Page 127 of Whistle

“Hey,” I murmured, and he clung to me, the blunt edges of his nails pricking my shoulders so hard I knew there’d be crescent marks later.

His nostrils flared, wild eyes catching mine.

“You’re all right.” I soothed him. “You’re okay. I got you.”

Reaching up, I collared the back of his neck with a firm grip, and his legs clamped around my waist.

“I wasn’t ready.” His words were breathless.

I pressed his back against the tile, keeping hold of him with one hand while using the other to anchor us at the side.

“Neither was I,” I confessed. With mere inches separating us, our stares fused, and the chilly air around us grew humid. “But here we are.”

“Em—”

I kissed him, and he relaxed against me, arms winding around my neck as he whimpered into my mouth. Lifting my head, I scowled at him. “I don’t hate Walsh.”

“I know,” he mused. “But it makes you super prickly that Elite looks to him as their leader. I bet you think he’s trying to take your job. Or maybe your respect.”

“I do not.” My voice was gruff. “This conversation is not why I brought you here.”

“So I shouldn’t tell you that I think the only reason they look to him the way they do is because he reminds them of you.”

Genuine surprise filled me. “What?”

He nodded. “He’s confident, bossy, self-aware. He’s good at his stroke—which happens to be freestyle like yours—but instead of making other people feel inferior, he builds them up. Offers to help them.”

“How do you know?” I asked.

“I’ve spent a few weeks with my ass on the bleachers. Not much else to do but watch everyone.”

My lips curled.

“They respect Walsh because they respect you. And he can’t take your place because you’re irreplaceable.”

Caught off guard, I stared at him, but his eyes were averted, shyness blazing around him like neon lights. Pummeled, I said nothing, but, oh, I felt everything.

Bodhi was a vortex, a whirring force of nature, his energy so intense I was sucked in without recourse, without warning… without care.

Even if I could stop it—and yeah, we all know I tried—it was superfluous. A gratuitous waste of time and energy because, in the end, he owned me. What I thought was impossible now stared me in the face.

He thinks I’m irreplaceable.

Grasping his chin, I lifted his face. “Is that what you think?” I whispered, the words making me ache.

His lashes batted, and he nodded once.

My groan echoed through the natatorium, and I let go of the edge so I could grab him with both hands and smash our lips together. Chlorine tinged the kiss, drops of water slipping between us, but we didn’t pull apart. I forgot where we were and that I was the one keeping us afloat.

Still lip-locked, we dipped below the surface, gliding into the cool depths, soft waves closing around us like a cocoon. Bubbles tickled my nose, and I felt Bodhi tense. My eyes flew open and met his. We stared at each other in this underwater world. At my waist, his thighs trembled, and I disconnected our lips and pointed to the surface.

Before I could pull him up, he caught my face and pulled me back in for another kiss. The density of the water muffled my groan as his tongue swiped tentatively at my lip. I opened instantly, capturing his face and pulling him in, stroking my tongue deep into his mouth. The length of his hair floated around him like silk, brushing against my fingers, curling around my wrist. I kept kissing, forgoing oxygen, with time suspended as we floated there in the lit-from-within lagoon, this kiss held secret by the waves.

He tapped my shoulder, and I kicked toward the surface, both of us dragging in deep breaths the minute our heads cleared.

Dark-blond hair plastered to his head and cheeks. Water clung to his lashes and beaded on the tip of his nose.

“So was I right?” he asked, eyes glittering.

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