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Truth was, I was getting in my own head.
I knew I needed to rest my shoulder and after going at it hard for nearly an hour, I went to the showers to wash off the chlorine.
The changing room was misty, so at first I wasn’t aware of Ciaran.
I’d had the space to myself ever since Dante left home, so it never occurred to me to conform to modesty.
Honestly, I could have alerted Ciaran earlier than I did, but I shamelessly enjoyed his heated gaze on me, especially when he zeroed in on my crotch.
Ciaran had to lift his jaw from the floor.
I saw the flitting emotions cross his face. It was clear he was debating his options.
I figured it was best not to acknowledge it but I didn’t move to get dressed, either. So much for avoiding Ciaran. I was playing with fire.
“Going to do laps?” I asked.
Ciaran’s throat bobbed. “Is that going to be a problem?”
Seeing Ciaran partially clothed? Yes, that was going to be a problem.
“No,” I lied. “What’s your stroke?”
“Freestyle. You?”
“Individual medley,” I answered. “But I’m partial to butterfly.”
“Fascinating,” Ciaran deadpanned.
I wanted to laugh as it was clear he’d gotten over the shock of seeing me naked. He shoved past me and stacked his clothes on the bench near the short wall of lockers. Without a backward glance, he started changing into his swim gear. He didn’t have competition briefs, but instead wore regular swim trunks.
I didn’t stare, but I caught a glimpse of his tight ass before he yanked up the swim trunks.
Instead of changing back into my regular clothes, I stepped into my swim briefs.
“What are you doing?” Ciaran asked, looking over his shoulder.
“I want to check your game. I’ll take a few laps with you.”
It wasn’t like he could stop me, so I didn’t expect him to really protest. What would he do? Order me to leave my own pool?
He jumped in the shower to wet himself down before getting into the pool.
“What happened last night?” Ciaran asked. Together, we left the changing room and came to the edge of the pool. “Did you bring me back to my room?”
I’d been dreading the question.
“What do you remember?” I probed.
He gave me a dirty look. Ciaran knew I was feeling him out first before answering.
“I don’t remember much, Matthias. My knuckles are bruised and you have a busted lip. Either the U.S. Customs and Border Protection agency ambushed us last night or you pissed me off enough to punch you.”
I offered him a smile. “Which scenario would you prefer?”
Side by side, we dove into the water, and when we broke the surface, Ciaran said, “Punching you would definitely make my day, Matthias.”
Water droplets hung on his eyelashes and I was momentarily speechless.
