Undeterred, Penry shrugged his shoulders. “Somebody had to.”
The next heat was about to begin. The late morning sun glistened through the windows, making Ronan look even more majestic as he stood, bent forward, shoulders bulging as his arms stretched behind him. Michael didn’t think he looked like a swimmer; his muscles were much curvier and not long and lean, his body built more for manual labor than gliding through water. In fact, if he hadn’t seen Ronan race previously, he would have thought Nakano would easily win, but he knew better. And he was right.
From the very first stroke, Ronan commanded the lead and never once faltered. Nakano couldn’t even hope to surpass him. Of course he had an unfair advantage—even without webbed hands and feet—he was a vampire who had just fed, the perfect combination of life and death, almost invulnerable and definitely unbeatable. But he didn’t let any of that spoil his win. He achieved what he wanted to achieve, seeing Michael look at him with an awed expression. “You were incredible.”
“Thank you, Michael.”
“I guess that’s why you’re the captain.”
Ronan wasn’t sure how, but he contained himself and didn’t kiss Michael right there in front of everyone. Instead he quipped, “One of many reasons.”
“Listen up,” Blakeley ordered. “For the second year in a row, Ronan is your team captain.” The loud cheers drowned out Fritz’s snide comment. “The starting team is Ronan, of course, Nakano, Fritz, and Michael.”
He did it; that’s all Michael could think of. He actually attempted something and succeeded. Some of the kids, including Penry, patted Michael on his back, but all he could feel was Ronan’s hand gripping his neck, rubbing up and down a bit until finally he mischievously slapped him on top of the head. Michael let out a shocked laugh. “I can do whatever I want,” Ronan said. “I’m your captain.”
Michael whispered back, “I’ll keep that in mind later tonight.” No one else heard his comment, but Michael didn’t even care. He checked off a goal; he had made the swim team. But then he realized that Ciaran didn’t.
“Team B,” Blakeley announced. “Not as good as Team A, but better than most everybody else, is led by Ciaran, Niles, Alexei, and despite MacCleery’s prediction, Penry.”
Ronan patted Ciaran on the shoulder and teased his brother. “Congrats, mate, you’re better than most everybody else.” Ciaran forced a smile. It was only placement on a team; it wasn’t like it really meant anything. Except that he wouldn’t be practicing alongside Ronan, who was his flesh and blood. He had to once again relinquish that position to Michael. Maybe this was a sign. Maybe it was time to accept his role as second fiddle. Or maybe it was time to take some action.
“Do you have any idea what you’re getting yourself into?”
Michael wasn’t sure what Ciaran was asking him. “I know I’ve never been on a swim team before, but if I keep practicing, I’ll only get better.”
“I’m not talking about the swim team,” Ciaran said. “I’m talking about Ronan.”
If someone had asked Michael something so personal a few weeks ago, he would have found a way to avoid answering. He would have changed the subject or just remained silent, lived inside his head instead of in the real world. But now, he knew he couldn’t run from such questions, and the best way to answer them was directly. “I really like Ronan,” Michael said. “And he feels the same way about me.”
“So you think that you should act upon those feelings so soon?” Ciaran asked. “I mean you hardly know each other.”
“That’s why we’re going out on a date tonight, to get to know one another. And hopefully after a bunch of dates we’ll know each other really, really well.”
There was so much Ciaran wanted to say, but he knew there was no way to begin. “Just be careful, Michael, that’s all I ask.”
Why was this so difficult for him to accept? Michael thought. “And all I ask, Ciaran, is that you give us a chance.”
But what chance could Michael possibly have if he wore the wrong outfit? He looked at himself in the mirror, hated what he saw, and wondered if Ronan was having an equally difficult time trying to figure out what to wear. He doubted it. Ronan always had that relaxed air about him that made it look as if he just reached into his closet and put on the first thing that his hands grabbed. And no matter what he wore, he looked sensational. Michael was desperate to look just as perfect. He hadn’t yet realized that Ronan didn’t care what he wore and probably wouldn’t notice anyway. He was much more interested in looking into Michael’s eyes and watching the way his mouth moved when he talked.
“This might work.” The emerald green V-neck sweater really did accentuate his eyes, and the white T-shirt peeking out underneath made it look more casual and not so formal. His jeans fit well, not too tight and not too loose, and his new black loafers were a better choice than his muddy sneakers. His skin was, thankfully, blemish- free and his hair was simple and loose, the way he thought Ronan liked it. But maybe he should put some gel in it just to give it a lift? No, because if it doesn’t look good, then it’ll be harder to get it back to normal. Michael sighed at his indecision and realized he was thinking way too hard. He sighed even louder when he realized that Ronan had probably been ready an hour ago. He was wrong.
The second after he put the pomade in his hair, Ronan regretted his decision. He rarely used hair-grooming products, partly because he thought his hair looked fine without cosmetic help, but mainly because he felt inadequate applying the stuff. However, he had wanted to do something special tonight for Michael. He quickly realized he’d made a mistake. Or wait, maybe it was just nerves talking.
He ran his fingers through his hair, then pushed down some unruly strands that were sticking up at the sides and then stopped touching his hair altogether. It actually looked good. His hair, pushed back off his face instead of flopping on his forehead, made him look a bit older, kind of collegiate and studious. He liked it. He also liked the way his thin, light blue sweater fell over his muscles, showing off enough but not too much. And his jeans, well, they were just jeans, which meant they were comfortable, which helped him feel a bit more comfortable. Just as he started wondering what Michael would look like, there was a knock at the door, and he wouldn’t have to wonder any longer.
When Ronan opened the door, Michael couldn’t believe his eyes. He actually gets better-looking every time I see him. “Wow, love your hair,” Michael said, cringing at how girly he just sounded.
“Really? I wasn’t sure about it.”
“Yeah, I’m sure. It really, um, looks great. So do you.” Michael tried to stop speaking but couldn’t. “I mean, you know, you, uh, you look great.” And now he sounded like a girl with a speech impediment.
He’s just as nervous as I am, Ronan thought. That’s good. “Thank you.” Just as Ronan was going to invite Michael to come in, he noticed his backpack. “Planning on getting some studying in tonight?”
“Oh no … this contains the contents of our date,” Michael said proudly.
Ronan was intrigued. He crossed his arms and leaned against the side of the door. “In that little bag of yours?”
“Well, laddie, you might call it my li’l bag o’ tricks.”
Ronan laughed and Michael, recognizing a bad pun even when it came out of his mouth, joined in. They only stopped when Ronan gave him a kiss. “Sorry. I’ve wanted to do that since tryouts.”
“Me too.” Flustered, Michael desperately tried to think of something to say. “Still can’t believe I made the first team.”
“Why not? You swam a great race.”
“Just hope I can keep up.”
“Don’t let Fritz make you question yourself,” Ronan advised. “Or Ciaran.”
“Ciaran? He hasn’t said a word,” Michael half lied.
“Exactly. When my brother gets pissy, he shuts down. Keeps it all to himself, he does, ’til he explodes.”
“I can’t picture Ciaran exploding. He’s too, I don’t know … too Jane Austen for that.”
“Give him time. He can cause a scene that would make Ms. Austen roll over in her grave,” Ronan said knowingly. “Now, enough about him. Where are you taking me on our first date?”
“I like the sound of that,” Michael said. “Our first date.”
Ronan reached up to hold the top of the doorjamb and leaned into Michael, his biceps bulging a bit more underneath the soft material of his sweater. “Then I’ll say it again,” he said, his lips barely touching Michael’s.
