Deep End: A Bad Boy Sports Romance (18 page)

“See you there,” says Anchor, his voice sounding beyond
melancholy
.

“Love you,” I say, as a way of a goodbye, but he’s already hung up the phone.

I can’t believe I’m off the team. Well, on the team, but
essentially
off it. I’ve never even he
ard of anyone getting kicked of
f the team.
Not e
ven
Rugman
, who was a senior when I was a freshman, and he was absolutely notorious for causing trouble at every possibl
e occasion. Even
Rugman
didn’t
get kicked off the team, or put on
permanent
sideline status.

Normally I just wear my swim team pants around campus a
l
l the time, no matter what. But I don’t feel like wearing them right now. Instead, I change into some old torn up jeans in my room, and leave the swim house to meet Allison.

I could tell she was
trying
to cheer me up on the phone. And I appreciated i
t at the time, even if I wasn’t
able to express that.

But walking across campus, no
t bothering to walk
on the path, the ends of my jeans getting wet in the dew on the grass, I start to change my mind about her.

I was sure I was in love with her just a few hours ago when I woke up. But now… I don’t know. I just don’t know.

There’s anger boiling up inside me. Coach and Spellman
stirred
it up yesterday with the shit they pulled. But was it really their fault? After all, coach is just
being
the
ornery
bastard he’s always been. And Spellman was just being his little snitch self. He just can’t
help
himself. After all, he’s my teammate, and
that’s
a pretty God Damn close bond, no matter how much we hate each other. He deserved to be punched out, though. I’m not sorry about that in the least bit.

But Allison… Why did she rush into the
locker room
and demand that I fuck her the
n and there? Couldn’t it have waited? If she’d just had a little more
self-control
, I wouldn’t be in this mess at all. Hell, a few nights ago, she was paranoid about anyone finding out about us, and yesterday she decided she needed to fuck m
e right in the middle of a swim meet
, with the
Olympic
scout there and everything.

Doesn’t
she understand how much the
Olympics
means to me?

I mean, sure, I can understand why she wanted to fuck me. What girl on campus
doesn’t? I’
ve already fucked most of them, and th
e rest only pretend they don’t
want
me. But I know better. I’m Anch
or, after all, captain of the swim team, the only important sports team the campus has ever had. And I’m headed to the Olympics—e
veryone knows that. Who doesn’t
want to fuck a future Olympian?

I see Alison sitting there alone. She’s already gotten herself some
breakfast
, and her plate is piled high with waffles,
covered
completely in maple syrup. For a moment, I regret thinking badly about her, thinking that it’s
all her fault. She looks so swee
t sitting there, so perfect. Her hair is coming down one side of her head, making her
look
something like a princess from a cartoon movie.

“Hey,” she says, waving me over.

I come down and sit across the table from her with my own waffles.
Despite
me bei
ng a swimmer, and we’re notorious
for eating more than anyone else, her plate is
actually
stacked
higher than mine.

“I guess you
’ve
got to fuel that big brain of yours,” I say, gesturing towards her waffles.

She makes a little face, like she’s hurt. I forgot for a second that
women
c
an
be sensitive about what they eat, no matter how
beautiful
they
already
are. They seem to always think I’m commenting on their weight,
their
past weight, or their future w
eight
. Wow, aren’t there any
topics
that are safe to talk about
.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” I say. “It’s the most important meal
of
the day, anyway. I’m glad to see you’re eating a big breakfast.”

“So any updates since we talked on the phone?”

“No, why would there be?” I notice my voice takes on an unsavory
edge to it, which I don’t intend
.

“I’m just asking,” she says, obviously
upset
. Her face turns into a frown and her eyes narrow, as her brow lowers.

How has this happened? Sure, I was mad at her when I was
w
alking over here, but that completely passed
when
I saw her sitting here, looking so beautiful. How did I let that edge creep into my voice? Why did I let the anger come over me again? I can feel it building up in my chest, and I’m
partially
a
ware that it’s not something Allison is do
ing, but in the moment I don’t
care that I’m the source of my own anger.

“If you hadn’t wanted to fuck me so badly, none of this would have happened,” I say, blurting out the words wi
thout really thinking about them
.

“So that’s what you think of me?” she says, anger coming into her voice, too. “
You
think
I’m just some slut who can’t keep away from your perfect body? And you
t
hink I ruined everything for you? You’re going to blame me for possibly losing your spot on the Olympics, when you were the one who punched out that Spellman kid?”

I’m so angry I can’t
even speak. I open my mouth to talk, but nothing comes out.

I pick u
p my tray and stand up. I don’t
quite know what I’m doing. I slam my tray down on the table, and turn on my heel and walk
swiftly
out of the room.

How was it that I was so able to keep calm when the
coach was screaming at me, but
cute
little
Allison is able to make me so mad I can barely control myself?

“It’s because you love her,” says a little voice in my head. “And you’ve never loved the coach. At least not like Spellman
does
.”

Whatever.

I’m headed back to the swim house. I walk inside, and no one’s here. They’re probably all finishing
practice now and heading to breakfast together.

I open the door to my room and slam it as hard as I can behind me. The door shakes in the frame, and bits of paint come flying off the wall above.

Whatever. It’s not like I’m going to have
to
pay damages.

“What the hell man?
” says Dave, turning his head away from his computer.

I grunt something, and flop down on my bed.

“You interrupted a pretty good session, man. I don’t think I can even finish now. You should see this new chick I found on the
internet
.”

“I fuc
king hope you don’t
want to finish now that I’m in
the same room. That’s fucking
disgusting
, Dave. Don’t you have anything to do but watch
porn all day? Why aren’t you eating with the team?”

“Didn’t feel like it,” says D
a
ve, his concentration glued once again to his computer.

“You heard I was kicked off the team?” I say
,
my head turned towards the wall, away from Dave.

He still has
the sound on the computer turned on, and I can hear the porn star making incredibly unrealistic
squealing
noises. No woman sounds like
that
, no matter
how hard
their
coming. If anyone would know, after all, it’
d be me, after all. Who else has been with more chicks, and who else can please them like I can?

Dave doesn’t
answer.

“Turn that fu
cking thing off, man,” I say, my voice sounding almost as angry as when I was talking to Katy.

“What’s your problem, Anchor? You’re not kicked off the team. Coach will
probably
calm down and put you back in the relay at least. We’re not going to win with
out
you. I don’t know what you’re worried about.”

“I’m not worried about anything,” I say, lying, my voice full of rage. “But this
isn’t
just a hobby for me. This
isn’t
just a way to get girls I couldn’t otherwise get, like it is for you. I can get all the girls I want, whether or not I’m on the swim team.
This is my life. It’s going
to
be my life. And I don’t need some pathetic college coach fucking it up for me, or that asshole Spellman.”

“Things
aren’t going well with Allison or something?”

“No,” I say.

I don’t
know why Dave isn’t
catching
my anger. I almost want nothing more than to fight him right now, and without realizing
it, I’m doing my best to pick
a fight with him. But it’s just not working. It’s never been that hard before. I don’t know what’s going on.

“Tell me about it, then,” says Dave, finally shutting his laptop.

The noise of the porn
fades away, and I can feel myself calming down a little for some reason.

“What are you, a therapist or something?”

“We’ve been doing therapy workshops in my psych 101 class. I’m learning how to talk to people about their problems.”

“Fucking
nerd,” I say.

“Just tell me about what’s going on. I know this isn’t
how we normal
ly
talk, but tell me about it.”

“I can’t
believe
you’re talking like this,” I say. “You’re talking like a chick.
Worse than a chick.
Even Allison doesn’t talk this way.”

“Well maybe you should be having this conversation with her, then,” says Dave, looking quite comfortable in his fake-sage
-like
demeanor.

“Whatever, man, let’s just get drunk or something.
”

“It’s like 8 in the morning,” says Dave.

“Whatever,” I say.

I get up off the bed and start rooting around through the horrible mess on the floor. Th
ere are
half-wet towels, with mold
on them.
There are
balled up swim briefs
and a mess of broken gog
gles. Underneath it all, there are
some cheap beers that were never drunk. I take three or four of them back to my bed, and crack one open, sitting with my feet draped across my desk. On the desk, there’s a huge pile of school papers I’ve barely looked at all semester.

“Here, take one,” I say, throwing Dave a beer.

He catches it, and then shrugs his shoulders before cracking it open. “What the hell,” he says.

“There we go!” I say. “There’s the old Dave!”

Dave gives me a wink and til
t
s the beer all the way back, draining the container in ab
out ten seconds flat. I toss hi
m another one before he’s even done, and he
expertly catches it
one handed and cracks it open.

I’m finished my first now, and break out the second.

“We’ve got to get some more beers,” I say.

“It’s Monday, dude, don’t
you have like class and stuff?”

I shrug my
shoulders
and keep drinking, taking a big sip.

I’m not even that mad at him. Despite the way he treated me, I realize now I’m going to forgive him for almost anything. Well, this is what I’m telling myself. I’m not admitting to myself that I’m pretty furious with him. There was no reason to get angry with me after all.

I think part
of me blames myself for putting
him in this debacle with the coach. If I
hadn’t
want
ed
to jump his
bones
so b
adly at the meet, this wouldn’t
be happening. That’s what they told us in my freshman psych class—that when you feel guilty
about something, you’re more
likely to react with anger.