Free STROKED LONG by Meghan Quinn Page A

who stands to the side, hip jutted out and slow clapping for me, complete sarcasm rolling off her.
    “You done? I want to catch the end of Bodi’s practice. Come on.”
    Bodi’s practicing? Well, why didn’t she say so beforehand? That lights a fire under my ass.
    “Well then, let’s get going,” I say a little too energetically.
    The pool is closed off for Bodi; he likes to practice without people coming up to him, but Lauren is on the VIP list—she has access to the pool—and directs us through the secret hallways to the pool deck where Bodi’s coach’s voice booms through the four walls, counting off seconds. Stepping through the door, my eyes immediately fixate on Bodi’s arms propelling him through the water.
    “Three, two, one.”
    On one, Bodi’s feet hit the end of the pool to form a perfect flip turn, sending him back down the length of the pool.
    “Earth to Ruby,” Lauren calls out from a bench on the side of the pool. “Come sit down.”
    Yikes, I was totally staring. Acting casual, I traipse to the seat next to Lauren, acting as nonchalant as possible.
    “Five, four, three, two, one,” his coach yells, a stop watch in his hand and a whistle around his neck.
    Once again, Bodi hits the wall and turns back around. I’m mesmerized.
    His broad shoulders span across the lane, his powerful arms all muscular and perfect move him forward, and his back flexes with every flutter kick. As if my body is connected to a furnace, everything heats up from my fingertips to my cheeks.
    “He’s so fast,” I whisper.
    “It’s all he’s known,” Lauren says back. “It’s all he ever does.” There is a hint of sadness to her voice, like she wishes Bodi had a life outside the pool. From the few interactions I’ve shared with Bodi, I can tell he doesn’t do much beside swim. And it all comes back to the one question that’s burning inside me. Why?
    “Kick it up, Bodi,” his coach says. “Three, two, one.” Water splashes and Bodi executes another flip turn.
    “What are they doing right now? Why is his coach counting?”
    “I think he’s doing some sort of endurance thing. Sprinting in the pool. I’ve seen him do this before. Bodi has to hit the wall before his coach finishes his count.”
    “At that pace? I would drown.”
    “Tell me about it. I barely swim as it is, so be grateful I’m here with you.”
    “I appreciate it. I think swimming by myself would have been embarrassing.”
    “Yes. Yes, it would have been.” Lauren pats my leg and then cups her mouth to project her voice. “You got this, Bodi.”
    His coach looks up and winks at Lauren, appreciating her cheer.
    “You can cheer him on?” I ask. “I would think his coach wouldn’t want any distractions.”
    “Not Coach Ed. He’s always welcomed Eva and me to his practices. His parents used to go to almost all his practices so to keep things familiar, we try to come as much as possible, shout some encouragement here and there to show our support. He doesn’t show it, but we know he appreciates it.”
    Why does that hurt my heart so much? There is something about Bodi that runs deep in my bones, that causes me to feel the pain he’s feeling, or the panic, or his awkwardness. It’s as if our bodies are spiritually connected, or at least mine is to his.
    In Target, when he started to panic, I felt every overwhelming ache he experienced—as if experiencing it for myself—and I tried to dispel them with a calm voice and a teasing tone. It seemed to work, especially when I was cleaning up his cut. He didn’t take much time to ditch me once everything was taken care of with his boo-boo—he hated me calling it that.
    “He’s still bleeding from what happened to him years ago,” Lauren adds, sensing my silence. “The only thing driving him forward is his swimming, but that’s going to end soon. He probably has one more go around left in him after this year’s games. But what happens after that? What happens when his routine is