Just as I was exiting the gym, Bryn entered. She ran her hands from my chest down to my balls, which she cupped with a smile. “Your house or mine tonight?” She pushed her lithe body against mine and kissed me. I love that lip gloss she wears.
“Mine. Mom’s not doing well, and I want to stay close for as long as I can.”
“Sure thing. What can I bring?”
I wanted to say “condoms and lube”—Bryn had an insatiable sexual appetite—but her teammates were walking by us, and I’d never embarrass her that way. “Just bring yourself. Say eight o’clock?”
She nodded and disappeared inside.
How fucking lucky could one guy get? I was dating the captain of the USA Women’s Gymnastics team, and she was sizzling hot. This was going to be our year. At twenty-one, I was considered old for a gymnast. At twenty-two, Bryn was also supposedly past her prime, but we’d spent our lives dreaming of gold. She was going to the Games for the second time, while this was my first. She said it was all luck, but my mom disagreed. Luck, Mom said, was when skill collided with opportunity.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish