Chapter 7: Chapter 7
The late afternoon sun slanted through Matt’s bedroom window, painting stripes of warm gold across the worn blue comforter. Debbie paused in the doorway, clutching the plastic bag from the swimwear shop like a shield. The air smelled faintly of clean laundry, cheap deodorant, and the lingering scent of the coconut sunscreen Matt used at the pool. Her own lavender shampoo felt incongruous here.
"Knock knock," she said softly, her voice sounding unnaturally bright in the quiet room. Matt was sprawled on his stomach on the bed, flipping through a thick textbook. He wore faded grey sweatpants and nothing else, the muscles of his back and shoulders shifting smoothly beneath his skin. He glanced over his shoulder, a lazy grin spreading across his face.
"Hey! You found some?" He pushed himself up onto his elbows, his hazel eyes alight with curiosity. The memory of his flushed embarrassment in the hallway that morning flashed briefly in Debbie’s mind, replaced now by his usual easy confidence.
"Yeah," Debbie stepped inside, the worn carpet soft under her bare feet. She held out the bag. "Got a few different sizes and styles. Wasn't sure what would work best." She gestured vaguely towards the small desk chair piled with clothes. "Mind if I...?"
"Oh, yeah, totally. Sorry about the mess." Matt scrambled off the bed in one fluid motion, grabbing an armful of t-shirts and dumping them unceremoniously onto the floor near his overflowing laundry basket. He cleared the chair. "Here."
"Thanks." Debbie perched on the edge of the chair, placing the bag on her lap. The plastic rustled loudly in the stillness. She pulled out three pairs of Speedos: one classic navy blue, one bright red, and one black with thin white racing stripes down the sides. The Lycra shimmered slightly under the desk lamp.
Matt picked up the navy pair first, holding them up by the waistband. He frowned, turning them this way and that. "They're... smaller than I thought."
"They're meant to be snug," Debbie explained, keeping her tone practical, professional. "Less drag in the water. Lifeguards often wear them, especially for competitions or serious rescues." She remembered the measuring tape incident, the heat of his skin beneath her fingers. Focus.
"Right, right." Matt nodded, still eyeing the small garment skeptically. "Okay, well... guess I'll try 'em on." He grabbed the navy Speedo and the red one. "Be right back."
He disappeared into the small adjoining bathroom, closing the door firmly behind him. Debbie let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. The room felt suddenly too quiet, too intimate. She studied the spines of his textbooks – Advanced Biochemistry, Organic Chemistry II – and the scattered comic books (X-Men, Spider-Man). A framed photo on the bookshelf showed him grinning, much younger, arms slung around friends on a sunny beach. The easy camaraderie in the picture tightened something in her chest.
The bathroom door opened. Matt emerged, hesitating just inside the doorway. He wore the navy Speedo. It clung to him like a second skin, riding high on his hips and molding precisely to the powerful contours of his thighs, his flat stomach, the defined V leading downwards. The fabric stretched taut across his groin, leaving little to the imagination. He shifted his weight, looking down at himself with a mixture of fascination and mild discomfort.
"Whoa," he breathed, running a hand over his stomach, smoothing the fabric. "Okay, that's... snug." He glanced up at Debbie, a faint blush creeping up his neck again, reminiscent of that morning. "Does it... look right? I mean, I've never worn anything like this before. Is it supposed to feel this... exposed?"
Debbie’s mouth went dry. The sight of him, sculpted and barely contained in the dark blue Lycra, sent a jolt of pure, visceral awareness through her. The athleticism she’d glimpsed before was now fully, breathtakingly on display. She forced her gaze to remain clinical, sweeping from his shoulders down to his feet. Professional. Be professional.
"It looks... functional," she managed, her voice slightly husky. She cleared her throat. "The fit seems good through the legs and seat. No bagging." She paused. "Does it feel secure? No pinching?"
Matt adjusted the waistband slightly, pulling it up a fraction. "Secure? Yeah, I guess. Doesn't feel like it's going anywhere." He chuckled nervously. "Definitely no bagging." He turned slightly, looking over his shoulder towards the small mirror propped on his closet door. "How's the back? Does it look okay?"
Debbie stood up slowly, her legs feeling strangely unsteady. She took a step closer, her eyes tracing the line of the Speedo where it cut across the firm muscles of his buttocks. The fabric hugged every curve perfectly. "The coverage looks appropriate," she said, her voice carefully neutral. "No riding up excessively. Seems like a good fit." She was close enough now to feel the warmth radiating from his skin, smell the faint coconut scent mixed with clean cotton.
He turned back to face her fully, his hazel eyes meeting hers. He seemed oblivious to the storm raging inside her, focused only on the practicalities of the swimsuit. "Okay, cool. So this size works?" He gestured down at himself. "Should I try the red one too? Or is this...it?"
Debbie’s gaze flickered downwards again, drawn irresistibly to the pronounced bulge the tight fabric revealed. Her pulse hammered in her ears. Perfectly normal biology, her own words from the hallway echoed mockingly. It felt anything but normal standing this close. She swallowed. "The size seems correct. Trying the red one wouldn't hurt, just to see the style... but functionally, this fits." She took a deliberate step back, needing space. "Looks good, Matt."
A relieved smile broke across his face, transforming his features. "Awesome! Thanks so much for getting these, Debbie. Seriously. And for checking." He looked down at himself again, a flicker of newfound confidence replacing the awkwardness. "Feels kinda weird, but... kinda cool too. Definitely more streamlined than board shorts."