Page 45 of Triple Play

At the clerk’s agreement, I hang up. I set my phone down on the chaise next to my shirt and kick off my shower slides. It’s quiet out here, just the sound of cars passing on a nearby highway and Shira splashing. “We could put on some music,” I call to her.

Another splash. “Sure!”

“Where’s your phone? I think there’s a dock if you want me to put on something you like.”

“Don’t, uh, worry about it.” Her voice takes on an odd note.

“It’s really not a big deal.”

She shakes her head. “Whatever you want is fine. Or no music is good.” Even if it seems like she’s been dancing to an invisible soundtrack.

A breeze goes over the pool deck, prickling my skin with gooseflesh. “You sure you aren’t chilly?” I ask.

“This is bathing suit weather in New England. And if you’re cold, come warm yourself up.”

Each step into the hot tub kicks up my heart rate. Shira’s hair has started to curl in the steam. Rivulets of water descend down her skin. She’s back to dancing, fluid and precise, every movement like something she believes deeply and commits to.

Right, I came in here to do something. “Felix said something funny when I was cutting his beard.”

Shira freezes. Her eyes go wide. Her teeth gnaw worriedly at her lower lip. “Oh?” she says like she’s staving off whatever question she actually wants to ask.

“He called you the girl I’m dating.”

The dark lines of Shira’s eyebrows knit together. “If we’re not…”

Like she’s not certain. Obviously, I’ve made a mess of this. “I have been wondering—how is it that you were single when I met you?”

Her forehead scrunches even more. “Um, with school and work and my ankle and everything…” she mumbles. Like she’s apologizing.

“I meant, how is it after a bad year I managed to get so damn lucky?” I draw her close and kiss her. Her mouth parts eagerly under mine. We’re separated only by the thin fabric of her bathing suit and my swim trunks. Want rises in me, the kind I’ve been repressing for a month: not to ask too much, not to pressure, not to rush her into anything. Even as my pulse races in my veins.

When I pull back, she’s looking at me through the thick line of her eyelashes. Her eyes are brown and laughing and a little uncertain—like I’ve given her a reason to be uncertain.

“Are you seeing anyone else?” I say. “Because I’m not seeing anyone else.”

“Are you asking if I want to be exclusive?”

Exclusive. More like…forsaking all others, but that’s too much after only knowing her for a month. Even as a part of me whispers: Are you sure you want to forsake a very specific other?

“I’m yours if you want me to be,” I say.

This time, Shira’s eyes widen in pleased surprise. Then she frowns. “Would your family be okay with you dating me?”

I don’t really care what my family is good with. “Why wouldn’t they be?”

She looks at me as if I’m missing something obvious. “Because my name is Shira Klein? Because I’m Jewish? I got the sense that they’re religious.”

I shake my head. There’s a difference between being religious and wanting to be seen in church. “Even if they have a problem with you, that’s their problem and not yours.” I kiss her reassuringly—I hope reassuringly—even if her frown hasn’t faded. “You still seem unsure.”

“You’ll also be in Florida for six weeks,” she says. “If you want to have this conversation when we get back…” She shrugs. “I know things can get lonely.”

Oh, this is her being understanding. Ballplayers cheat. Or a lot of ballplayers cheat. It’s something I know, even if I don’t really understand it. Thinking about Felix doesn’t count because nothing can come of it. “I’m not planning to date someone else while I’m in Florida,” I say. “Unless you want to date someone while I’m in Florida.”

She shakes her head. “Wasn’t planning on it. The men of Boston leave a lot to be desired.”

“That’s the sense I’m getting.”

For some reason, that makes her throw back her head and laugh. Her hair comes loose, the ends of it dipping in the water. She gathers it up again. “Now I’m gonna have to straighten it.”

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