Tears burned in the corners of Elliot’s eyes. He may have meant well, but it felt like Anders was driving home the point that Elliot needed to do well in London. That it would define his Olympic chances, and possibly the rest of his life.
Still, he knew he was done for today. He slowed to a stop, the cold air biting at his damp skin as he nodded and began the long walk back to the hotel, the crunch of melting snow underfoot echoing in the quiet morning. Anders took off on his bike again to catch up to Jennings, whose run was progressing exactly as planned, because everything always seemed to work out for Jackson Jennings, didn’t it?
Elliot tossed his room key, phone, and towel onto one of the loungers near the edge of the pool. As much as he was convinced Anders was wrong, and that he was just stressing about Olympic selection and all the other shit in his life, a swim did sound nice. The low-impact workout would be the perfect addition to his training.
He pushed off the edge and did four laps of rapid freestyle. Nobody would ever mistake him for an Olympic-calibre swimmer, but he knew what he was doing, and he always likedto push his body to its limits. It was more fun when there was someone to compete against, though. That was what he loved most about running—the competition. Even with all the other shit that surrounded it, he lived for it. The way all those hours he put in on his own amounted to real gains against other competitors. There was something immensely satisfying about passing another runner in the last couple hundred metres of a marathon.
Especially when that runner was Jackson Jennings.
His brain had betrayed him yet again, latching on to the thought of Jennings and refusing to relinquish him. It was like he was in a constant loop of Jennings, picturing him in his ridiculous plaid pyjamas, thinking of how to beat him, how to get a rise out of him, cataloguing his every move. When Jennings had said he didn’t think of him enough to consider him an enemy, Elliot had wanted to call him out for the blatant lie. Because there was no way. There was no way someone who occupied so many of his own thoughts wasn’t spending at least as much time thinking about him.
Elliot swam for another half hour, pushing his body as hard as he would in any other training session. Satisfied and having let the burn in his muscles chase away at least some of the worries plaguing him, he pulled himself out of the pool.
A low whistle echoed in the cavernous space, and Elliot startled. He’d thought he was alone.
But there he was: Jackson Jennings, strolling across the pool deck in tiny green swim trunks that left exactly nothing to the imagination, ridiculous thigh tattoo on display.
“That’s a sight I could get used to,” Jennings said as he slid down next to Elliot, submerging his feet in the pool. “You doing ok?”
“I’m fine,” Elliot replied, perhaps more sharply than he’d intended.
“Relax, Owens. It’s not a come-on.”
Elliot ignored him. “Anders shouldn’t have called my run.”
“If you’re coming down with something though—” Jennings started.
“I’m not,” Elliot snapped. “It’s stress. Because some of us still have to work for our place on the Olympic start line.”
The grin fell away. “Right. Whereas I got handed it.”
Elliot nodded. “Exactly.”
“You think I don’t deserve the place? Join the fucking club,” Jennings said with a glare. “But I’ve got it, and you know we’ll be lining up together in August, so maybe try being less of a dick and treating me like a teammate.”
“We aren’t, though,” Elliot replied. “Not yet.”
Jennings rolled his eyes. “You finishing up, or do you have time for a race?”
Elliot smirked. “I always have time to wipe the floor with you.”
“Perfect,” the arsehole replied right before executing a perfect racing dive into the pool. “Did I mention I swam competitively for ten years?” He laughed.
“You fucking didn’t,” Elliot replied.
Elliot knew everything about Jackson Jennings’s history in athletics; there was no way he’d have missed something like that. He was almost certain.
Jennings splashed him and shrugged. “One way to find out. Hundred metre freestyle. Loser buys breakfast tomorrow.”
“You’re on,” Elliot replied, sinking into competition mode.
They took off from the wall, hands slicing through the water. It was obvious the line about swimming competitively had been nonsense, but he was good. Faster than Elliot, anyway.
When Elliot touched the wall on his fourth length, Jennings was already finished. Grinning at him like he’d taken the bloody Olympic gold. Elliot didn’t have time to stew in his loss, though, because Jennings had slung an arm around his shoulders andpulled him close. It was the most platonic, buddy-ish gesture anyone had possibly ever made towards Elliot, but he couldn’t quite convince his body of that when he could feel those hard dorsal muscles pressed to his side and smell the mix of chlorine and pine on Jennings's skin.
“I heard there’s a great little café in town. We can head there early for breakfast. Get out of the hotel for a bit,” Jennings said.
“Whatever.” Elliot glowered, pulling away and pushing himself up out of the pool.
