“You’re here,” the guy points out.
“I’m supposed to be,” Rory tells him. “I’m on the swim team.”
That damn grin burns brighter, if possible. “Me, too. I’m Chase.”
“I don’t care who you are. This is my time.” Rory scrambles to his feet, water splashing as he stands, and stomps down around the length of the pool to put some distance between them. To cool off. Another minute listening to this i***t and he’s going to hurt somebody.
Rory doesn’t know if the guy’s lying about being on the team or not, and he has no way of finding out until the next practice. Just because Rory doesn’t recognize him doesn’t mean he isn’t telling the truth. It’s early in the spring semester, and the coach was going to hold tryouts over the winter break for fresh blood, as he liked to call it. A few of their old
