It Had to be You

My dry warm-up had to be the second most embarrassing moment in my life and that's saying something, considering I don't get embarrassed that often. A few of the guys who saw me running around the hallways trying to find the women's locker room in nothing but my bra and panties had stuck around to see part of Ryan's practice (which hadn't started yet). Ten minutes later I was standing beside the diving block of lane 5 right next to Ryan who was currently smirking and saying something to his coach before he looked at me and winked.

"George I just want you to know that when you don't win, please feel free to report all insults to that ass of yours."

I narrowed my eyes in confusion, debating on whether to laugh in his face or pity him and entertain his attempt at an insult.

I settled on a little of both.

"What the hell are you talking about?" I asked, turning away from him for a moment to slip my sandals off.

"Doesn't matter because I'm going to win," he said, tugging the sides of his cap down and grinning proudly.

I only rolled my eyes in response, shrugging off my warm-up jacket. I slightly shivered at the feeling of the cold air hitting my bare arms.

It took a moment to let the certainty in Ryan's words set and I laughed. "What makes you so sure you're going to win?" He gave me a look that I'd pretty much gotten from almost every swimmer I've ever competed against--ever.

It was no secret to me that I was the unlikeliest of swimmers. I was short, my wingspan was laughable compared to most of my competition and my legs are so short that almost every coach I had in high school didn't want to work with me. Teaching a kid about competitive swimming was difficult as it is, but teaching a short kid was just downright impossible seemingly. Chris was the only coach I ever had that willingly worked with me despite. Despite my disadvantages, I found ways of overcoming it. With Chris, I learned what it takes to win against swimmers who could out stroke me in a heartbeat: speed, strength anda hell of a lot of heart as Chris so passionately put it. He helped me get stronger, faster and taught me probably the most important lesson I ever learned: if you put no heart into it, you're doomed to lose.

I shrugged in response to his look and pulled on my second cap, securing my goggles right around my head before pulling them down, over my eyes. Once I was sure I was ready, I climbed up on the diving block and go myself zoned in. In order to connect with my competitive side, I only had to remember why I was so annoyed with Ryan in the first place. I'd known the guy for the grand total of fifteen minutes but I had a laundry list of things that annoyed me about him. He was smug, insisted on calling me George; I mean, I could go on, but it was this list that was going to inspire me to go that extra mile and want to beat him.

"On your marks," I heard Gregg (Ryan's coach) say as I closed my eyes for a moment.

"Get set," Chris said. I took a breath in before exhaling.

Buzz.

I didn't even think, I just leaped forward, pushing off of the diving block and into the cold water. I began doing to the dolphin kick before emerging out of the water and beginning the butterfly stroke. I could see Ryan and at the moment he was ahead of me but the 200 IM was a fairly long competition, so I just continued, pushing off the back wall and going straight into my dolphin kick, fighting against the down draft that Ryan had created.

It wasn't long before I was on the last leg of my breaststroke, and I was gaining on Ryan and we were no more than an arms length away from being neck and neck with him. As I approached the wall to begin my freestyle stroke, my muscles began giving me that familiar tingling whenever I did the 200 IM or even the 400 IM. Just as my feet touched the wall, I pushed off with such force that I shot through the water a lot faster than I thought I would and when my dolphin kick started, I saw that I was slightly ahead of Ryan. In any circumstance, that probably should've made me go into cruise control like Ryan had for most of the race, but I pushed harder, making Ryan go faster. Naturally, he inched ahead of me, but then it clicked. I was going to do what almost every swimmer who's slightly behind does. I began drifting to the edge of my lane as the wall approached and as we both kicked off, I used the down draft that Ryan had created to ease myself through the water and just ahead of him, my tired legs thanking me for the small break, but as soon as I got the lead, I began doing my 6-beat kick freestyle stroke down towards the finish line, ignoring how tired my arms and legs were, ignoring the water that had gotten in my nose, taking breaths every so often. There was so much water that I couldn't see anymore. My splashes were preventing me from seeing much accept for the wall in front of me. And just when I felt the concrete wall, I shot out of the water, looking up at my coach expectantly. I could hear Ryan breathing heavily beside me, but I couldn't be sure if he had come up before or even after me.

Chris grinned at me, bending down and holding the stopwatch in front of my face. 2:00.9.

That was a personal best. I'd never swam a 200 IM that fast...ever.

"Won by a hundredth of a second Tate."

I didn't even really know how to react to that. I mean, what was I supposed to do? I could scream and splash about, but I had just won my dignity back after having to ask while I was half-naked where the women's locker room was; there was no need for me to ruin what I had just regained. I pulled myself out of the pool and as I grabbed my towel, I heard Ryan get out of the pool too, but not before he had to hit another nerve that existed in my body.

"Hey George."

I didn't turn around, instead ignoring him as I slipped my sandals on and pulled off my swim cap.

"George," he called again.

I took the water bottle sitting next to my stuff and wet my hear down again.

"It's rude to ignore people George."

I laughed, turning around and giving him a sweet smile, "Is George your imaginary lover or...?"

"No, you're George remember? Besides, it looks like your ass is eating that poor speedo to death."

He gave himself a proud nod and his crystal blue eyes burned back at me before I laughed and shook my head, walking back towards the locker rooms. "Well, I'll take a fat ass over a tiny dick any day, Lochte."

"Keep dreaming about that sweetheart, I'm anything but small," he said with a cocky grin.

Chris made a coughing sound, obviously knowing the beginning of a shit storm when he saw one. I stopped dead in my tracks, turning around to face Ryan. I could safely say I was adding his annoying, cocky grin to the already exponentially growing list of things that annoyed me about this man. I slowly closed the gap between me and him and tilted my head upwards so that I could make eye contact. I purposefully made a suggestive glance toward his crotch before looking back at him. "Let's see it then," I said, crossing my arms over my chest.

I could tell he didn't like my stance; he wasn't extremely threatened, but I'm sure he didn't like unfamiliarity of the current situation. If I had to guess he wasn't used to women talking to him like this.

He quirked an eyebrow, slightly confused, "What are you talking about?"

"Whip it out big guy."

I could see my assertiveness was bothering him, but the more uncomfortable he got, the more entertained I became. This was only feeding my determination to get him to back down.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

By now, I'm sure anyone sitting in the stands could hear our conversation, and I'm sure they were listening for dear life.

"I wanna see your peacock. Get it out, show me how big you are. Right here, right now." I gave him a sweet smile, eyeing him carefully, "Unless you're, you know, too chicken shit to do it."

That obviously pushed a button and I grinned, taking a step back and giving out a short laugh, looking down at my shoes and then looking up.

"Oh wow," I said, my grin only widening as I shook my head, "I thought I'd never see the day when Ryan Lochte would be unwilling to whip it out."

I had said it loud enough that it could travel up to the guys that were sitting in the stands, but before he could really say anything in response, I began walking away, my coach trying desperately to hold in his laughter.

Just as I made it over to Chris, I heard Ryan finally give a response. "Your ass is still eating that speedo alive."

I threw my arm behind me, giving him the finger in response. The sooner he understood that I was always going to get the last word, the sooner he would stop embarrassing himself. It was sad.

Three, almost four hours later I was packing up, getting ready to leave. I had already washed all the chlorine out of my hair, showered, and was getting ready to go back to my new apartment, which I haven't even seen yet. Just as I pushed my way through the door with my duffle and suitcase, I saw Ryan was waiting, leaning lazily against the wall. I rolled my eyes, but smiled nonetheless and began walking down the hallway, but just as I got to him, he grabbed my arm, making me stop.

"You want seconds Lochte?" I said, grinning back at him.

He didn't laugh.

"Why would you clown me like that? In front of all those people?" he asked, his face obviously painted serious.

"Why would you let me think I was in the right locker room and then when a bunch of guys come in you tell me I'm in the wrong locker room--never mind I'm in my underwear?"

"Oh get over it George, that happened like hours ago."

I rolled my eyes, "If you can't handle the heat I'm packing, you probably shouldn't have played to begin with."

"The heat your packing?"

"Let's face it. A 20 year-old, 5'6 girl beat you in a 200 IM all because you somehow let up just before getting to the end and your pissed off about it."

There was a moment of silence as my words bounced off the cinderblock walls. If he was going to be serious about this, I was going to hand it back to him; after all, he was the one who started all of this and I'd surely be the one to finish it.

"You wanna play?" he asked, rubbing the bridge of his nose before his eyes hit me. I'm not sure what was different about the way he looked at me, but it made me shrink slightly. It was unusual for a guy that I just insulted in front of a bunch of his peers to even seek out a conversation with me afterwards, but alas, here I was in a hallway, staring awkwardly at the guy. I watched as he pushed off the wall and gave me as small smile. "'Cause , we can play this game."

"And what game would that be?" I asked, mostly, just to humor him; my eyes followed every move he made.

"Oh don't be so clueless George," I felt my back hit the wall, and I began to question how I he had advanced so quickly that I was now on the wall. He stood over me, towering of course, his arms on the wall on either side of my head as he leaned in. "You're a little girl playing a grown man's game. I'd stop while you're ahead."

My breath caught in my throat and I had to take my eyes off of his. I shifted my eyes to the side and when I was able to regain my breath, I gave him a coy smile, "Don't worry your little grown man head; I'm a big girl and I can keep up."

I shoved him and he backed off enough for me to free myself and tug my suitcase along. When I turned, I made sure my duffle hit his stomach before I began walking back down the hallway. I could hear my flip flops making a loud annoying pattering sound agains the floor, the walls only making it echo, but I could feel his eyes on me.

When I reached the door that led back to the front, I sighed and turned around slightly giving him a wink, "I'm not a little girl by any stretch of the imagination. Call me that one more time and you might have to book a trip to Africa."

"Why would I...?" he asked confused.

"It might be the only way you'll have children," I said, giving a shrug.

There was a moment of silence as he smiled and laughed to himself. It probably should've annoyed me further but I turned back around and made my way through the door, but not before hearing Ryan with his parting words.

"This is going to be a fun year George; I can feel it."