Page 153 of Beyond the Stroke

The pool echoes with the slap of water as Coach Owens calls out the start of the next set.

Diving in, I pull hard through the first hundred meters, before my thoughts drift again to the look on Summer’s face when she showed me the closet of Coveys.

Her paintings.

Her heart on canvas, layered in brushstrokes she’d hidden from the world.

From me.

It had hit me like a wave. Not just the fact that Summer was the Covey artist, but that she’d trusted me enough to reveal herself.

I surface at the end of the lane and pull my goggles up, blinking water away.

“Shields! You’re missing the interval,” Coach Owens barks.

Fuck.

There’s no time to rest, so I adjust my goggles, then push hard off the wall to start the next interval, determined to catch up.

My head is all over the place. Summer’s reveal isn’t the only thing messing with my emotions.

With each stroke, images from last night flash through my head.

The way Summer had trusted me to play with her. How pretty she looked when she came around that paintbrush deep inside her.

The sight of her lips wrapped around my cock. And the way she’d called me a “good boy.” My chest squeezes at the recollection.

Then, after she’d revealed her art to me, we talked over a late dinner before I carried her into the shower and washed her body. Scrubbing away flecks of paint on her arms and neck before I buried my face between her thighs again.

Waking up this morning with Summer’s sleep warm body wrapped around mine made it nearly impossible to get out of bed. Beneath the covers in the early morning light, we’d teased and explored each other again. I’ll never get enough of her.

With my fingers buried between Summer’s legs and my mouth around her nipple, my eyes happened to catch the time on the alarm clock.

At that moment I had to choose. Either leave my wife unsatisfied or be late to practice.

So, I was late to practice.

And I’m never late.

It was only ten minutes, but it was noticeable. The rest of the team had already started their dry-land exercises when I made my appearance on the pool deck, and I’ve been struggling to catch up ever since.

The more concerning issue was the moment I woke up with Summer curled into my chest and I’d wondered what it would be like to skip my alarm. I’d let my mind explore a life that didn’t involve early morning wakeups, three practices a day, and a schedule jam packed full of meetings, appointments, and appearances.

There were a few times during my injury rehab that I wondered if I’d get the privilege of keeping my rigorous schedule. The idea that I might not be able to have it is what kept me going. I’d fought my way back to it, determined to not let anyone tell me when I was done with my swimming career. Maybe that’s the difference. Now, having Summer in my life, knowing she supports me, is making the idea of life after swimming not as terrifying.

It’s with the thought of what Summer and I could be that surges me into the home stretch of the final set.

I glide into the wall and look up to find Logan and Eli hanging on the ropes on either side of my lane.

Logan’s there grinning as he shakes water from his hair. “Whoa. Did Captain Consistency miss his send-off?”

“Or maybe he’s just distracted.” Eli smirks. “You okay, man? Blink twice if you’re thinking about your fake wife again.”

I’m busted, and I can’t even be mad about it.

I wipe water from my face and try not to smile. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah, you’re fine. That was the slowest set of hundreds I’ve seen you do since…ever.”

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