Since he first laid eyes on Michael Phelps as a teenager, young Beau has longed to be an Olympian; the better to sleep with as many other Olympians as possible. Too bad he's a flop at every sport he tries.<br><br>An offhand reference by his European mother reveals a family connection to the world of competitive shooting, and a quick -- if not wholly truthful -- email nets Beau an invitation to Luxembourg to train with Marcel, a dashing rifle champion. He jumps at the chance, and, when he learns they aren't actually related, at the champ.<br><br>Sparks fly, but Beau’s never exactly been what you’d call a one-man man. Will Beau’s smoldering desire for Marcel burn hot enough to keep the torch of his Olympic dreams aflame?

Hot Shots

“I already told you what I want in London,” I said.


He turned to face me. “Still?” he asked.


“I don’t know, Marcel. Geeze, I’m just trying to joke around here, lighten the mood a little bit. I’m not trying to start a fight. Probably there are gonna be a ton of hot guys there, and we both know I’m not gonna shoot my way to victory.”


“So you’re gonna flirt with all the other guys? Sleep around?”


“Hey, at least I’d have a shot at a medal in that event.” I winked.


Marcel was not in a joking mood, and I hurried after him when he fled the kitchen, catching the brunt of the slamming bedroom door with my shoulder.


“Marcel, honey, I was just teasing.”


He was turned away from me, trying to snuffle back his tears. “It’s funny to you? You’ve been using me this whole time just to get, what? A swimmer? A fucking gymnast?”


Chapter 11