By the time Rory reaches the far end, the other swimmer is already pulling himself up onto the side of the pool. He turns and sits, his legs dangling into the water, and grins as he watches Rory surface. At first, Rory can’t really see the guy—the goggles obscure most of his vision, and the water streaming down his face smears the rest. But he pushes the goggles up onto the top of his head and wipes a hand across his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose, then blows water and air into his palm to clear his senses.
A moment later, he pushes himself up onto the side of the pool, too, and flings his goggles and swim cap to the concrete. “What the f**k do you think you’re doing here?” he growls.
The guy’s grin never falters. “If I’m not mistaken, I think I’m beating you.”
Rory’s blood surge
