Page 29 of Playing the Field
‘I haven’t got anything to swim in,’ I point out.
He gestures at the garden perimeter with both hands. ‘No one’s looking. You could just go in in your underwear.’
I’m about to laugh this off, till he adds, ‘I’m up for it, if you are...’
I’m still in a playful mood after our fun in the park, but I hesitate, wondering if this is a challenge too far. It’s one thing getting competitive over a game of frisbee and quite another seeing who’d be quicker at taking half their clothes off.
Part of me thinks it’s too much of a leap when all we’ve done so far is flirt with each other. But there’s something about Ben’s devil-may-care approach to life that makes me want to throw caution to the wind too and not think about the consequences till afterwards.
So I decide to stop worrying about whether it’s a good idea or not. It’s not like there’s a huge difference between underwear and a bikini anyway– and I’m pretty sure I’m wearing knickers with no holes in. I take a deep breath, curl my fingers under the hem of my T-shirt and tell him, ‘What the hell? Let’s do it.’
‘Last one in’s cleaning the dishes,’ he shouts, before I’m even midway through pulling my top up over my head. I wriggle free of it just in time to see him launching himself off the side of the pool and diving in fully clothed. As he surfaces with a grin I can’t help hoping his phone isn’t in his pocket– that’s the kind of idiotic thing I do when I’m trying to impress someone.
‘Are you always so competitive?’ I ask him, laughing.
He puts a finger on his chin and looks to the sky, as if he’s considering it. ‘I believe so, yes. That’s what happens when you grow up with a brother you’re quite close to in age.’
‘Does that mean you’re going to want a swimming race now?’
He watches me step out of my shorts. ‘I think I’m happy enough with today’s wins,’ he says, sounding very much like me in my underwear might be one of them.
I sashay towards him with an exaggerated hip swing, hamming it up to let him think I might want to be his prize. But just when his grin has got so wide it’s taken over half his face, I launch myself into the air, wrap my arms round my knees and cannonball into the water, sending a wave crashing over him.
He’s laughing his head off and wiping the splashes out of his eyes when I come up for air. ‘I hope you know I’ll get you back for that.’
‘Oh yes, and I look forward to it.’
‘You really aren’t like anyone else I’ve met,’ he says, shaking his head and chuckling again.
I’m about to joke that he, on the other hand, is the same as every other super fit athlete I’ve ever found myself semi-naked in a swimming pool with– I don’t know how I always manage it– when he leans towards me and plants a kiss on my lips. But he pulls away just as quickly, apologising and telling me he couldn’t resist.
As I drink in every inch of his beautiful face bobbing in front of me, I can’t say I feel sorry at all. In fact I wish he hadn’t stopped. So it’s music to my ears when he adds, cheekily, ‘Well, you know, sorry not sorry.’
All our goofing around is suddenly forgotten and we can’t take our eyes off each other as the tension sizzles between us. I paddle closer, till our noses are almost touching, and he reaches for my hand beneath the water.
This is it, I’m really doing this,I think as I lace my fingers between his and close the last of the gap between us. And when I press my mouth back against his, I can feel his lips curling up into a smile.
Our tongues touch softly at first, gently exploring. But soon our mouths are crushing together more hungrily, which is quite a challenge while we’re treading water, so we swim towards the shallow end, stopping as soon as we can both put our feet on the bottom.
He draws me towards him and snakes his arms round my waist as he kisses me again. I run my hands over his muscular arms, feel his solid back through his soaking T-shirt then slide my arms up round his neck. A flare of heat rushes through me as our bodies press together despite the cool water on my skin.
When he moves his hands to the tops of my thighs and lifts my legs up, curling them round his waist, it feels like the sexiest move anyone has ever pulled on me. Resting my back against the side of the pool, he trails his fingers along my thighs as our mouths meet again.
By the time his hands have found their way back to my waist, I’m willing them to keep moving upwards, all the way to my breasts. But there’s a sudden screeching sound from inside the house and Ben quickly untangles us. ‘That’s the smoke alarm,’ he explains.
He apologises as he hauls himself effortlessly out of the pool, water cascading off his sodden clothes. ‘Such bad timing, but I don’t want the house to catch fire.’
Which I can hardly argue with, even if I’m gutted that we’ve had to stop kissing.
I watch him jog to the back door, where he pauses to strip his shorts and T-shirt off before disappearing inside, no doubt to stop them dripping all over his parquet floor. It gives me a glorious glimpse of his smooth, toned body and sends my mind off on a little journey about what else we might get up to in the pool when he comes back. My body fizzes at the thought of it.
But when he still hasn’t returned a few minutes later, I climb out– using the steps; I doubt I could push myself up at the side as gracefully as Ben did– to go and find out why.
Ben has a towel wrapped round his waist and is flapping another one at the smoke rising from a charred pile of scraps in the top of his pedal bin.
‘Slight incident with the chips,’ he says, holding the towel out towards me. ‘Sorry, this was meant to be for you.’
‘So I can take over the flapping?’
