Free A White Coat Is My Closet by Jake Wells

jog, I bike, and I like to hike and rollerblade. Also, I used to snow ski a lot. In fact, I used to ski professionally. And”—I paused for dramatic effect—“I’m a hell of a swimmer.” I barely got the last words out before I started laughing. “I really am thinking about applying for a job as a lifeguard.”
    He laughed too, then said, “I guess some pool somewhere is going to see an increased body count.”
    I looked at him seriously. “Does that mean you think I should withdraw my application to be on the US men’s Olympic swimming team?”
    “No, don’t withdraw it.” He continued to smile. “They probably need a towel boy.”
    “Hmmm.” I thought contemplatively. “I can think of worse things than working in the Olympic locker room. Where do I apply?”
    He huffed. “I knew the minute I saw you that you were a pervert.”
    I just smiled more broadly. “May I offer you a towel?” After a minute, I said, “Seriously, I also like to read. Murder mysteries are my favorite. I’m a pretty fair cook, and as soon as I live someplace with a yard, I’m gonna get a dog.” I smiled again. “It sounds like a list from a personal ad, doesn’t it? I give up. Your turn. Other than obviously staying in great shape,” I said as I appraised his body again briefly, “what do you do for fun?”
    He flopped back on his chair. “Everything I do is fun. I’m Italian. Life is a party.”
    I was confused. Suddenly his heritage was no longer a dangerous topic. I decided not to press my luck. “That’s not fair. You have to at least give me a partial list. You can’t default by saying ‘everything.’ That’s cheating.”
    He pushed his glasses up to the top of his head captivating me with his amber eyes and offered me a cocky grin. “It’s not cheating if I make the rules.”
    Looking at him made it difficult to concentrate, but I was determined to hold my ground. I replied with unequivocal certainty, “Italian rules are invalid here. We’re governed by the international playbook. If you don’t list at least three things you do for fun, you automatically forfeit, and the medal goes to the American.” I smiled at him expectantly.
    He tried to look indignant for a minute, then returned my smile. “I tease blonds, I’m a swimming judge, and,”—he lay back and pulled his sunglasses back down—“I’m a professional sun worshipper. Is that three?” He assumed a pose of utter relaxation.
    “Yeah, that’s three,” I said with joking defiance. “But I’m still going to contest your answer to the judges. I’m betting you’ll get points off for being too vague.”
    “Okay.” He shrugged. “I tease American blonds.” He rolled his head slightly in my direction. “Is that specific enough for you?”
    “It will still be a violation of the rules unless the blond American gets to know your official name.” It had occurred to me that I could turn our innocent little exchange to my advantage. What better way to learn his name? I teased to be a little more coercive. “Come on, gold medal is on the line. Will the Italian go for the glory or go down in flames?”
    He was undeterred. “I can sit here without saying another word and still take silver. That’s enough glory for me. You can keep the gold, and I’ll even throw in the flames as a bonus.” He rolled back to a more comfortable position and sighed contentedly, as if his triumph had been effortless.
    I had to admire his stubbornness. He sure wasn’t going to allow himself to be backed into a corner not of his choosing. Not wanting to jeopardize the light mood, I resisted pushing him to divulge any more information about himself. I, too, let my head fall against my chair and pretended my teasing had never had an ulterior motive.
    “Too bad,” I said. “Crowd had their money on the Italian. Never figured the blond would capture the gold.” I was quiet for a minute, then felt compelled to throw out one last try.
    “Zack.” I said. “His