Head turned to me as well, he shrugs. “Languages are like puzzles, and I’ve always liked puzzles. Math, science, space, languages, I like figuring things out.”
I mull this over. “Is that why you work at NASA?”
“Mm-hmm.” His eyes track to the side. “Now, yes.”
Before I can ask what he means by “now,” he throws me for a loop.
“That’s one of the reasons I didn’t go to the Olympics. There wasn’t much else for me to figure out.” Looking back up at the ceiling, he puts his hands behind his head, like he didn’t just drop an information bomb.
I sit up, knocking pillows out of place. “I’m sorry, you were in theOlympics?”
Frowning, he looks over at my shocked expression. “You didn’t know?”
Feeling oddly guilty, I pout. “Apparently there is a lot I don’t know about you.”
He smiles, but it’s sad. “There’s a lot I don’t know about you either, so I guess that’s fair.”
I concentrate on rearranging the pillows. “You know more than anyone else,” I offer.
His smile warms a bit. “That’s something, then.”
I pat a pillow into place before flopping back down, facing him. “And since you know about my secret job and college courses, it’s only fair I know about Olympian Ian Kincaid.”
He shakes his head. “Not Olympian.”
I wait him out, the light from the TV highlighting his sharp jawline.
He lasts about twenty seconds before he sighs, giving in. “I swam competitively since high school. Did water polo as well as swim team.” He shrugs. “I’m built for it, so that helped. And I didn’t want to chance concussions with football, soccer, or hockey.” His brow furrows, as if thinking of something. “Plus, the extracurriculars got me out of the house after school and on weekends.”
I keep the question that pops up from that confession to myself.
“Anyway,” Ian says, clearing his throat. “Like I said, I was built for it, and the science teacher doubled as the swim coach. He told me all about the physics of being a swimmer. Figuring out the proper technique to reduce frontal drag in the water. The perfect angle of your hands and the degree of separation between your fingers all work together to propel a swimmer faster. It was fun trying it out. Doing the math and seeing results on the score board.”
“Wow. I never knew sports could be so mathy.”
His eyes crinkle at the corners. “Mathy?”
It’s my turn to shrug. “A Rose-ism.”
He nods, grinning. “Yeah, that sounds about right.”
We’re quiet for a few minutes before I risk a question. “So you didn’t go to the Olympics because you figured out the math?”
“Well, no,” he admits, eyes on the TV, the trailer for the Korean drama stuck on replay as we talk. “I was going to go, but the scholarship I received from MIT couldn’t be deferred. I had to choose between Olympics and grad school.”
I bite my lip, but I still can’t help but ask, “But why did you need a scholarship? I, uh, thought your family was—”
“Rich?”
When I nod, embarrassed, he smiles. “What, you can call me rich boy but not actually talk about my money?”
“Oh hush.” I huff, curling up under a blanket. “That’s different.”
He tucks the corner of the blanket under me. “If you say so.” He sighs once more at my expectant look before fixing his gaze to the ceiling. Like it’s easier for him to share that way.
I get that.
“My father wouldn’t pay for MIT. He wanted me to continue on at Harvard and go to law school. So I applied without him knowing. A week before the semester started, I told a local reporter about it and had it printed in the paper before telling my dad. That way my father couldn’t pull any strings and get my scholarship revoked.”