A tiny piece of a thing I should not be writing:

Yes, it’s the Olympics. No, I really don’t like sports. My dislike of most sports is well-documented. But I do enjoy watching sports that are highly technical and don’t involve teams or balls. Like gymnastics… and diving. It’s definitely my favorite sport at the Olympics, and after the really fantastic results of the men’s synchronized 10m platform event the other day, I got inspired.

So while I have a deadline fast-approaching for my contracted series… I maybe started writing something.

What the hell?

I think my mouth must be hanging open in shock a little, because Blue Eyes meets my gaze and shrugs a little guiltily. But then he’s pulling his t-shirt over his head, toeing his flip-flops and sweats off to reveal a tiny red speedo and miles of brown skin covered in swirls of black ink. I’d be angry, except it’s hard to be angry when you’re standing in front of a work of art.

Then the guy scampers up the stairs, heading straight for the ten-meter platform, and yeah, I’m angry again. Even those awesome tats and rippling muscles can’t take away from the fact that he’s interrupting my training session.

Drying off is an automatic set of motions, so I’m toweling myself down while the guy stretches and moves to the end of the platform. He does an effortless, absolutely perfect handstand, like he doesn’t even notice that there’s thirty feet of air and the hard surface of the water behind him if he slips. He hangs there for a second, body straight as a pole, and then he pushes off.

It’s fucking beautiful. A back two somersaults with a half twist, and his pike is damn perfect.

Except he botches the landing so badly I can feel the spray of the water from where I’m standing.

The guy emerges from the water, smiling like he hadn’t just turned a perfect ten dive into a cringe-worthy four. He pushes his hair out of his face, still grinning like an idiot, and pulls himself out of the pool.

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