Page 33 of Bombshells
“Is it two minutes yet?”
I check my watch. “You’re almost there. After this, we’ll rest for a minute. Then we’re gonna try diving for those rings.”
“That’ll be a blast,” Cedric grumbles. “You’ll go first, right?”
“Um…” Do I have to? I check my watch again. “Let’s count down. Ready? Ten…nine…”
They count with me, speeding up the seconds in order to race to zero. But we did it. Seven teens kick toward the wall and grab on, making exaggerated sounds of exhaustion.
In the farthest corner of the deep end, Sylvie is coaching someone to breathe during the crawl stroke. “It’s easier to roll,” she says, “rather than pick up your head.”
My guys look at her like she’s a mermaid. And maybe she is part mermaid. That must be why I have so much trouble looking away. There’s some kind of enchantment that’s stolen my brain.
I’ve got it bad. I can’t even lie to myself anymore. Sylvie is the whole package—she’s fun, she’s energetic.
She’s sexy as fuck.
“Arright, coach! Let us see you do this diving thing!” a kid named Javier calls.
“Yeah, it’s time.” I grasp the edge of the pool deck and hoist myself out of the water.
Sylvie’s eyes lift in my direction. And there it is—an unguarded flicker of interest as she watches my soaking wet self cross the pool deck for the weighted rings.
She looks away again, quickly. But I swear she’s thinking some of the same thoughts that I’m thinking.
Or I wish she would, anyway.
I grab the rings and jump back into the pool. I kick out into the center of the five-foot section and drop them here and there. “Let’s keep it simple. Grab a ring off the bottom with your hand, then give it to me. And we’re done for the day.”
“Do it!” Cedric chants. “You said you’d demonstrate.”
“Uh-huh. Okay.” Hell.
“Do it! Do it!” the other kids yell, drawing the attention of Sylvie’s group, too.
She looks over at me from where she’s submerged in the water, helping a boy float on his back. Her eyebrows lift with an expression that says, Really?
So I take a deep breath and duck under the water, kicking toward the bottom. The water presses in on me. I hate that feeling. But I force my eyes open in spite of the chlorine and grab a ring off the bottom.
I put my feet down and then shoot up, breaking the surface with the ring held over my head. Just in case Sylvie is easily impressed.
The teens are laughing when I shake the water out of my ears and eyes. “Okay, your turn.”
Several of them dive right under. A couple of them need more than one try to grab the ring off the bottom.
I’m afraid to tell them that their certification requires grabbing a twenty-pound weight off the bottom of the deepest part of the pool and swimming with it for a whole length.
But first things first. “Okay, Cedric. In you go.”
“Uh, maybe next time,” he says.
“Pussy,” one of the other kids says under his breath.
“Hey,” I say sharply. “That’s not going to get anyone a certificate in lifesaving. Cedric—talk to me. What’s holding you back? Once you grab the ring, you can put your feet down and just stand up. Worst-case scenario—you get some water in your nose.”
“I hate that feeling when the water is pressing on you.” He shivers. “Just don’t like it.”
It’s not like I blame him.
