Page 75 of The Season
“I can’t swim,” I admit with a self-deprecating laugh, grateful that Antoine won’t be able to hear. “I mean, I can doggy paddle if I have to, so I won’t completely drown.” Well, at least not instantly. I’d probably make it to the deep end of the pool. Maybe. “But I can’t do that.” I tilt my chin meaningfully in Antoine’s direction, where muscled arms dart above the water with the precision of a metronome, timed between breaths and kicks in perfect synchronicity.
“Oh.”
Lily sidles up beside me, her back against the tiles, her long, slender arms bent at the elbows, resting on the ledge. The dripping fingertips of her right arm are only inches from my own, and I can feel the movement of her legs beside mine in the water as she lazily keeps herself afloat.
“I can teach you if you want to learn.” She gives me a teasing grin. “Be your instructor.” She tosses her head, and a lock of wet hair slaps me playfully across the cheek. “That’s what I did back home, by the way. I worked as a lifeguard and taught swimming at the local pool.”
I huff out a laugh. For some reason, I never really imagined Hawai’i with swimming pools. I always just imagined sandy beaches, maybe with those little huts that sit out over the water. People dressed in bright florals wandering between tiki torches.
As soon as the thoughts formulate in my brain, I realize that they’re completely ridiculous.
It makes sense that she’s taught before, though. She picked up teaching snowboarding so quickly, and has an innate understanding of how to explain the movements. She knew instinctively that sometimes you have to move people’s bodies for them, let the muscle memory imbed itself.
“So if you wanted to learn, I could teach you,” she continues. “I’ve mainly taught little kids, but I have taught a few adults too…” She trails off, the playful grin faltering, a shadow of self-consciousness flitting across her gaze when I don’t answer. It’s like a cloud over the sun, the absence of her smile, and I feel a wash of cold run over me despite the heated water. “Totally okay if you don’t want to, though.”
“Okay,” I say, the word tumbling out before I can really think about it. I’ve never had a desire to swim. Never even considered it as a necessary life skill. And yet, the thought of turning her down, of seeing that look of disappointment on her face—I don’t think I can do it. “That’d be great.”
Which is how I end up gripping a kickboard in the shallow end of the pool, my arms stretched out in front of me, the scar from my spinal surgery on show, my legs behind me, and Lily’s hands skirting mercilessly over my body as she patiently explains how to kick so that I’m actually able to propel myself forward in the water.
It’s surprisingly difficult.
I try kicking under the water, ‘boiling the surface’ as Lily calls it, and end up—somehow—going backward. Lily’s face contorts as she tries to hide her amusement, her hands firm on my calves as she moves my legs for me, teaching my body what my mind is, apparently, too stupid to learn.
“It looks like you’re a kinetic learner,” she muses, and I honestly can’t tell if she’s ripping me out or not.
“You’re doing great,” she adds encouragingly, releasing my legs to float to the front of my board. “A couple of weeks and you could be swimming freestyle across the pool.”
“A couple ofweeks?” I stare at her incredulously. A couple of weeks, and I could have even the most untalented of students going down a black diamond run.
Lily gives me a sympathetic smile, cocking her head to one side. “You’ve always been good at sports, haven’t you?”
The question catches me off guard, and I find my legs drifting down, my feet resting on the smooth tiles until I’m half standing, half floating in front of her.
“You have,” she says, nodding as if in answer to her own question. “I get that. One of my best friends back home is like that—he’s just naturally athletic. Growing up, there literally wasn’t a sport he wasn’t the best at. Rowing, surfing, rock climbing—even skiing, and he’s from Hawai’i.”
A soft smile curves her lips, her eyes going distant with some memory, and an inexplicable twinge of jealousy pangs in my gut. Maybe because, in my self-absorbed mind, Lily didn’t exist until she showed up on the snow, bumbling her way down that black diamond run and into my life. I’d never really thought of what her life was like before. About who her friends were, or all the little jokes she shared with them.
“…until he tried ice skating on a school field trip.” Lily shakes her head, eyes sparking with amusement. “He just couldn’t stay upright, no matter how hard he tried.” She snorts out a laugh. “He ended up having to use one of those plastic walker things. You know, the things for little kids that are shaped like a penguin…” Her eyes meet mine, full of silent challenge that has my lungs constricting and heat rushing down my scarred spine. “He never got on the ice again. Said ice skating was a stupid sport and a waste of time.”
I lift one brow, pulling the kickboard against my chest as I rise to stand.
“You think I’m going to give up,” I say, my voice dropping low, a mixture of irritation and something darker making my blood heat. “You don’t think I have what it takes to stick to something.”
She shrugs one shoulder, the move instantly drawing my eyes to the curve of her neck, the fluttering pulse at her throat, the water tracking between her breasts as she lifts up in the water, then sinks back down.
“I don’t know,Coach…” she says that word with a teasing smile, but for some reason, it has all my blood rushing south and a wild, dangerous flash of heat burning through me. “You tell me.”
“You are such a little shit,” I tell her, throwing aside the kickboard and lunging gracelessly for her in the water. “If you’d spoken to me like that a few weeks ago…”
Her eyes widen in surprise, her arms going out to try and propel herself back, but she’s too slow.
My body slams against hers, like a slow-motion tackle, driving her momentarily under, my hands going to her exposed sides, fingers curling lightly into soft flesh.
I intended to tickle her, to leave her breathless and gasping. To release some of the tension that’s been coursing under my skin since the moment she dropped that towel and slipped into the water.
Before then, really, if I’m being honest. Maybe since that first day I saw her doing yoga in the living room, uncaring whether Matty was drooling into his breakfast at the sight of her.
The sound of gasping laughter fills my ears as we break the surface, her arms pressing between us as she squirms against me, her head thrown back, her mouth open wide, cheeks pink.
