Page 135 of The Rom-Commers

“That was genuinely courageous,” I went on. “You saved my life. You performeda water rescue.”

There was something electric about it all. The way he was leaning in close, and examining me, and dripping wet—but somehow so aware of me he didn’t even seem to notice. Focused on me like he couldn’t see anything else.

“Thank you,” I said, and I really meant it.

But it was all too intense. Charlie had to break the moment. “Couldn’t you have tried to die in, like,anyother way?”

I wrinkled my nose. “I prefer the worst possible way. That’s just my style.”

Charlie shook his head at me. “Anything except water next time, if you don’t mind.”

“But,” I pointed out, “I did give you a chance to conquer your aquaphobia.”

Charlie smiled and looked down. “You’re such a pain in the ass.”

“What I’m hearing,” I said, “is ‘thank you.’”

At that, a breeze came through the yard and Charlie saw the shivers on my arms. “You’re cold,” he said.

He looked a little blue himself. “So are you.”

“Come on,” he said.

“Where?”

“Inside. To dry off.”

As he said it, he brought his arms around to gather me up and hoist me out of the water like he was some drenched, bedraggled, corduroy-clad superhero.

“This feels like something we should be writing about, not doing,” I said into Charlie’s neck as he carried me up the steps and back to dry land.

But Charlie just said, “I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

Charlie carried me straight to his room, wrapped me in a towel as big as a sheet, and sat me on his bed while he rifled through his chest of drawers to find us some dry clothes. I was genuinely shivering now, so I just held very still and waited.

“I’m going to change first real quick,” he said from behind me, “and then we’ll deal with you.”

“Okay,” I said, teeth chattering a bit.

“Don’t look,” Charlie said. He was just feet away—in easy looking distance.

“You don’t have to tell me that,” I said, squeezing my eyes tight.

And then there was a notable silence where I heard brushes and slaps and squelches as Charlie—presumably—stripped down out of his sopping clothes, toweled off, and replaced them with dry ones.

I wasn’t looking. I would never have looked.

At first.

But then there was this moment when I guess Charlie must have been closing a drawer and he pinched a finger, maybe—because next, I heard him yelp, and when I looked over, he was hopping around and shaking his hand.

Shirtless.

He’d achieved full pants status… but he hadn’t even started on the shirt.

It was a bit of a shock, to be honest.

We’d done lots of swimming together, of course, and so I’d seen his chest and his shoulders and his whole… upper half before. Maybe it was the context this time—in his bedroom, me still somewhere south of sober, himvery recently naked.

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