realized.”
“Watching it on TV has nothing on being here live, for sure,” Jemma agreed.
“What’s the next race?” he asked, like he was some sort of junkie and couldn’t wait to experience the rush again. Which might not be all that far from the truth.
Jemma consulted her schedule and he was just as fascinated by play of the lights across her face as he was by her words. “Semifinal of the women's’ 100 meter butterfly,” she said, glancing up.
She’d caught him staring, and he knew it because she flushed.
It reminded him of all the other spots on her pale skin she flushed when she was excited, and he had to reign in his mind from going too far down into the gutter because they were in a public place, surrounded by about 50,000 other people, and he had no idea how long it would be before they’d be able to get back to the hotel.
Gabe had always prided himself on his iron self-control, but it had never been harder than it was right now.
“Are there any Americans in the race?” he asked, more to distract himself than an actual desire to know. After all, they’d find out very shortly as the competitors were announced.
“Two,” Jemma said, her voice taking on a hint of strangeness that he couldn’t identify. Nerves, maybe? But that didn’t make any sense, because she hadn’t been nervous at all for the first race. “Kimber Holloway and Dana Verdant.”
Neither name sounded particularly familiar to him, but he filed them both away just in case either came up again. He considered asking her, but the competitors were being announced.
The race started and ended so quickly—mere seconds it felt like, even though it was nearly a minute—that his heart seemed permanently lodged in his throat and he couldn’t even breathe during it. Jemma was even more nervous than him, literally sliding to the edge of her seat and hanging onto it with white-knuckled fingers.
But whoever it was that had made Jemma so nervous, she appeared to be really pleased and relieved when both Kimber and Dana made it through to the final the next day.
“Too bad we don’t have tickets,” Jemma said, clearly disappointed. “We’re headed to a volleyball match tomorrow night.”
“Well, I didn’t think swimming would be this cool,” Gabe admitted, “so maybe volleyball will be equally cool.”
Jemma raised a dubious eyebrow, but didn’t say anything, and they moved onto the next race.
Two hours later, they walked out of the Aquatics Center and Jemma let out a gusting breath. “I feel like I swam a marathon,” she admitted with a laugh. “That was really fun, but super stressful.”
Gabe considered asking her what she’d found so stressful about the evening. It had been exciting and tense at moments, sure, but since he wasn’t particularly invested in any of the outcomes, he hadn’t been worried about who would win.
“Are you worried there won’t be any good material for your stories if American athletes don’t win?” he asked as they walked toward the tram.
Jemma gave a distracted shake of her head and eyed the growing line outside the tram headed to their hotel. “What’s around here?” she asked. “Maybe we could grab some food and . . . wait for the crowds to clear?”
“Not a fan of repeating the ride here?” he asked, smiling.
She shot him a rather dirty look, full of heat. “Well . . .” she hesitated, “maybe parts of it?”
She asked it like it was a question, like it might not be something he’d be 100% into repeating. Over and over again. As many times as possible. She made his blood simmer with just one shy but undeniably sly glance in his direction. He might be embarrassed at how much he wanted her, if she didn’t seem equally eager.
“We could even take a taxi back,” Gabe said casually, like he had only passing interest in reaching the hotel quicker after dinner.
She pondered, like it was even a question. “I’m pretty hungry.”
“We could grab dinner near the hotel if
“Watching it on TV has nothing on being here live, for sure,” Jemma agreed.
“What’s the next race?” he asked, like he was some sort of junkie and couldn’t wait to experience the rush again. Which might not be all that far from the truth.
Jemma consulted her schedule and he was just as fascinated by play of the lights across her face as he was by her words. “Semifinal of the women's’ 100 meter butterfly,” she said, glancing up.
She’d caught him staring, and he knew it because she flushed.
It reminded him of all the other spots on her pale skin she flushed when she was excited, and he had to reign in his mind from going too far down into the gutter because they were in a public place, surrounded by about 50,000 other people, and he had no idea how long it would be before they’d be able to get back to the hotel.
Gabe had always prided himself on his iron self-control, but it had never been harder than it was right now.
“Are there any Americans in the race?” he asked, more to distract himself than an actual desire to know. After all, they’d find out very shortly as the competitors were announced.
“Two,” Jemma said, her voice taking on a hint of strangeness that he couldn’t identify. Nerves, maybe? But that didn’t make any sense, because she hadn’t been nervous at all for the first race. “Kimber Holloway and Dana Verdant.”
Neither name sounded particularly familiar to him, but he filed them both away just in case either came up again. He considered asking her, but the competitors were being announced.
The race started and ended so quickly—mere seconds it felt like, even though it was nearly a minute—that his heart seemed permanently lodged in his throat and he couldn’t even breathe during it. Jemma was even more nervous than him, literally sliding to the edge of her seat and hanging onto it with white-knuckled fingers.
But whoever it was that had made Jemma so nervous, she appeared to be really pleased and relieved when both Kimber and Dana made it through to the final the next day.
“Too bad we don’t have tickets,” Jemma said, clearly disappointed. “We’re headed to a volleyball match tomorrow night.”
“Well, I didn’t think swimming would be this cool,” Gabe admitted, “so maybe volleyball will be equally cool.”
Jemma raised a dubious eyebrow, but didn’t say anything, and they moved onto the next race.
Two hours later, they walked out of the Aquatics Center and Jemma let out a gusting breath. “I feel like I swam a marathon,” she admitted with a laugh. “That was really fun, but super stressful.”
Gabe considered asking her what she’d found so stressful about the evening. It had been exciting and tense at moments, sure, but since he wasn’t particularly invested in any of the outcomes, he hadn’t been worried about who would win.
“Are you worried there won’t be any good material for your stories if American athletes don’t win?” he asked as they walked toward the tram.
Jemma gave a distracted shake of her head and eyed the growing line outside the tram headed to their hotel. “What’s around here?” she asked. “Maybe we could grab some food and . . . wait for the crowds to clear?”
“Not a fan of repeating the ride here?” he asked, smiling.
She shot him a rather dirty look, full of heat. “Well . . .” she hesitated, “maybe parts of it?”
She asked it like it was a question, like it might not be something he’d be 100% into repeating. Over and over again. As many times as possible. She made his blood simmer with just one shy but undeniably sly glance in his direction. He might be embarrassed at how much he wanted her, if she didn’t seem equally eager.
“We could even take a taxi back,” Gabe said casually, like he had only passing interest in reaching the hotel quicker after dinner.
She pondered, like it was even a question. “I’m pretty hungry.”
“We could grab dinner near the hotel if
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