Page 20 of Swim To Me

“Yourpersonalnumber?”

“Yeah, my personal number. I don’t give it out to just anybody, but if you need me, I’m only on the end of it, so just send me a text or a call or—”

“I will do.” Delilah smiles, eyes still twinkling, but tight lipped this time. “See you next Wednesday then, Grey.”

I nod, raising my hand in farewell. “See you next Wednesday, Delilah.”

It’s not until she’s gone, disappearing into the tunnel leading towards the changing rooms, that I realise what the ever-loving fuck I’ve just said.

I’ve just admitted to giving her my mobile number.

Not only that, but I’ve agreed to teach Delilah to swim. Something which wouldn’t be an issue if I didn’t find myself attracted to her… but I am. And now I’ve got to see her next week and pretend like I’m not imagining her in my mind’s eyes; like I don’t want to lay my lips on hers and coax a sweet whimper from mouth, squeeze her full arse and—

Shit.

My mind is still stuttering over my parting words to Delilah, the ones I’d let slip four days ago, like an old, broken VHS tape, as I catch my usual train on Sunday morning, heading towards my childhood home in the Cotswold Hills.

A light smattering of summer rain kisses the windows of the train as we pull away from the station with a familiar click and a jolt, and I wish I was able to feel it hitting my skin. It would be a welcome reprieve after the smothering heat we’ve been experiencing, not at all helped by the added body heat and car fumes circulating around London’s city centre. But instead, I make myself comfortable in the unreserved train seat I’d managed to grab last minute, stick in my earphones, and attempt to redirect my pattern of thought to enjoying the latest crime show I’ve been watching.

The rain has cleared by the time we reach the small Charlbury train station an hour and a half later. Passengers, including myself, pour out, each heading in a different direction.

I tread the familiar steps to the car park, focusing on the dark blue car tucked away in the corner, its engine still running.

“Train journey alright?” Noah, my eldest brother, older than me by three years, asks as I slip into the passenger seat, reaching behind myself to clip in the safety belt.

“Not too bad, managed to grab a seat at least. You been waiting long?”

“Nah.” He flashes me a smile identical to the one I see upon my own face. “Happy to get out of the house, honestly… Mollie’s teething.”

I barely hold back a grimace. “Bet Mum loves that.”

“Well, she’s the one who begged me for her first grandchild.”

There’s no arguing with that statement. He’s right. Mum had been begging Noah for a grandchild ever since his third date with his now wife, Faith. They’d certainly made Mum sweat a bit, taking time to establish their relationship, getting engaged and then enjoying married life, until, seven months ago, when baby Mollie was born.

With his foot on the pedal, Noah takes us down a winding country road, pasture green fields filled with cows and sheep trundling by. The strong scent of manure slips in through my cracked window, tickling my nose.

Home.

A left at the first set of traffic lights, and we’re pulling into our gravel driveway already littered with parked cars.

The front door is opening before we’re even out of the vehicle, footsteps hurrying over and an ice-cold beer being pushed into my hand by my second eldest brother, Blake.

“You’re going to need it,” is all he says.

I raise my eyebrows at Noah, taking the bottle to my lips for a sip as I move inside the house.

For a second, all is as usual.

The flagstone flooring of the hallway is decorated with a pile of shoes, a jacket or two falling from the already full coat rack. A step further, and the open plan kitchen and dining room appears relatively normal too. A stack of plates lay upon the marble island, ready for the dishing out of food, as does a jug of lemon water and a fistful of cutlery.

My stomach rumbles as the smell of roast chicken follows me from the kitchen, along the corridor, past the base of the stairsand into the family room, where I can hear the usual dim of chatter but—

A high-pitched squeal pierces my eardrums, accompanied with a sudden cry.

Noah slaps me on the back, hard, sliding ahead of me and stealing my beer while he walks ahead. “Told ya.”

He pulls open the door to the family room, leaving just enough space for me to slip inside and survey the scene.

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