Page 71 of The Love Haters

Like that.

This plain black one-piece swimsuit given to me by Hutch’selderly auntwas somehow, deep down, like some kind of oil slick of naughtiness. It wasworsethan the flowery ones. At least the flowers on those could serve as camouflage.

When I arrived back at Hutch’s car, I was wearing my black jeans and T-shirt over the black one-piece. “I think I should go change into one of the floral ones,” I told Hutch, climbing in.

“No flowers,” he said, likeWe talked about this.

“I’m not sure this one is appropriate.”

“Bikini or one-piece?” Hutch demanded.

“One-piece.”

“What color?”

“Black.”

“That’s it. That’s the one.”

“But—”

“We’re already late. Let’s go.”

That’s how I wound up reporting for military training in a swimsuit so provocative it might get you kicked off of a nude beach.

To be fair, it was Hutch’s fault for being overly bossy without all the visual information.

But don’t worry. He was about to get it.

Because we’d been doing swim lessons so faithfully, I had definitely come a long way, skills-wise. I could hold my breath underwater, and blow bubbles, and make my hands into little fins, and scissor my legsfor propulsion. I could push off and swim freestyle from one side to the other. I could dive down and retrieve a toy off the pool floor.

But that didn’t mean I wasgood.

I was fine for a total beginner, but I was still a total beginner.

And now I had to survive a helicopter crash.

My head felt woozy. I kept forgetting to breathe.

I once read that the mind can only truly focus on one thing at a time. And there’s no doubt that given the choice between (1) being looked at and judged unfavorably and (2) drowning upside down in a community pool, my mind had the good sense to know that dying was slightly worse.

Which felt like progress.

But as I took off my jeans and then my T-shirt for the test, Hutch rushed over and said, “Hey—hey! What are you wearing?”

I was flustered by both the question itself and the fact that Hutch was putting his arms around me as he asked it, like he was trying to hide me. I mean, how terrible do you have to look for a man to sprint across a pool area to cover you up? That was my first thought.

“I’m wearingwhat you told me to wear,” I said, feeling a sting of humiliation.

But now he was wrapping me in a beach towel. “That’syour black one-piece?”

I nodded, looking down at it. “Rue bought it for me.”

“Of course she did.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s totally…”

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