmistakably Selina’s feminine register, and it sends them sailing away from one another.
“Scusa,” Dario calls back.
“Don’t wear your lips out, Dario,” Selina chides, rolling therinDario. He flushes hot to know she saw that steamy, legato make-out. “Save some for me tomorrow.”
The door to the house clicks closed behind a satisfied Selina.
He sighs with relief. But then…
Out of the corner of his eye, he spots an orange speck against an otherwise dark yard. “Is someone over there?” Dario calls.
