"Swim faster!" Rodney yells at the boy in the pool. It's as encouraging as he knows how to be. The members of his usual team do things he understands like the Latvian Gambit and king and pawn endgames; they don't leap into the water and flail around.

"That's some motivational technique you've got there, buddy."

Oh, god - it's the other team's coach - the guy with the deep tan, clingy red swim trunks, and weird hair. He's also very, very hot.

"John Sheppard."

He holds out a hand and Rodney automatically shakes it. "Rodney McKay." He looks toward the pool, but has no idea what's going on.

"I'm guessing you're filling in for Coach Weir?"

Rodney rolls his eyes. "What gave me away?"

"I saw you at State Scholastic Championships last year." John smiles at him. "I kept trying to get your attention."

Rodney looks him up and down. "Well," he says, "you've certainly got it now."

John smiles at him. "You want to go get lunch? You know, right after my team kicks your team's ass?"

Rodney looks at John, completely ignoring the flailing kids. "Okay. Where do you want to go?"

John's smile turns dirty. "My place," he says.