“Is that Aaron Peirsol?” Slap. “OW! What was that for?”

“We made a pact. No speaking of Aaron Peirsol. Ever.”

“Oh. Right. But still, you don’t need to ACTUALLY hit me. You could pinch me. It’d be sufficient enough.”

“Okay, I’ll try that next time.”

“There won’t BE a next time. I’m averting my eyes.”

“You want blinders? I saw a horse outside.”

“Very funny.”

The two bickering girls sat down in the stands, as close to the pool as was humanly possible. (Without being escorted out by security.)

“Is that Aaron Peirsol?” The darker haired of the two asked, cocking her head to the side and squinting at the figure across the way, stretching. The red head raised her hand, preparing for a slap. “There’s no need, Lucy. I’ll do it myself. But if you’ll look, I’m pretty sure that’s him.”

Lucy looked to the other side of the pool. “That looks like him,” she affirmed. “But we’re not here to see Aaron Peirsol.”

“I know, but he’s nice to look at.”

“Be that as it may, Jenna…never mind. I have no argument.”

Jenna looked quite smug. “He’s not wearing anything but a Speedo.”

“Yes, I see that.”

“It’s quite low on his hips.” Lucy made a noncommittal sound. “I have to go splash cold water on my face.”

Lucy nodded a lot. “Great idea.”

“Do you know where the bathroom is?” Jenna questioned, glancing around the large arena.

“Probably over there,” Lucy replied, pointing vaguely. “I’ll go with you. I could use some cold water in my face before we see Michael.”

“Michael,” Jenna replied, starting down the steps to the floor. “Ah, Phelpsie.”

The area surrounding the large pool was quite deserted, considering. There were a few people (like Aaron Peirsol, or someone who looked like him) stretching on one side, the stands of fans were on another and at the ends were the blocks (of course) and the opposite side held an overabundance of reporters, all of which were cleaning their camera lenses with white cloths.

A burly security guard (who was about nine to ten feet tall) was standing near the blocks, his arms crossed across his chest; he didn’t look like someone the girls wanted to mess with, but they figured he knew where the bathrooms were. The sooner they found them, the sooner they’d be back in their seats.

And the sooner they’d see Michael Phelps.

Luck was not on their side, however, because the security guard was immersed in a very heated discussion with a short, bald man who was about 3 feet tall. He may have been taller than that, of course, but he was so dwarfed by the security guard that the girls had trouble picturing him being of regular height. (Regular height being taller than a hobbit.)

“Let’s try there,” Lucy suggested, pointing up ahead to a hallway.

“It looks like the way to the showers,” Jenna replied apprehensively. “Do you see a sign that says ‘bathroom’?”

“If I did, then I’d know where the bathrooms were.”

“This is true.” They approached the hallway, and since no one was yelling and screaming at them to go away, they proceeded down the darkened hall, looking out for signs of life, and signs pointing to the bathroom.

After walking about a mile (or quite a lot less than) they heard footsteps approaching and they stopped walking quite abruptly. (This is to say that Lucy stopped walking, and Jenna ran into her back.)

Jenna peered into the semi-darkness. “Luce! Look, it’s---”

“Don’t you dare say Aaron Peirsol’s name again. I’m trying to get him out of my head.”

Jenna gave her a look. “Lucy, honestly. I can think about other things, you know.”

Lucy didn’t seem to believe this statement, but she didn’t have time to reply because a tall blond man had approached them. He was not wearing much. Of course, he was wearing some clothing, but it was so scarce that it caused both girls to grab onto either wall and their hearts at the same time.

This gave the man a bit of a crooked smile of amusement on his lips.

“Hello,” he said pleasantly, looking from one to the other. “Are you lost?”

Jenna suddenly felt as if she were six years old and lost at Disney World, but she (thankfully) did not say this aloud. Instead, she examined the pants the man was wearing (brown) and the fact that they were pulled down just enough to make out the waistband of his underwear. Jenna squeaked rather audibly and gave Lucy the eyebrow signal meaning ‘LOOK’. Lucy did so, and then squeaked.

Shockingly, the man did not run away screaming; he simply stood silently in front of them, waiting patiently for them to get over their bout of craziness. (Which he didn‘t know could take about a decade.)

The man with the hot Australian accent seemed to misunderstand their squeaks, for he thought they meant they were worried about being thrown out by security. “It’s not a problem,” he assured them, smiling softly. “I was just curious because you’re in the men’s hallway. No worries, I can escort you out so you don’t get arrested.”

Lucy and Jenna gasped simultaneously.

“I’m sorry,” Jenna said hurriedly, trying to tear her eyes away from his waistband. “You’re wearing the Underwear of the Gods.”

“Pardon?”

Lucy tried her hand at explaining. “It’s only that your underwear say “IT” on them. That’s Ian Thorpe’s line of underwear, you see. And Jenna here…” Jenna stomped on Lucy’s foot. “I mean, Jenna and I are obsessed with him. You. Him.”

Ian Thorpe seemed thoroughly amused (and also a little frightened). “It’s nice to meet you.” He smiled at Jenna. “Jenna. And you are?”

“Lucy,” Lucy squeaked, desperately trying to regain control over her voice.

“Nice to meet you, Lucy,” he said, nodding in acknowledgment. “Now, let’s get you out of here before Hackett has a hissy fit.”

“Grant Hackett?” Jenna asked as Ian steered them out the way they came.

“That’s him,” Ian affirmed, giving them each a little push on the small of the back.

Jenna tripped (over what, no one knows) and fell over; she jumped up quickly, blushing furiously. “Damn…er…crack in the floor.”

Lucy cocked an eyebrow. “Hmmm.”

Ian just laughed, obviously used to this sort of treatment from girls of the fangirl variety.

“I’m sorry we came down the men’s hallway,” Jenna said, trying to get over her embarrassment. “It’s just we didn’t know where we were going. We thought we were headed for the bathroom.” She slapped a hand to her forehead; she hadn’t meant to talk about bathrooms with The Thorpedo.

“You okay?” Ian questioned, peering closely at her face to make sure she didn’t just slap herself randomly.

“Yeah, thanks. Just a fly.”

Lucy tried terribly hard not to laugh.

Pretty soon they emerged near the pool again. Ian looked around cautiously, a hand on each of the girls’ arms to prevent them going out into the crowd too soon (he had to check and make sure Grant Hackett and security weren’t watching). “I think the toilets are that way,” he said, letting go of their arms and pointing across the way to another hallway.

“Thanks,” Jenna squeaked, grabbing Lucy’s arm and hauling ass to the other side of the arena.

Ian simply laughed and got prepared for his race.

“OHMYGODOHMYGOD,” Jenna breathed as soon as they were a few feet away.

“I think we just met Ian Thorpe,” Lucy mused conversationally.

Jenna squealed under her breath. “I can’t believe it.”

“Me either. He was really nice.”

“AND SO HOT!” Aaron Peirsol’s head shot up from his stretching perch about a foot away from where they were walking by. “Not you, Aaron,” Jenna assured him.

“We don’t like you,” Lucy put in helpfully, not sounding entirely convincing.

One of Aaron’s eyebrows rose up and nearly disappeared into his bathing cap. “Okay,” he said, looking both dubious and afraid they would attack him at any moment.

They ended up in the ladie’s room about five minutes later. “You don’t think we broke the pact by talking TO Aaron, do you?” Lucy asked, smothering her face with cold water.

Beside her, Jenna was doing the same thing. “No. I don’t suppose it’s the same thing as talking ABOUT him.”

“It’s pretty close, though.”

Jenna considered this. “I guess, but if we pretend we didn’t talk to him, we don’t have to slap each other.”

Lucy began toweling off her face. “We better hurry so we don’t miss his first swim.”

“Michael’s not swimming the swim after next,” Jenna said, reaching across Lucy for a paper towel.

“I know…”

Jenna’s hand was on her hip and she was watching Lucy in surprise. “You meant Aaron didn’t you.”

“No, of course not,” Lucy said a little too quickly. “Why would I care when Aaron swam?”

Jenna didn’t say anything, she just surveyed her friend. Lucy finally gave in. “Okay, fine. I meant Aaron.”

“AH HA! I knew it wasn’t just me!”

“What do you mean?” Lucy asked, looking worried.

“Oh. Nothing. I’m not obsessed or anything.”

“Of course not.”

“No,” Jenna agreed, pushing open the bathroom door. “But did you notice how low his speedo was?”

“I did not.”

“There was quite a lot hanging out when he was frozen in that spot when he thought we were talking about him.”

“You’re not making any sense.”

“Luce….”

Lucy rolled her eyes, sighing heavily. “Fine. I noticed. I looked. I GAWKED! You happy now?”

“Very. We better get our Michael signs ready. I’m glad I made that Thorpie thing on the back of mine.”

“Why? He’ll notice you and his suspicions that you are crazy will be confirmed.”

Jenna shrugged, trying very hard to avert her eyes as she strode past the stretching swimmers. “Doesn’t matter.”

Lucy nodded in understanding. “Did you see his underwear?”

Jenna spun around. “Peirsol’s?”

“Thorpie’s.”

“Of course I did; he wears his own underwear!”

“I can’t believe we told him it was the underwear of the Gods.”

“I’m sure he was flattered.” Jenna took her seat. “And YOU told him, not me.”

“Yeah,” Lucy conceded. “But you told him you slapped a fly against your face.”

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