Page 61 of Bombshells
I am a fool. And it isn’t just the sex, which was spectacular. It’s everything. I want to kiss her hello and ask her about her week. I want to invent a new Frankenword and make her laugh.
But I can’t. This is not the time or the place. Her expression is cool, and I know that’s my fault. I could have called, but I was too busy feeling like a guilty ass.
Which I am. So now I give her a vague smile. “Hey. How was your week?”
“Quiet,” she says crisply. “The Red Cross sent us a stand-in for you.” She gestures towards an attractive young man at poolside, holding a training manual. “And I asked him to come back today, because I wasn’t sure you’d show.”
“Why?” I ask before I think better of it.
Sylvie just gives me a look. Like maybe if I’d called her, or replied properly to her text, she wouldn’t have to wonder.
“Okay, right. Well, I’m here.”
“I see that,” she says drily. “Let’s do some warmups and then teach some rescue techniques. Fineberger is going to lead them.”
She turns away, and it takes me a beat to realize that I’ve been dismissed. So I shake myself and go over to greet my crew of teen boys.
“Okay, guys!” I say, feigning cheer. “Let’s see what progress you made last week. I want four laps for a warmup. Crawl stroke, please.”
There’s some minor grumbling. But every kid hauls his butt into the pool and starts swimming. It’s astonishing how much progress everyone has made with his swimming in just a week. Even Cedric can do a passable crawl stroke now.
“Whoa,” I say as he returns after his last lap. “Look at you go.”
“I practiced,” he says with a shrug. “Where were you, anyway?”
“Road trip. Canada and then Detroit.”
“You win?”
“Yeah,” I say simply.
The buzz about our season continues to grow. It’s dumb to call a team invincible in November, but some of the pundits have already begun. They don’t mind piling on the pressure, I suppose. If we crack, they can write something breathless about that, too.
“Cool, cool,” Cedric says. “How can a guy score tickets to watch you play?”
“Oh, well...” I’m about to offer him my comp seats, but I realize that I don’t have enough to go around. I get two tickets for every home game, but half of those are promised to various people and organizations, and there are seventeen kids in this pool.
Those tickets have a face value over a hundred bucks, and they’re scarce. So I can’t just hand them to Cedric, even if he is my favorite.
“Tell you what,” I say. “Whichever of you gets the two highest scores on the written lifesaving test gets a ticket to an upcoming home game.” That’s fair, right? It’s a contest. I know I have at least a pair of tickets available to give away.
“What if we all tie?” someone asks. “Cause I’m planning to ace it.”
“Then I’ll be scrambling to find some more seats.” In the meantime, I’ve got another idea. “Hey, Sylvie?”
She turns in my direction, smooth shoulders swiveling toward me. I have a very inappropriate, yet vivid, memory of rolling her over in bed to take my cock from a new position.
Jesus. I have to take a breath before I ask my question. “When are the next two Bombshells home games?”
“Friday and Saturday,” she says before turning around, dismissing me again.
Friday and Saturday are too soon to pull this off. I’m away on both of those days, and I don’t have the rest of my schedule memorized. “Tell you what, crew. I’m gonna find a date to sponsor a hockey night at the Bombshells game. Everyone in this pool will be welcome. I’ll cover a block of tickets and food.”
“Cool!” Cedric asks with a grin. “You can get those tickets easy?”
“Yeah, it’s a newer team,” I say quickly. The Bombshells are selling out sixty percent of an arena that’s a tiny fraction of the size that we play in. But that means I can get the seats.
“I’m in!” he says.
