Personal Best: Going for the Gold Page 3
"Yeah. Food's great, nice atmosphere."
"Do I need to put my jeans on? I have some in my bag."
"Wouldn't hurt.” He got another once-over from Coach. “Not that you don't look good the way you are."
Blushing dark, he rolled his eyes and grabbed his jeans, changing right there in the front seat, hoping to hell Coach didn't notice his stiffie.
Coach was quiet the rest of the trip, pulling into the parking lot of Ruth Chris’ soon enough. “We're here."
"Cool.” He dared to grin over, tease. “If I'm lucky, they only have booze and Dr. Pepper to drink."
Coach laughed, coming around to open the door for him. “They're bound to have at least water."
He stood up, Coach close enough that their bodies bumped, rubbed. “Let a guy have his fantasies, man."
"I never said you couldn't have fantasies either.” Coach's voice was a little rough.
"Oh, good.” He let himself have a long look, admiring everything about that strong, square body.
Coach walked just ahead of him, giving his name to the hostess, smiling when they were seated right away.
The place was cool—brass and dark wood, and it smelled like pure heaven. “Oh, man. I'm starved."
Coach grinned. “Me, too. You can have what you want, no caffeine with your drink though."
"Fried shrooms and dessert?"
"No dessert, kid. All those calories'll have you hyped up enough without adding straight sugar."
"Yesterday the calories from a super burger were going to make me logy...” He grinned. Control freak.
"You need to focus on your swimming more than you need to keep track of why I don't let you eat your junk food."
He started laughing. “Man, I thought one of the good parts of being an athlete was eating whatever you wanted ‘cause you burned it off.” Personally he thought Jessy was doing some weird food experiment.
"Well, yeah, you'll use the calories; the trick is getting those calories to work for you."
"You're something else, Coach.” He ordered the stuffed mushrooms and the steak kabobs.
"I'm just trying to do the best I can by you, Mike. It's all about you.” Those blue eyes looked at him, looked into him, Coach dead serious.
He blushed dark, heart pounding in his chest.
"Never doubt that, Mike. You are the elite athlete, the star. The sponsors, me, Coach Samuels, we're all just here to help you."
He wondered if his parents had felt like this, like him. “Did you ever get to know my folks? They'd have been older than you, but you were swimming juniors when they were competing."
Coach nodded. “Yeah, I remember them. I remember wanting to be just like them.” Coach shook his head. “I didn't have the natural talent. They were amazing. I believe you're even better."
"Did you know my mom lived in West Texas and didn't race until college? She swam in a pond. I was in the pool before I could crawl."
"Not until college? She moved through the ranks fast. I've been curious actually, why you aren't already a household name."
Their waitress brought him milk and Coach a beer, along with his mushrooms and Coach's garlic bread.
"Well, they died when I was eleven, you know? My Aunt Kathy and Uncle Jerry took me in, but Kathy was almost twenty years older than my mom and they didn't have kids. I sorta started racing because Aunt Kathy doesn't believe in Ritalin.” He grinned, offering Coach some mushrooms.
Coach took them and passed over the plate of garlic bread. “So it was more a casual thing?"
"More a tire me out so she didn't beat me to death with my own arms thing.” He took some bread and nodded his thanks. “The Y pool was open seven a.m. to nine p.m. all summer long and when I got home? I slept."
Coach shot him a look. “You swam from seven a.m. to nine p.m.?"
"Laps from seven to nine, free swim ‘til noon. Home for lunch. Free swim from one to five. Swim team five to seven. Laps from seven to nine.” He grinned. “The lifeguard made us get out for ten minutes out of every hour."
"Christ. All that swimming and no one ever figured out how good you were. Well, that's changed. Of course you're in the water almost as much, but you're working for something now."
He nodded. He liked being in the water. Hell, he'd gotten into the practice of slipping down in the middle of the night, just enjoying the dark, the cool, the act of swimming.
"Well, I'm sorry you aren't already an Olympic champion, Mike, but I'm glad we were brought together. It's been awhile since I found someone as committed as you are, who likes to be in the water even more than I want him to be."
"Oh, if you'd found me sooner, I wouldn't have my M-Class license..."
Coach laughed. “Always good to have a silver lining, kid."
He winked, digging into his meal happily, enjoying the hell out of the broccoli and carrots. “Can I have more of these?"
"I don't know, Mike. Those vegetables can be dangerous.” Coach looked so serious, no twinkle in those eyes. Then he caught the twitch of Coach's lips.
"Don't make me kick your butt, Coach.” He ordered more veggies and another glass of milk.
Coach laughed. “I'd like to see you try."
"I'm stronger than I look. All the mucous-ly stuff I eat in the morning."
"Muesli,” growled Coach. “It's muesli.” Coach was putting away his steak like he hadn't eaten in days.
He chuckled, getting back to eating. Making Coach growl was in his top five favorite pastimes.
When he'd finished eating, Coach ordered the cheesecake with caramel sauce.
"You are a mean, evil man."
No soda and no dessert.
Bastard.
"Be nice or I won't share."
"I can be nice. Kinda.” He winked and finished his milk.
Coach laughed. “Well then I guess I can share. Kinda."
"So, can I have anything I want on my birthday?"
"As long as it doesn't fall in the week before a meet or during a meet and no caffeine.” Coach tilted his head. “When is your birthday?"
"Halloween night. Candy, candy, candy.” No way he wasn't having the whole enchilada—burger, fries, chocolate, Dr. Pepper.
"Well you're safe on the meet front, then. But I'm going to limit your candy intake. You can have anything you want, but not in unlimited quantities.” Coach took a bite of the cheesecake and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. “Oh, the cheesecake here is always so damned good."
He swallowed his sigh, his frustration. Every so often, he just wanted to be a normal guy. Dates, cram sessions, movies. Take Bonzo out for a ride. Oh...
"I want to go for a drive tonight. Take Bonzo out before he rusts."
"Can you take a passenger?"
"Sure. You wanna come?"
"I do."
Coach took another forkful of cheesecake and held it out to him. He tried to see a cool way to take the fork, but it was easier to just lean in, tug it right off the fork. Oh. Oh, yummy. Coach was watching him, blue eyes focused on his lips. He couldn't hold in his moan as his tongue slipped out to clean his lips off.
"Christ, kid...” He met those blue eyes, heat flaring in him, and he didn't know if it was embarrassment or need. “You're something else."
He ducked his head, grinned. “Just a guy. Just a seriously under-caffeinated guy."
Coach laughed and the tension between them eased. “You'll live, kid."
Coach finished up his cheesecake, offering him a few bites to help and then the bill was paid and they were headed out again.
"You up for those laps when we get home?"
He tilted his head. “I'm always up for laps, Coach."
Always.
"Excellent."
Coach held the car door open for him, helping him in.
"Thanks for supper. It was so good.” He let himself touch the muscled arm, just once.
Coach nodded and smiled at him. “It was my pleasure, Mike. We'll have to do it again."
"I
'd like that.” It was like a date, except they were going home together. Weird.
Coach nodded and closed his door, getting into the other side and starting the car up, taking him home.
* * * *
Jessy walked around the crotchrocket, shaking his head. Damn thing looked like a bumblebee. A killer bumblebee. Still, he figured if he was riding with the kid, maybe they wouldn't break any speed limits. And if he was honest, the thought of being snugged up against that ass probably had a lot to do with his giving in.
Mike was bouncing, looking good in jeans and a leather jacket. “Coach, Bonzo. Bonzo, Coach. Isn't he sexy? You want the red or blue helmet?"
He chuckled. “As long as it fits, kid."
"Blue. Have you ever ridden before? It's wicked fun.” A helmet was handed over, the red one popped on Mike's head.
Jessy put the helmet on and shook his head. “Nope.” He gave the kid a wink. “I'm a virgin."
"Oooh! I finally get to show you something!” The kid was all energy, bouncing, long thighs straddling the bike. “Come on and get behind me."
He got on behind Mike, hands sliding on the trim waist as he settled in right behind. “Nothing fancy, kid, you've got an old man riding with you."
"Trust me, yeah?” Mike's ass snugged against him. “Hold on tight."
The little bumblebee bike buzzed to life, Mike turning on the lights and roaring out of the drive. His hands were wrapped around Mike's belly, their bodies touching—he was plastered up against the kid. The wind was noisy, pushing past him.
It felt fantastic. All of it.
They drove out toward Lake Travis, buzzing across the dam and up and down the hills, the view stunning. He could see why the kid loved this, though he was freezing; the only parts of him that were warm were the ones snugged up tight against Mike.
"You want to stop at the lake, Coach?” Mike hollered back.
"Sure,” he shouted.
They slowed, winding down the hills, past the Oasis, toward the water. They pulled into an empty parking lot, the moon shining on the water.
He got off the bike reluctantly, already missing the press of Mike's body. “It's gorgeous out here at night."
Mike nodded, smiling wide. “I love riding out here. Makes me want to dive in and just go."
"So let's do it.” A little skinny dipping would help them bond.
"Yeah? Really?” Mike blinked at him. “For real?"
"Why not? We're the only ones here, I bet the water's warm.” God, that was a cute look.
"Okay. Okay.” Mike put the helmet down, shrugged off the jacket.
He pulled off his own helmet and started getting naked.
Mike stripped down, clothes tucked into a saddle bag. The moon loved that skin, loved the lines of muscles. He tried not to stare, but the kid was truly beautiful.
Mike stretched up, twisted, the warm-up motion as familiar as breathing. Fuck, there went his prick. Jessy walked quickly past the kid, sliding into the water, gasping as he hit it—it wasn't that warm.
Mike was right with him, sliding into the water, the moonlight and water gilding that skin.
He swam with Mike, enjoying the view. Watching Mike play in the water was something else. That long body brushed against him, slid away, came back. He laughed, feeling carefree and easy; being naked in the water was always freeing, especially in natural water under the moon.
Mike moved against him, just touching that skin against his own, so smooth. He moved forward, bringing them together again, cock hard, brushing against Mike's warm skin. He was mid-moan before he remembered who he was, who Mike was. Cutting the sound off in his throat, he backed up, turned and swam strongly out toward the center of the lake, just needing some space, needing to give his body something else to concentrate on.
Mike was his swimmer, his responsibility. Not his lover.
The lake was quiet, still, the water lapping at him as he swam out. His ardor faded enough that he would be able to control himself and he turned and headed slowly back, eyes searching for Mike's pale form.
Nothing. Nowhere. He frowned, looking to the shore, toward the bike. What the fuck?
He pulled strongly toward the approximate point where he and Mike had brushed together. No way the kid had trouble swimming, no way. And if Mike'd gotten a cramp or something, he would have called out and Jessy would have heard him.
Jessy had started to panic when Mike's head popped up from about twenty yards out, a purely sexual groan sounding, the kid gasping the air in.
Of all the stupid fucking stunts.
And he couldn't say a word, because suddenly he was hard as stone again and this time a little swim wasn't going to take care of it. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been so turned on.
Biting back his own groan, he got out of the water and quickly dressed, pushing his cock into his jeans and zipping them up, hoping the tightness of quarters would have his erection fading before he had to settle in against Mike's ass again.
Of course, Mike? Loose-limbed and smiling, dressing and chattering, relaxation written all over the kid. No kidding, Mike had come, and pretty spectacularly, too, he guessed.
He cleared his throat, but didn't say anything, just got onto the crotchrocket behind Mike and held on.
"You okay, Coach?” Those dark eyes were huge, moon shining in them as the bike started up.
"Yeah, kid. Just fine.” And if his voice was about five times huskier than usual, well, neither of them mentioned it.
And if his cock never got soft the whole way home, neither of them mentioned that either.
Chapter Three
Oh, man.
Man, he was miserable.
Hamburgers and pizza. Chocolate. Popcorn. More chocolate. One and a half slasher movies.
All of it okayed by Coach, too.
Well, except for the half of a Dr. Pepper, but they were out of Sprite and he was so queasy.
Ben's voice sounded, echoing in the theater bathroom. “Man, you want us to call your coach? Me and Alex are gonna take the girls out to the lake, make sure they're not scared, you know?"
"No, I can take the bu...” Another wave of nausea hit him and he handed out his cell phone. “Fuck. Yeah. Call him."
A couple of minutes later Ben was back. “He's coming. And we'll wait with you until he gets here. Unless you think he was kidding about the yanking off our arms and beating us to death with them if we left you on your own."
If he hadn't been puking up a lung? He might have laughed.
Maybe.
Of course, Coach wasn't kidding.
"He sounds like a real hardass, Mike. You happy working with him?"
He flushed, rested his head against the stall wall. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.” Happier than he'd ever been.
"Better you than me."
"Ben, man, are we going or what? The girls are getting restless."
"No way, we've got to stay until Mike's coach comes to get him."
"What the fuck?"
"Mike's sick, man, we shouldn't just abandon him."
"Just go. I'm okay. I'll be cool."
"Your coach sounded pretty fucking sure of what would happen if we left you, Mike. And he said he'd be here in like five minutes."
"Shit, you are such a mouse, Ben. And an ass licker, always doing what the coach says to do."
Mike shook his head. “I'm not worth having two pissed off girls, Ben. I'm cool. Promise. I won't let Coach kill you."
"Cool, let's go, Alex.” Ben handed him his phone back and he focused on breathing, on emptying every last bit of stuff in his stomach. Happy fucking birthday to him.
It wasn't long at all before Coach was there, that growl filling the bathroom with sound. “Mike? You in here?"
"Uh-huh.” He nodded, sweat just pouring off him.
Coach opened the door to the stall he was in. “Christ, you look like shit. Where the hell are your friends?"
"The girls were getting restless.” He wiped his forehead. “'m okay."
One strong arm went around his waist, supporting him. “You got flu or something, or just overindulged?"
"I didn't have anything you didn't say was cool. Least not until after I got sick."
Coach's eyebrow went up, but he didn't push. Shit, he must really look bad. “I said you could eat what you wanted—if you'd asked my advice, I wouldn't have suggested gorging myself until I was sick. Come on, the car's outside, let's get you home."
He nodded, taking a gulp of the soda and spitting it into the toilet, trying to get the bitter taste out of his mouth.
Grumbling, Coach took the drink and tossed it in the garbage and then pulled him out of the bathroom. “Caffeine's not going to settle your stomach, kid. Not when you've been off it for this long."
"They were out of Sprite, Coach. I didn't have a choice.” He wasn't trying to be difficult.
"You ever heard of water?"
There was a breeze when they got out of the movie theatre, and it felt good against his cheeks as Coach helped him to the car.
"Yep. Guys brought the drink to me."
Coach just shook his head and leaned over him to put on his seat belt. Coach smelled good. Then Coach was getting into the driver's seat and starting the car toward home.
"We've got some ginger ale at home. It should help settle your stomach."
"Oh, cool.” He put the seat back and closed his eyes. “I hate puking."
"You'll notice you haven't done it once on my diet."
"You can't go your whole life without pizza, Coach.” He groaned, the thought of pizza making his stomach cramp.
Coach shook his head. “You can't overindulge either.” One hand reached over, long fingers warm and knowing as they slid over his belly.
"Oh.” He turned toward the touch. Yeah. Better.
Jessy kept up the stroking until he had to turn the car into their driveway.
"How about a hot shower and then a massage? See if we can't find a way for you to enjoy the rest of your birthday?"
"Oh, that would be cool, Coach.” He gave Jessy a sheepish smile. “I didn't try to get sick, Coach. Honest."
Coach grinned at him. “No, I didn't figure you did. And I don't mean to turn everything into an object lesson."