Chapter 6
six
. . .
RORY
My phone rings for the third time in a row. I pull it out of my pocket to silence it but this time it’s not my ex, it’s Vivian, the team’s publicist.
“Hey, Viv,” I answer.
“Don’t ‘hey, Viv’ me.”
It’s immediately clear that she isn’t just calling to catch up.
“It was an innocent situation taken out of context,” I preface, knowing she’s going to bring up what everyone else within a ten-mile radius of Coral Cove already has.
There was nothing salacious about the mermaid situation, but someone snapped a photo of me hovering over her on the bench and that image is making the rounds. You can’t see her face, just me on top of her, hands down her pants. I mean, tail. It’s fucking ridiculous.
While I was talking to the club’s security officer and manager, she vanished without any explanation and without backing my account of the situation. The club manager apologized once he realized who I was and dismissed the security officer. Annoying, because I hadn’t done anything wrong, and that should have been reason enough, not my local celebrity status.
“That, my friend, is eighty percent of my job,” Vivi jokes.
“What’s the damage?” I ask, knowing she’s right. There’s what happened and then there’s what people, mostly the media, portray.
“You’re the golden boy of swimming, a national hero, and while the media has always loved you, they can turn quickly.” She sighs. “I can deal with the media, but unfortunately, I can’t deal with your mom.”
“She called you?” I groan, stopping in front of the library to take in the familiar brick building with its white and green striped canvas awnings. I’ve already heard from my parents regarding the mermaid incident, my mom leaving me several voice messages about it.
“Yes. And unlike you, I picked up.”
“Hey. That was your choice.”
“I’m a publicist, it’s never a good look to avoid people.”
“What did you tell her?” I ask, curious.
“That it was an act of heroism. A battle with wet Lycra that required your specific skill set. She wanted to know if there was anything going on between you and the woman.”
“No. I don’t even know her name. She disappeared before I got it.”
“Seriously? The photos had me thinking you were on a first name basis.”
“We were interrupted by the club’s security officer.”
“Yeah, I got that part.” She laughs.
“Interrupted before I could get her name .”
“So, the mermaid thing. Is this a fetish I need to be concerned about?”
“She was dressed up for a child’s birthday party. I was helping her take off her mermaid tail.”
“Hmm. It looked like you were helping her with more than that.”
“I thought you called to help me navigate this.”
“Okay, I’ll stop teasing. I can put out a statement that you were lending a helpful hand, but that’s the extent of the situation. Or, I can say no comment, which everyone knows means something is up.”
“Is there a third option?” I ask.
“I know the situation with your parents and your ex has been a source of distraction for you, so why not create a counter distraction?”
“What do you mean?”
“Embrace the mermaid. Oh, and Hydra-Fuel reached out yesterday.”
“Why didn’t you lead with that?”
“I like to get the unpleasant stuff out of the way first. It makes the good stuff that much better. You know, work out first, then eat cake. That kind of thing.”
“So, Hydra-Fuel, huh?”
Swimming isn’t hockey or football. There are no multi-million-dollar contracts being signed. So, unless you’re sponsored, you’re paying out of pocket for coaching, gear, and travel.
When I thought my career was over last year, several of my sponsorships ended. A long-time contract with AquaEdge, a high-performance swim gear line, as well as endorsement deals with Visa and Colgate. Vivi’s been working on a Hydra-Fuel endorsement and it sounds like things are getting finalized.
“They want to shoot in a few weeks. A montage of you swimming and working out in various ways. Should be an easy campaign.”
“Sounds good.” I temper my response, but the reality is it feels fucking amazing to still be wanted by major corporations. “I’ll have my legal team review the contract. I’m sure they’ll have some feedback.”
“I’ll forward it to everyone.”
“Thanks, Viv.” I hesitate for a second, then shift gears. “Unrelated, but how are your detective skills?”
“I’m a publicist, not a spy,” she chides. “But I’m also a woman, so pretty damn good.”
“The mermaid’s name.”
“I’ll do some digging.”
“Thanks.”
I end the call with Vivi, then pocket my phone.
I rake a hand through my hair and roll out my shoulders.
That’s when I notice something on the window ledge of the library.
Stepping through the landscaping of woodchips and shrubs, I reach the window and discover it’s a painting.
At the same moment I reach for it, my phone buzzes in my pocket, this time reminding me of the appointment notification that Charlie had sent me yesterday.
With the painting in hand, I make my way down the block to Spruce, a medical spa and salon in Coral Cove.
Inside the waiting room I find Logan, Eli, and Charlie.
Logan nods to the painting I’m holding, taking it from my hand to examine it. He beams ear to ear. “You met a mermaid and you found a Covey? Fuck, man, you’re a god damn good luck charm.”
I ignore his comments about the mermaid. The guys already gave me shit about the woman leaving me high and dry this morning at practice.
“What’s a Covey?” I ask.
“A few months ago, these beach paintings started showing up randomly around town. Someone came up with the name Covey. It’s a mash up of Coral Cove and Banksy, the British anonymous street artist. There’s even a social media page for people to post when they find one.” He hands it back to me. “Where’d you get it?”
“Near the library.”
“Wait. Isn’t that your beach house?” Charlie asks.
“Fuck. I didn’t even notice that before.” Logan moves in for a closer look. “It must be fate that you were the one to find it.”
Eli groans. “Logan’s into some woo woo shit lately. Auras and meditation. He dragged me to an aura cleansing workshop last week.”
Logan smirks at Eli. “You liked it.”
Eli lifts his chin toward Charlie. “This better not be another aura reading.”
“Trust me. This is nothing like that,” Charlie says, his cheeks turning a tinge of pink.
Just then, the receptionist greets us with forms to fill out and sign.
I scan the document.
“Why the hell is this form all about bleach?” I ask.
Eli drops the clipboard on the table and moves to stand. “Bro, I’m not bleaching my hair. We did that before Paris and I looked fucking terrible.”
“Nah, man, you looked cool,” Logan argues.
Eli shakes his head. “It washed me out and you know it.”
The receptionist gives a wave of dismissal. “You can disregard the bleach section, that isn’t part of your services today.”
While I’m happy bleach is off the table, I’m still wondering what we’re doing.
I turn my attention to Charlie. “What exactly are we doing here?”
“As you know, we have a tradition. The tattoo before Sydney. The hair dye before Paris. We have to set the tone for the months of intense training before trials.”
He’s right. It’s tradition. The previous medley teams I’d swam with in Singapore and Atlanta had done the same thing. Back then, I was the young, inexperienced swimmer looking up to the older leaders. I’d been seventeen and twenty-one, so they’d been tame. Before the games in Singapore, there was a towel we passed around, each of us drying off with it after every practice that week, never washing it, which is disgusting now that I think about it.
While Charlie talks, two words on the form hit me like a truck: anal waxing.
“What the fuck?” I hiss. “Anal waxing? Really, Charlie?”
Eli starts laughing which does not seem to be a normal reaction for his usually serious nature.
“What the hell is going on?” I ask.
Eli’s eyes are alight with amusement. “Some girl told Charlie his ass was too hairy.”
“I told you that in confidence,” Charlie whispers.
“Yet, here we all are.” Eli gestures to the waiting area.
Logan shakes his head. “First of all, can we all agree that anyone who is back there should be comfortable enough to handle what they find? Hair and all.”
The pink tinge of Charlie’s cheeks deepens. “I need the moral support and figured this was two birds with one stone. We’re always eliminating body hair for drag purposes anyways.”
Eli shakes his head. “You cannot convince me that waxing my asshole is going to shave time off my split.”
“Now that it’s out there, we might as well share. Anyone else have this issue?” Charlie asks.
Logan shakes his head. “I don’t have any comment on this subject. I’ve never looked at my asshole and I really hadn’t planned on it.”
“Liar, you know you like ass play. You told me about one of the women you hooked up with was into it and you couldn’t believe what you’ve been missing out on this whole time. It’s why I suggested it to Marika and how she discovered I have a hairy asshole. So really this is all your fault.”
“Your hairy asshole is my fault? It couldn’t possibly be your Italian heritage?” Logan claps back.
Eli and I exchange a glance. Today is the weirdest fucking day.
“Are you scared?” Charlie goads Logan in a baby voice. “Do you need someone to hold your hand?”
“I’m not getting my asshole waxed and even if I was, I wouldn’t need anyone to hold my hand while doing it.”
“How are you shy about this? We see your dick in the shower every damn day,” Charlie argues.
“Yeah, but I draw the line at showing you all my asshole,” Logan growls.
“Fine. Be a baby. I didn’t want to see your asshole anyway.”
I shake my head at the ridiculousness of this conversation. I think we might be too close knit for our own good.
“It’s Rory’s decision,” Eli announces, nodding toward me. His eyes filled with the respect representative of the twelve years we’ve been teammates and friends. Without directly saying it, this is likely my last international run and the last time we’ll be doing something like this as a group.
Do I want to wax my asshole? Absolutely not. I haven’t even read the fine print to know what the procedure and side effects are. I’ve never even seen my asshole to know if I’d be a good candidate. I know what’s on my razor when I shave before a meet, though, so I’m guessing I’ve got something back there.
I glance over at Logan.
“No one has to do it,” I say, shifting my gaze to Charlie, “but it’d be really fucking cool to support our teammate and have this experience together.”
Charlie grins ear to ear.
Eli nods in confirmation.
Between me and Eli, Logan grumbles.
A female tech walks out pulling a pair of blue latex gloves on before she glances at us and grins. “Who’s first?”
Logan’s thumb jerks in my direction before he gives me a wicked smirk.
“You’re up, Captain.”
My ass cheeks have never touched each other the way they do now. It’s unnerving. I’d thought a short run this morning would help loosen up my knee, but all it’s done is draw attention to my freshly waxed asshole and taint.
I don’t embarrass easily, but the pretzel pose I had to hold for the wax tech to get under my ball sack was humiliating. And when Logan’s screams echoed down the hallway, I was glad I’d gone first.
After last night’s shenanigans, I’d gone home to finish unpacking, placing my newly acquired artwork on the dresser in my bedroom. More than the fact that it was cool that someone had painted my beach house, the painting was stunning. I’m no expert, but even to the untrained eye, it’s obvious that the artist is extremely talented.
After a three mile out and back run along Emerald Beach, I stop at the water’s edge to let the cool water rush over my feet and soak in the beauty of my surroundings. While California had been successful in regards to rehabilitation for my knee, and spending time with my sister, Whitney, it’s good to be home.
“Lulu! No!” I hear the woman call right before a small golden dog darts past me and into the water. Before the tide can pull the small dog out with it, I reach down and scoop it up.
The pup’s eyes are filled with mischief, its mouth open like it’s smiling, none the wiser that it could have been swept out to sea.
When I turn to see the woman chasing after the dog, I can’t help the grin that spreads over my face.
It’s her .
When she spots me with her dog, there’s a moment of hesitancy on her part, like she’s weighing her options. For a second, it seems like she’s considering abandoning her dog rather than face me. But ultimately, she decides to come for the dog.
She reaches out and takes the dog from me, checking to make sure it’s okay, before squinting up at me with a scowl on her pretty face. “Are you stalking me?”
My brows lift at her question that feels more like an accusation.
“This is the part where you thank me for rescuing your dog.”
“Thank you,” she grumbles. “And it’s not my dog. I’m just her walker,” she motions toward the boardwalk where three dogs with their leashes tied to a post are waiting patiently, tails wagging.
“So, you’re a dog walker and a part-time mermaid?”
She blinks up at me from under her black, ‘salty’ baseball cap.
She’s even more gorgeous than I remember. My eyes trail over the smooth, sun-kissed skin of her long legs. She’s wearing denim shorts and a loose tank with a lacy layer beneath. Her long hair is pulled back into a ponytail looped through her hat.
I know boundaries and I respect them, but right now every part of me wants to find some excuse to make contact.
Yesterday she’d been friendlier, but today those turquoise gems of hers flash at me with enough fierceness to knock me back on my heels.
I watch her eyes explore my shirtless chest and torso. Her stoic face might have been able cover up her perusal but at the last second, her lips part to take in more air.
“To answer your question, I’m not stalking you. Stalking would require planning. This is just a happy coincidence.”
“If you say so, Rory Shields.” She’s already turning to walk back up the beach toward the other dogs, so I follow. On the way, I grab my shoes and t-shirt that I’d left in a pile on the beach while I was running, then jog to catch up with her.
“If you tell me your name then these frequent encounters could be more friendly, wouldn’t you say?”
She whips around, and that long, blonde ponytail smacks me in the chest. When her face comes back into view, her pretty mouth is twisted into a frown.
“Who says I want them to be friendly?” she asks.
“I guess I should have taken the hint yesterday when you abandoned me during the interrogation about our bench activities.”
Back on the boardwalk, she attaches Lulu’s leash, then unties the other dogs from the wooden post. I slip on my shoes, then drop down to rub the head of a sweet looking Dachshund. The name on its tag says Cali.
“Hi, Cali. Nice to meet you.”
“Cali doesn’t like strangers.”
When Cali plants her paws on my feet and leans into me, I glance up at Wildflower. It’s the name I’d given her after replaying everything the past two days and wondering if I’d made her up.
She sighs. “I’m sorry I left. I had to get home to Edgar.”
“Edgar?” I chuckle at the formal name. “Who’s Edgar? Your boyfriend?”
She presses her lips together.
“Um...”
“I get it. Maybe this thing with Edgar is a situationship? Something you haven’t put a label on yet?”
She rolls her shoulders back. “No, we’re definitely together.”
I nod and give her an easy smile, but beneath my ribcage, disappointment surges through me. It makes no sense. I’m not looking for a relationship right now, but seeing this woman again is doing funny things to my insides. And hearing her talk about the guy she’s dating is strangely devastating.
“I’ve got to get going.” With one hand holding the leashes, she opens her backpack with the other to pull out a skateboard.
I’m not ready to let her go. I nod to the board. “You skateboard?”
“No, I just carry it around with me so I can ward off strange men that try to talk to me.”
She’s talking about me, of course, but I think she’s kidding.
“Strange men, huh?” I look around. “I don’t see any of those around, but I’ll hang here so no one bothers you.” I give her a wide grin.
The exasperated look on her face has me in a chokehold. It’s like she doesn’t understand why I’d want to be near her, and it’s that expression that only makes me want to get closer. To know more about her.
“How long have you been shredding?” I ask.
“Long enough.”
She’s giving me nothing, yet I’m having the best time talking to her. Or at least trying to talk to her.
“Are you upset with me?” I ask.
“What?” She looks confused.
“Did I do something wrong? With the tail removal? During your asthma att?—"
“No,” she cuts me off sharply. “It’s not you. It’s me.”
“Wow. Already getting the speech and I don’t even know your name.” I tap one of the wheels of her skateboard, sending it into motion. “You know, I’ve always wanted to learn.”
Ignoring me, she guides the dogs down the boardwalk, and I fall into step beside her.
“Yeah, well, today’s not the day, Flipper.”
She turns to sidestep me.
“Flipper?” I beam at the nickname. It’s not masculine or sexy, but I’ll take anything that has this woman’s brain giving me a second thought. “I like it.”
She laughs under her breath. “You would.”
“Why’s that?” I ask.
“Dolphins are the aquatic equivalent of a golden retriever.”
I nod in understanding. “Golden retrievers are playful, trustworthy, and loyal. I’ll take it.”
I watch a hint of a smile pull at the corner of her lips. It’s far better than the scowl she pinned me with earlier. I’m making progress with her, and I don’t want to stop now.
“Come on, Wildflower. One try.”
“Wildflower?” She scoffs.
“Yeah, like your tattoo.” I point to the tattoo on her wrist.
Her nose wrinkles, but I swear there’s an almost smile hidden beneath her exasperation. She stops suddenly and gives the command for the dogs to sit. One by one, she doles out treats and words of praise.
“What a good boy,” she tells Chef, the black lab, in a sweet, yet husky tone before giving him a treat. Fuck, I just know I’m going to replay that later and pretend she’s talking to me.
Be a good boy, Rory, and get on your knees for me.
Yeah, there’s no way that’s leaving my brain now.
Once the dogs are all attended to, she turns to me.
“You know the phrase, big tree, fall hard?” She scans a finger up the length of my body. “That’s in reference to you. You’re the big tree.”
I chuckle. “You think I’m going to fall?”
“My board’s too small for you. Gravity and center of mass will only assist in this disaster.”
That wasn’t a straight up no, so I must be wearing her down.
“I accept your challenge.” I take the skateboard from under her arm and place it on the ground.
“It wasn’t a challenge. I’m just saying this is probably going to end badly.”
I’m easygoing by nature, but I didn’t get where I am in swimming without a competitive streak. This isn’t a real competition, but now that she’s doubting me, I feel the need to prove her wrong.
I place one foot on the board, then the other to get a feel for it, before I toss her a sincere smile. “We need to work on your confidence in me.”
“We need to work on your reliance on that charming smile to get you anything you want.”
“So, you’re saying I’m charming?” I tease, pinning her with another smile.
She sighs again and shakes her head. “Let the record show that I am against this and am not held liable for any injury you might obtain.” She spreads her hands apart to indicate I’m free to give it a go.
“Any pointers?” I ask, stepping on to the board.
Even at an angle, my size fourteen running shoes hang off the edges of the board. I get what she meant about it being too small for me, but I’m not going to waste this opportunity to keep spending time with her.
In the back of my mind, I know I shouldn’t be putting my body through unknown situations. My knee is fully healed, but doing something stupid, like trying to impress a woman with skills I don’t have is asking for trouble. But when she extends her free hand to help me balance, guiding me down the boardwalk as the dogs follow, I know I’m stopping now.
I’ve never ridden a skateboard in my life, so I default to what I’ve seen on TV.
I start picking up speed. Wildflower jogs beside me, the dogs trotting obediently at her side. I catch the slight hitch in her breath and I wonder if this is pushing her asthma too far.
I didn’t realize I could move this fast.
“Rory!” she rasps. “Slow down!”
I’d love to, but we never discussed how to stop. I drop a foot to the ground, trying to brake just as she and the dogs catch up.
She reaches for me with her free hand, but the dogs yank her backward, and all my momentum redirects…straight toward her.
I twist, trying not to crush the smallest dog directly underfoot. My reaction time off the blocks is second to none, but it doesn’t serve me now. Not with the skateboard, the dogs, and Wildflower all colliding into one chaotic swirl.
And then, it’s too late.
I hear a crunch. I brace for pain in my knee…elbow…wrist, but other than the shock of the fall, I feel nothing.
I glance down to assess the damage.
I’m not hurt.
Because Wildflower broke my fall.
Her left wrist is bent awkwardly and pinned under my shoulder.
Shit.