Page 9 of Deceit

“I’m Skyla,” I say, feeling the need to saysomething.

He watches me for several seconds, before he dips his head in what looks like a greeting.

“Coach Ronan.”

“Coach?” I ask. “Swim coach?”

He nods his head, but doesn’t speak for a moment. “Do you swim competitively?”

I open my mouth to respond before I stop short, curious on how much I could reveal to this man and if it would make its way back to my father. He doesn’t seem to have the persona that some of the other staff possess. He’s a little more…solemn, jaded maybe. I suppose that could work in my favor either way.

“No.” I answer, choosing the safer, more honest route.

His eyes don’t relent though, burrowing into me like he knows there’s more to it. How would he know? I have no clue.

“Why do you ask?” I question, mainly to get his intense stare off me.

“The way you looked when you put your feet in the water, it was like you were at peace. As if you were coming home. Only real swimmers, true athletes, get a look like that.”

My head tilts curiously.

“You saw me come in?”

He gestures his head towards another door that I didn’t see from around the corner.

“There are cameras in my office to keep an eye on the pool, make sure no little shits vandalize the place or something.”

I lean my head back, spotting at least two cameras instantly. Nodding to myself, I look back out at the water.

“It’s really beautiful, don’t you think?” I ask.

He looks at me for several seconds before looking out at the water.

“Extremely.”

His eyes cut back to me, and I can physically feel my cheeks flush. I wish I could will them to stop, but it’s impossible. His gaze is so serious, so focused, and completely trained on me. If I were to guess, I would say he looks to be at least in his late twenties, maybe early thirties. Definitely too old for me to be sitting here blushing over.

When my jerk of a fiancé flashes to the forefront of my mind though, I figure what’s the harm in a little inappropriate flirting, right?

“Do you swim competitively?” I ask with a small smirk, mirroring his words from before.

I don’t know why, but something about that makes him give me half of a smile. Just half of it is breathtaking, I can’t imagine the whole thing hitting you at full force.

“Not anymore.”

His smile slowly fades as that same look of confliction passes over his face. The nosy part of me wants to pry, but the respectable part of me knows better than to pick at what’s obviously a sore subject. So I stay silent, enjoying the crisp water on my toes and the gorgeous man before my eyes. Not the worst way to spend a morning.

We sit there for another few minutes in comfortable silence, before my alarm goes off, reminding me that my next class is starting soon. I give a wanting look out to the pool before I sigh.

“I have to get going,” I say with a sad smile.

He’s up and out of the pool in a flash, coming to my side and offering me his hand. I give him a brief look before I accept his gesture, sliding my palm into his as he wraps his fingers around my wrist. Butterflies race from the start of our contact all the way to my toes. It’s a feeling that has me gasping softly, as he easily helps hoist me out of the water and onto my feet.

I stumble for a moment and he catches me easily, stabilizing my hips with his palms as he looks down at me. The tension is palpable and so thick I can hardly breathe over it. Not that I mind at all.

I practically hold my breath as his eyes slowly roam over my face, starting with my eyes before going down my cheeks over to my mouth and up the other side. When he’s finished, those bright pools of blue stare back at me, his fingers tensing for half of a second before he quickly drops his hands and takes a small step back. All of the building tension slips away, fading into the air between us as he clears his throat.

“Sorry,” he says roughly, like it’s hard for him to speak.

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