Swimming For Love - A Standalone Novel (A Bad Boy Sports Romance Love Story) (Burbank Brothers, Book #1) Read online

  SWIMMING FOR LOVE

  By Naomi Niles

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2016 Naomi Niles

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  Chapter One

  Alan

  I definitely had a moment as I pulled up in front of the massive, white-washed walls of the house that would be my home for the next few months. The home’s stately charm about was in part due to its large size and sprawling gardens. Even the weather seemed to want to cooperate today. It was a comfortably warm Colorado day, and my limbs ached to be in the water.

  I parked my car and grabbed my bags. The Olympic rings were emblazoned on the front of the door like a good luck charm. I was on the porch steps when it flew open to reveal Langdon standing there in a USA Speedo and oversized glasses. I froze in place, taken aback by the sight of them. Then I burst into laughter.

  “Welcome to the Olympian House for Swimmers,” he said with flourish.

  “You look ridiculous,” I said, trying to curb my laughter as I hauled my bags up the last porch step. “Seriously.”

  “I look sexy as fuck,” Langdon replied without any self-consciousness.

  “It looks like you haven’t grown up since college,” I teased. “Or grown since college.”

  “I’m a shower, not a grower, baby boy,” Langdon replied, flashing his teeth at me.

  I rolled my eyes and thrust one of my bags at him. “Is everyone here?”

  “The whole team.” Langdon nodded. “You’re the last to show up.”

  “And the rooms?”

  “Luckily, I got here early,” Langdon said. “So, you and I have the best room in the house. You’re welcome.”

  Langdon led me up the spiral staircase to the second-floor landing. A long, broad corridor cordoned off into several different doorways.

  “We’re the last room on the right.” Langdon pointed.

  “It’s quiet up here.”

  “The boys are chilling out downstairs,” Langdon replied. “Coach should be here any minute now.”

  Our room was more spacious than I had anticipated. It felt very much like a college dorm with two beds on opposite ends of the room and a massive window in the middle. But there was room to breathe at least.

  “Not bad, right?” Langdon asked, wagging his eyebrows at me. “It’s an improvement from the house we had the last time around.”

  “Definitely an improvement.” I nodded as I set my bags down beside my bed and turned toward the window. “Nice view, too.”

  “That’s why I came early,” Langdon said, removing his eccentric glasses and casting a critical eye on me. “You coming down like that?”

  I snorted. “Are you saying I’m dressed inappropriately or something?”

  Langdon laughed and slipped a pair of shorts on over his Speedo. “Let’s go then, Mr. Modesty. Coach should be here soon.”

  We descended the staircase, and Langdon led me to the back of the house that opened out into what looked like a huge common room. A giant television was surrounded by several chairs and sofas. The backdoors opened out onto a large patio that looked out over the gardens.

  “Hey, guys!” Langdon called, grabbing everyone’s attention. “Our last man has arrived. This here’s my good buddy, Alan Burbank. Alan… this is… well, this is everybody. You boys can introduce your own damn selves.”

  A pitch of laughter went up as a few guys nodded to me in greeting. I spent the next fifteen minutes walking around the room, getting to know the guys. There were twelve of us in total, but I knew that less than half our number would qualify to compete in the Olympics, and that was an optimistic calculation on my part.

  I couldn’t help but suss out the guys as they introduced themselves. Mickey and Daniel looked like strong swimmers, but they both lacked the upper body definition that would push them through the last leg of any race. At six feet tall, Stuart was the shortest in the group, but he looked strong and ambitious. I wrote off Jonathan, Martin, and Devin as too young and too inexperienced. Paul looked like his ego would get in the way of his swimming, but Louis and Kenneth looked like serious swimmers and serious competition.

  “Hey, Alan,” Langdon called. “This is Patrick.”

  He was the last one to be introduced to me, and I could tell immediately that this guy was my real competition. He stood perhaps a half an inch shorter than my own six feet, four inches, and his eyes were trained on me with purpose. He had alarming blue eyes that clashed noticeably with his white-blond hair and his slightly aquiline nose, but it had the effect of making him look serious and intimidating.

  “Alan.” Patrick nodded, and his voice was higher than I had expected. “Langdon told us that you lived like ten minutes away.”

  “Fifteen minutes in traffic,” I responded, trying to keep my tone and the conversation light.

  Patrick made a show of seeming amused, but I noticed that he didn’t smile with his eyes. “You live fifteen minutes away, and you’re the last one to show up? That’ll bode well for the rest of us in the races.”

  Langdon clapped me on the back. “Ha – he’s just trying to lull you guys into a false sense of security. All the more effective when he launches his sneak attack.”

  “His attack?” Patrick asked, with raised eyebrows.

  “You should see him swim,” Langdon continued without a filter. “He’ll drown you in his wake when he blows past you in the water. Seriously dudes… it’s like Jaws and Superman had some fucked-up water baby.”

  “Is that so?” Patrick asked, throwing me an appraising glance. “I guess we’ll have to see ‘Super-jaws’ in action to believe that.”

  “Oh, trust me,” Langdon continued. “He’s freaking unbelievable in the water.”

  “I caught his performance at the last Olympic games,” Patrick said pointedly. He turned his sardonic gaze on me. “You won bronze, didn’t you?”

  “He missed silver by an inch,” Langdon said, jumping to my defense.

  “One inch or twenty… does it matter?” Patrick asked calmly. “It’s still not gold.”

  “That was four years ago, man,” Langdon argued. “His speed has improved drastically. The man’s got some kind of skill.”

  I threw Langdon some serious side eye, but as usual, he was oblivious to any remotely subtle cues. “Let’s not bore everyone with my swimming skills,” I said. “Everyone here has skill, otherwise we wouldn’t be here.”

  “How very diplomatic of you,” Patrick said, flashing me an insincere smile. “Looks like Super-jaws is as modest as he is accomplished.”

  There were a dozen different quips running through my head that I could have thrown at Patrick’s smug face, but I resisted the urge and took the high road. In any case, the conversation was interrupted by the arrival of our coach.

  Mathew Reece had been a talented swimmer in his day and after his retirement eight years ago, at the age of thirty-eight, he had decided to start coaching. We would be the first team he would coach to the Olympics, and the fire burned in his eyes as fiercely as it burned in ours.

  He walked into the center of the room and his brown eyes scanned all of us. “Everyone’s here?” he asked i
n a brusque voice.

  “Yes, Coach,” Jonathan replied.

  “Good.” Coach Reece nodded. “I will not tolerate tardiness. I expect each and every one of you to be ready for training at the allotted time. No exceptions.”

  Patrick threw me a glance at the mention of tardiness, and I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. Apparently, those first few minutes of our introduction had established the tone for our entire relationship going forward. I turned my attention back to Coach Reece.

  “Training will start tomorrow at six o’clock AM,” Coach continued, pacing around the group. “We will spend a minimum of six hours in the pools at the training facility and the rest of our time will be spent on dry training. You will start your day with breakfast and then report to the pools for a warm-up routine. After which hardcore training will begin.

  “You will have a two-hour lunch break at one, and training resumes again at three. I will say it again: do not be late. Training will end between seven and eight. I have a detailed schedule drawn up for each of you that includes pool time and dry training. I expect each of you to stick to your schedules. Any changes or amendments will be made through me, so if you have a problem, you will have to run it by me first.”

  Coach stopped for a moment. It seemed as though he were making eye contact with each of us before he continued. It had the strange effect of making all of us sit up a little straighter.

  “This is not some high school competition,” Coach continued. “This is not some collegiate-level prize that we’re after. This is the Olympics. You are not just representing yourselves out there. You are representing your families and your hometowns. You are representing your country. I expect your behavior to reflect that honor both in and outside the water. Do you understand me?”

  I nodded and the action was mimicked by several of the other guys. It wasn’t just Coach’s words; it was the way he said them. His zeal was impossible to deny, and suddenly I felt the weight of the next few months settle over me. I would need to work hard, and I recommitted myself to doing just that.

  I still felt the sting of the last Olympic games, where I had come in third place in the two-hundred-meter freestyle. I was determined not to experience that feeling again. I had my eye on gold, and I was up against some stiff competition. I glanced over at Patrick, only to find that he was eyeing me from the corner of the common room.

  I turned my gaze away. I wasn’t going to waste my time feuding with another swimmer. If Patrick wanted to expel energy on a rivalry with me, then that was his problem. I was going to keep my head down and my mind focused.

  “All of you here have the potential to take home gold,” Coach continued heatedly. “If that is your goal, then it is a worthy one. But falling short of that goal will not make you a failure. Remember that, and don’t fuck around.”

  A thin laughter ran through our small group, but Coach Reece never smiled. “A few more rules,” he said. “There will be no smoking, drinking, or partying on the grounds. Those vices are behind you now. The women’s compound is a short distance away from here. The training facility is set right in the center of the men and women’s quarters. You are not allowed into the women’s quarters, and no women are allowed in here.

  “Lunch break at the facility will be shared with the female swimmers, and I expect all of you to behave yourselves. I want all of you here to keep clear heads throughout the next few months, and nothing messes with a clear head faster than a beautiful woman. So, save your romantic entanglements for after the games. Is that clear?”

  I could feel the energy in the room dilute slightly as Coach rattled off the rules of the house. Apparently, we weren’t going to be allowed any distractions, and that that wouldn’t sit well with many of the guys.

  “Of course, Coach,” Langdon piped up confidently. “Crystal clear. No parties, no booze, and no women.”

  I glanced over at Langdon, and he met my gaze. He flashed me a smile that clearly said he had no intention of being quite so acquiescing.

  Chapter Two

  Jessica

  “Jessica?” my mother called as I was descending the steps.

  I popped my head into the kitchen at the sound of her voice. “Hey, Mom. You called?”

  “Dinner’s almost ready,” Mom replied with her back to me. “Can you ask Dad to join us, please? He’s in his den.”

  “Sure.” I nodded as I made my way to Dad’s den, which was nestled in one corner of the house with windows that faced our backyard. The small space was filled with shelves upon shelves of thick, leather-bound law books that held no interest for me. The unspoken rule of the house was that everyone had to knock before entering the den. I stood outside and knocked twice.

  “Yes?”

  I opened the door and poked my head inside. “Hey, Dad. Dinner’s ready.”

  He was sitting behind his desk with his spectacles low on his nose, reading through a massive book with gold lettering on the front. He looked up at me with the green eyes that he had passed onto me. “Good. I was starting to get hungry.”

  He set aside his book, removed his spectacles, and we walked into the kitchen together. He sat down immediately, and I set the table while Mom transferred the potatoes and carrots from their pans into little ceramic bowls. Once the chicken was set down in the center of the table, Mom and I took our seats and Dad started serving out portions of food.

  “The chicken looks different today,” Dad observed as he passed me the bowl.

  “I tried a different recipe today,” Mom replied, a little nervously. “I used a special honey barbeque glaze.”

  “I’m sure it’ll be delicious, Mom,” I said, offering her an encouraging smile. “It certainly looks and smells wonderful.”

  “I’m glad.” Mom nodded as I tried to pass her the carrots. She was looking nervously at Dad, waiting for his reaction to the first bite. He chewed slowly, a thoughtful expression on his face before he finally swallowed.

  “Well?” Mom asked. “What’s the verdict?”

  “It’s quite decent,” Dad replied. “And it goes well with the vegetables.”

  It wasn’t exactly stellar praise, but Mom glowed under Dad’s approval. Satisfied that he was at least reasonably happy with his meal, Mom turned to me. “So, darling… are you excited about starting practice tomorrow?”

  “Of course.” I nodded immediately. “Very excited. I’ll be with a new group of girls this time around, so I’m looking forward to meeting some new people.”

  “Is that really all you’re excited about, Jessica?” Dad asked, fixing me with his penetrating gaze.

  “Well… no,” I said quickly. “Of course not. I mean, there are other things to be excited about.”

  “Hmm… like what?” Dad asked challengingly.

  “Well… I’m looking forward to visiting Brazil,” I said honestly. “It’ll be a completely new experience for me.”

  “Really, Jessica,” Dad replied, shaking his head as though he were disappointed with my answer. “This experience should be about more than visiting Brazil and meeting new people. This is your opportunity to show the world what an accomplished swimmer you are. This is your chance to show the world how hard you’ve worked and how far you’ve come. This is your chance to finally win gold for your country.”

  “I… well, that goes without saying,” I replied, trying to wriggle myself out from underneath my father’s judgment. “Of course, you’re right, those are the most important things.”

  Dad’s voice got low and sage, the voice he used whenever he felt like something was important and he wanted me to take it seriously. “Parties and friends are a temporary high, Jessica. Trust me; when you’re old and gray, those things won’t matter. What will matter are your accomplishments, your life’s work, and the legacy you leave behind.”

  “I understand, Dad,” I said softly, taking a bite of chicken.

  He was watching me closely, trying to decide if I had gotten the message or not. I met his gaze for a moment, and he nodded a
t me. “I just don’t want you distracting yourself with frivolous pursuits.”

  “I know that, Dad,” I said, looking down at my plate.

  Mom looked between the two of us. Then she reached out and patted my shoulder. “She’s only twenty-three, Fred. She’s been in training since she was six. It’s normal for her to want to let off a little steam now and again.”

  My father’s lips pursed instantly, and I knew he disapproved. “Really, Lucille? She’s an Olympic swimmer. You need to take a more serious attitude toward her profession.”

  Mom looked a little abashed, but she covered it up with a smile. “I do take it seriously. I think a little balance might do her some good though…” She trailed off at the look on Dad’s face.

  “Balance?” Dad repeated. “This is not the kind of sport that leaves a lot of room for balance, Lucille.”

  I hated when Dad adopted that tone of voice. It made me feel like a child, and I wondered if Mom felt the same way.

  “You’re right, dear.” Mom nodded as she turned back to her plate. “I just don’t want Jessica to miss out on things because she’s so busy with training.”

  Dad smiled. “Trust me, Lucille, Jessica won’t ever regret missing out on parties and friends. What she will regret is missing out on gold at the Olympics. I’m just trying to make sure that never happens. I would never have come this far if my father hadn’t pushed me. Now it is my duty to make sure Jessica lives up to her potential.”

  “You have worked very hard.” Mom gazed at my father. It amazed me that after twenty-six years of marriage, she could still look at him as though she were seeing him for the first time.

  “Yes, I have worked hard.” Dad turned his eyes on me. “Nothing in life comes easy, Jessica. Work ethic is all a man has sometimes. And when you let petty things distract you, you will take twice as long to achieve your goals.”

  “I know, Dad.” I tried to keep the annoyance out of my tone. “I’ve known since I was six and I realized how much I loved to swim.”

  “That’s my girl,” Dad replied with approval. “You’re going to win this time. If you stay the course, keep your focus, and work hard, you’re going to win.”