Page 74 of Swim To Me

I don’t know how long I’m out for, but I come too splayed out across my bathroom floor, body weak, head heavy, mouth dry and disgusting tasting.

On hands and knees, I crawl back to my living room, reaching for my mobile phone and flinching at it’s too bright light.

I open my thread of text messages, clicking on the contact name at the top, and start to type with shaky hands.

Me: I have the world’s worst migraine… don’t think I’ll be able to make my swimming lesson tomorrow xx

His reply is instant.

Grey: fuck swimming. Are you okay? Xx

Me: not really xx

Grey: do you want me to come over? Xx

Me: Yes, please xx

Warmth bubbles beneath my sternum as I watch Grey double tap and heart my last message. It burns my mind to do so, but I can’t stop myself from scrolling back up to our previous messages after our museum date two weeks ago.

I’d headed straight to the bathroom after Grey had dropped me off, stripping and soaking myself in a tub full of fragrant bubbles. I tingled all over from our escapade in the back of the car – my lips red from kissing, my core sore in the best way possible. After spilling my guts to Grey in the middle of an exhibit, I felt emotionally drained too.

I felt like a layer of me had been stripped off, left raw and vulnerable to be picked apart. But Grey hadn’t run away, instead he’d gripped me all that tighter, holding me together until I felt steady again.

I felt comfortable around him – like myself.

Grey’s presence is simply addictive.

He’d made it clear he wanted to chat, to get to know me more, but he didn’t want to pressure me. I appreciated that more than he knew. But I couldn’t stop thinking about him, picturing us together, wondering what he was doing.

I was terrified to plunge straight in, headfirst, to whatever we may be. But Grey made me feel safe, able and wanted.

I rang him on the Sunday morning afterward, butterflies taking flight in my stomach once more when I heard the smoothcrackle of his voice. He’d been on the train, on the way to his weekly family Sunday dinner, so we couldn’t talk for long – mainly because our network kept cutting out – but we both knew with one phone call, I was actively shortening that space between us, willing to explore the connection we have.

Three weeks have passed since then.

Every plan Grey and I tried to make to see each other again appeared to fall through like a flimsy house of cards; my work at the publishing house piled on an almost completed book manuscript which needed to be edited at the quickest of convenience and I was the unlucky candidate chosen for the job, while Grey had to take time off from his job to complete a refresher swim teacher course.

The only thing we had to keep us both going were our nightly phone calls. Even if my eyes were often bleary in the morning, and I had to knock back an extra espresso shot, because I was tired from staying up to late talking to Grey, it was worth it.

I’d finished up editing the manuscript last weekend, celebrating with a glass of white wine spritzer, and the reassurance that I’d be seeing Grey this week now our schedules had quietened down again.

Except, this wasn’t quite how I imagined seeing him again.

When the sharp flecks of pain radiating through my skull get too strong again, I lock my phone and slump sideways across my sofa. I only mean to shut my eyes for a second, but there’s suddenly an incessant knocking at my door and someone shouting my name.

“Delilah!”

I stand and stumble towards my door, blood pounding through my eardrums from standing up too quickly. Multicoloured orbs dot Grey’s body standing in the hallway to my apartment. I blink to get rid of them, but they only multiple tenfold, making everything go fuzzy. I only realise I must havepitched forward, unbalanced, into him, when Grey grabs me by the waist with a choked out, “oof.”

His palm comes up to touch my forehead. His flesh is cool, deliciously cool against the heated pain inside my skull. I can’t help but lean into him, his familiar mint and chlorine fragrance kissing my skin.

“You’ve not got a fever, gorgeous, but you’re as white as a sheet.”

“Feel like shit,” I admit, resting my cheek on Grey’s chest so I can hear his heartbeat. He smells so good, he feels so good, he—

His answering chuckle rumbles through me. “Come on then, let’s get you inside. Bed or the sofa?”

My answer slip from my lips without much thought. “Bed, please. I want a cuddle.”

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