I’ve been drowning my entire fucking life.
I blink, and a tear slips free. I hadn’t even noticed them welling in my eyes.
He’s quick to swipe it away with his thumb, but a few more replace it. He catches those, too, tilting my face up higher.
“Do you remember two years ago what you did with all of my swimsuits?”
My brows knit as I try to recall that memory. It takes several seconds before I can get my brain functioning properly again, but after a moment, I remember exactly the incident he’s referring to.
“You hung up pictures of my dad’s mugshot all over campus,” I croak out. “I couldn’t go anywhere without seeing his face. It sent me into a panic attack.”
For once, he doesn’t look proud to hear that, but I’m too distracted to dwell on it.
“And what did you do to get back at me?”
My voice is shaky and breathless as I say, “I… I offered Matt a hundred bucks to sneak me into your dorm while you were at a meet. I had to pick the lock. I found all your suits and cut holes right over the crotch.”
That was actually how Matt and I met. As sophomores, we lived in different buildings with smaller rooms, Matt only three doors downfrom Dread.
I was lingering outside the building’s entrance, and Matt happened to be the first guy I saw. He was wary of helping me at first, but I eventually convinced him in exchange for money. Except, by the time I broke into Dread’s room, cut up his suits, and came back out, he gave the money back and asked for a date instead.
Apparently, he liked that I had the nerve to do something like that, and I thought he was really cute, so I accepted. It was the first time a guy looked at me with kindness in so long.
But that didn't last forever, of course.
Eventually, his kindness faded to contempt and exhaustion from my constant war with Dread, and I couldn't even blame him.
Dread barely stifles a sneer at the mention of Matt's name. It would appear Dread still hates him, though I don't really understand why. We haven't spoken since we broke up.
“The next meet, I wasn't paying attention and put one of them on in front of the entire swim team, and my dick instantly fell out of it,” Dread says, pulling my focus back to him as he gives me a dry, unimpressed look.
The image has a laugh bubbling out of my throat. I’m picturing what Dread’s face must’ve looked like when he realized; it’s probably one he’ll never make again, and I’m sad I missed it.
He grins, and although my chest is still too tight and I’m trembling violently, my next inhale is a little easier.
“Rogue laughed so hard, he cried. Actually—” He tilts his chin up as he considers something. “—the entire fucking team did. Even more so when I realized I didn’t have any suits with me thatdidn’thave holes cut into them.”
I bite back a smile, but it’s futile. There’s no trapping the impish grin that curls my lips, the tinge of my pride in my chest for effectively ruining his day.
Dread’s stare drops to my mouth, his eyes both softening and heating, like holding a flame to candle wax. My stomach clenches, and my heart quickens for an entirely different reason. Like an idiot, my own gaze drops, and the air between us thickens to stifling levels.
I’ll never admit how often I replay those lips on mine, exploring my body, going to places no one else has gone before, tasting me and giving me pleasure I never knew possible.
But they’ve also spoken some of the cruelest words I’ve ever heard, smiled while I raged and cried. They’ve made me feel good, but they’ve also done an insurmountable amount of damage.
Clearing my throat, I step back out of his hands and drop my stare to the water. It’s only waist-high when standing, but it doesn’t stop my blood from running cold at the sight.
“So, uh, did you have to wear someone else’s?” I ask, my voice splintering at the seams.
I risk a glance up at him, finding his expression impassive and unreadable.
“The only teammate who’s the same size as me wears briefs,” he answers, flicking his gaze down my body before turning and wading a couple of feet away. “The first and only time I’ve worn that style at a swim meet. The media loved it, so they can thank you for that.”
My lips twitch. Dread only ever wears knee-length suits, much to the public’s dismay.
“Glad I could be of assistance,” I quip, though my voice wavers as I become more and more aware of the water. He’s incredibly effective at distracting me, but apparently only when we’re making out—or on the verge.
“Zoomed in shots of my dick plastered all over the internet while thousands of people tried to guess how many inches it is,” he goes on, dropping into a crouch again and pushing off, cutting through the water with ease.
