Page 1 of Here In Your Arms

Chapter 1

Kyle

The cool glide of the water is soothing as I power my body through. I concentrate on my strokes, timing my breaths strategically, ensuring it’s a smooth transition between arm and head movement. There’s a Zen that comes with swimming. The water is somewhere I can feel free and unburdened. No expectations, nobody asking for things from me. I just get to move and feel the rush of water as I cut through from one end of the pool to the other.

I’m no professional, but it’s easy to feel like I am when I’m just competing against myself. As far as I’m concerned, I’m an Olympic gold medalist when I hit the water. My waterproof earbuds are playing classical music as my arm muscles bunch and swing my arm up over the water before diving back in. Nobody knows what my earbuds are playing, and while most people wouldn’t choose Mozart or Beethoven to swim to, it adds another layer of peace to my time. There are likely more modern choices that would line up and get me feeling pumped up, but that’s not why I do laps. I do them to escape and feel free for a while.

As I turn in the water to streak back to the shallow end, my thoughts turn inward to where my life has been and where it’s going. I enjoy my job as a Vice President for a local business, but it gets demanding fast. I might not be CEO, but there’s still a lot of responsibility and it can weigh me down after a while. Home isn’t demanding, home is actually pretty soothing, but there’s still other people to think of and consider. There’s not much room for selfishness, so I look to find that here, in the water. I reach the shallow end and as I turn my head to breathe, I notice groups of kids starting to crowd the edges of the pool.

Looks like my time is almost up. The lane I’m in is reserved for laps even during swim lessons, but I don’t like sharing, so I make sure not to linger when swim lessons are being held. The kids don’t bother me, I actually enjoy kids. It’s dealing with other adults trying to swim in my space, or parents questioning if I’m really allowed to swim during lessons. Both of those things have happened and quickly deterred me from swimming through the lessons. So, I just started coming earlier.

I get two more laps in before calling it. Stopping at the deep end, I hold myself up at the edge of the pool, just gathering my breath. Nobody else has joined my lane yet, so there’s no rush to leave. Looking at the kids learning to swim brings a small smile to my face. They’re all so eager and upbeat, but you can tell which ones are newer to swimming by their hesitation. Scanning the waiting parents on the small bleachers set out near the pool, my eye snags on a woman who doesn’t look old enough to have a kid in this time spot.

She’s sitting at the end in the back, leaning against the wall of the building. Her body overall is slumped, like she’s trying to be as small as possible, but with her tall frame, it’s not working for her. Even sitting, I can tell she’s close to six feet and it intrigues me. I prefer taller women; they feel less likely to break when in the middle of a good fuck. This woman has long brown hair that’s braided and sits over her shoulder, some of it falling out to frame her face. Her clothes are a little baggy and the colors are faded. Again, it’s as if she’s hiding. She glances up from her phone, and even from this distance, I can tell she has green eyes. The color isn’t easy to see, but it jumps out enough that it catches my eye.

Her face is stoic until she looks in the pool at the kids, watching for a bit, and a small smile tugs at her lips before she locks eyes with me from where she sits. She must realize I’m staring straight at her because she flushes and quickly averts her gaze to her phone again. I can feel myself drawn to her, so I snap my eyes away and haul myself out of the pool. The last thing I need is to get a boner looking at her and be labeled a pervert. I’m not wearing a tiny speedo, but my swim shorts are still tightly fitted so they don’t drag in the water. People would absolutely notice.

Pulling myself out of the water, I stand on the pool deck for a few seconds, tipping my head back, my eyes looking at the ceiling. I inhale deeply, holding it until my lungs ache then I let it go. In an effort to keep my body cooled down, I think about how many spreadsheets I have to look forward to this week. I whip my goggles off and shake my head forward to clear the water from my hair.

“Rough swim?” some guy asks as he gets ready to hop into the swim lane.

“Nah, just got a lot of shit to do,” I lie to him.

It’s not really a lie, but I’m not about to tell this random dude that I’m trying not to get a boner at the pool. Running a hand through my hair, I walk toward the men’s changing room to get out of this suit and dry off.

Once I’m dry and dressed in my jeans and T-shirt, I head out of the dressing room, my bag slung over my shoulder. Walking through the gym, I keep my eye out for a tall redhead. Coming up empty around the treadmills and weights, I turn toward the basketball court, which was probably where I should have started. I can hear the squeak of shoes and the airy thump of a ball hitting the ground multiple times. The door is open, so I lean against the frame and watch with a small smile on my face.

Wes is smiling from ear to ear, sweaty but not dripping, as he tries to block the guy in front of him from making a basket. He manages to steal the ball and runs down the gym toward the door I’m leaning on. Taking a long shot, he shoots the ball, and it bounces a little before falling through the hoop. He raises his arms and lets out a loud whoop of victory. My smile is full-blown now, loving his enthusiasm for just about anything he does. His head turns, and he sees me in the doorway before he waves at the rest of the guys playing and jogs over.

“You winning?” I ask him as he stops near me.

“I’m always winning,” he insists.

“You’re not keeping score, are you?”

“Does it count if the score is in my head?”

“Nope.” I chuckle.

He grins at me before turning to shout his departure at the others. They wave amicably and reform to balance out the teams as much as they can. Wes heads over to his bag before slinging it over his shoulder and jogging back. I hate running and cannot understand why he always does so at the gym.

“I do not understand your need to jog,” I tell him as we walk down the hallway toward the exit.

“What? I look good jogging; you gotta admit it,” he insists, smiling.

“You’re so full of yourself.”

“I could be full of you.”

I can feel my cheeks flush as I duck my head to look at my shoes. I can’t help it; any time he flirts, I just blush like a teenager. He chuckles and bumps into me, letting me know he’s not bothered by my shyness in public. I nudge him back, appreciating this man more than I can say. Even as a pair of green eyes flash in my memory.

Wes

The squeak of gym shoes on the lacquered floor is one of my favorite noises. The ball is passed between hands and we’re all pulling out our best and probably illegal moves to steal the ball and win for our teams. My face is stuck in a permanent grin as I race around, trying to block and steal.

I’m not someone who likes traditional workouts. When Kyle wants some company, I’ll lift with him and once in a while I’ll do a short run, but I prefer games. Something that keeps my mind engaged along with my body. None of the games are formal. Fuck that shit. I’m just in it for fun.

I finally snag the ball and run it down the court before taking a long shot at the hoop. Bouncing around as if it’s trying to taunt me, the ball teases me before finally falling through the net. Letting out a whoop, I raise my hands above my head, turning to grin at the guys I’m playing with. I see a flash of dark hair as I turn and glance over at the doors to the court.

---