Book #3 in the Medley Series
ZEKE MITCHELL:
With the World Championship in swimming approaching and our medley team in better condition than ever, nothing can stop us.
Expect, as the season starts, an old injury rears its ugly head again, potential...
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Zeke points out various attractions on campus as we wander about, trying to find my dorm building.
The map the woman at the housing office gave us is nearly indecipherable, and all the landmarks she listed at a breakneck speed were foreign to Zeke since he's never bothered to take any classes here.
"That coffee shop is great," he says, gesturing to a quaint little café. "It's the perfect pick-me-up after morning swim."
"Isn't caffeine bad for athletes or something?" I ask, eying the way he's carrying my suitcase like it weighs nothing, despite knowing I filled it to the brim with all my shit.
"Psh," he waves me off. "Anyway, here you have-"
Before he can go on, I stop in my tracks, turning the map over once more, almost certain I've figured out which way is up. "Wait, I think this is it."
I squint at the six-story red-brick building before me. It vaguely resembles the blob on the map that the lady circled in a blue marker.
"Huh," Zeke says, scratching his beard, as a smirk blooms on his lips. "Well, isn't that just perfect?"
I check the nameplate on the building, which confirms my suspicion. This is the right place. "What?" I ask absentmindedly.
Zeke releases my luggage to grab me by the shoulders and turn me thirty degrees until I'm facing some sort of facility: half a brick monument and half a sleek extension built entirely of tinted windows that oozes the kind of money colleges throw after sports. "It's perfect because that is the Canham Natatorium."
"The what?"
"God, do you ever listen, woman? It's where I swim every day."
"Oh." I hope he doesn't notice how I go rigid. But he's already hoisting my suitcase up and whistling a false tune as he heads toward the dorm building. It's barely fifty steps from the entrance to the Canham Natatorium.
Shit.
Listen, I'm not an idiot. I knew that choosing to move to the city where my best friend lives would mean seeing him a lot. And enrolling at the college where he happens to train would only amplify our opportunities to see each other. I know all this. It's the reason I came here, after all.
Still, as I realize just how easy hanging out will be, something uneasy twists in my stomach.
It's been about an hour since he picked me up at the airport, and we've slipped right back into old habits. Every time we've seen each other over the past six years, I've thought to myself how it's weird that it doesn't feel weird.
Like it's the most natural thing in the world to be next to each other, despite living in separate countries.
That's not what scares me.
But two weeks from now, or a month or three, when the novelty has worn off, when seeing him becomes routine, and neither one of us is about to get on an airplane, that's when this whole thing turns dangerous.
