Chapter 9 #2
“Were they okay leaving Australia for America?” She picks up her smoothie, sipping and smiling like it’s summer in her glass.
“They were hesitant at first,” I admit. “But I needed Mum to manage me. She saw Danny was a bit too controlling before I did and stepped in. Things have been better since then.”
“I don’t like him,” Stella says, stirring her straw. “This really is so good.”
I nod, feeling like the fruit she’s swirling around—soft and mixed up.
I’ve been with Danny for a long time now.
I owe him my career, but if I’m honest, I don’t like him either.
I haven’t really let myself think that until just now when Stella said it so bluntly.
Now I can’t stop staring at her…can’t stop the lyrics that keep writing themselves about her eyes.
“I think I’ll jump in the pool,” I say, looking past her to stay sane.
“You’re not going to eat first?” She asks, mouth still curved around the straw.
“Nah, yeah.” I grab my smoothie, turn away from the distraction, and take a long drink.
She hums in approval, picking at the fruit. “You’d better get in on this before I eat it all. These oranges are so fresh.”
I glance back as she bites into one. Juice runs down her chin. She laughs, wipes it off, and licks her fingertip.
If I don’t get in the water now, I’ll go mad, like the sailors in The Odyssey when they encountered the sirens.
“I’m going in!” I call, setting my smoothie down and running for the edge.
“Stop! You’re supposed to wait half an hour after eating before swimming!”
I dive into the deep end, the cold shock clearing my head—for about three seconds. But her laugh follows me into the water, and every thought I had about keeping calm goes under with me.
When I surface, she’s taking off her wrap. Her bikini bottoms reveal less than I’m used to seeing at the beach. No butt cheeks. No thighs covered only at the waist by tiny strings. No view that leaves little to the imagination.
And it’s the sexiest suit I’ve ever seen.
I dip back under the water, but it’s lost any calming effect it had on me a few seconds ago. When I come back up, Stella’s walking toward the shallow end of the pool.
“Go on, just jump in,” I say, treading water.
She shakes her head.
“Come on, it’s easier if you just get it over with.”
She clips up her hair, careful and graceful. “I don’t swim,” she says finally.
“What d’you mean, you don’t want to swim? That’s half the point of being out here.”
“I didn’t say I don’t want to. I said I don’t.”
My brain short-circuits. I sink, then wade closer until I can stand. “Didn’t you live by a lake before you moved to LA? You never swam in it?”
Stella steps onto the first stair, the water barely touching her ankles. “I wakeboarded on it. I didn’t go under if I could help it. It’s not that I can’t swim—I took swimming lessons once. I just…I don’t swim.”
“Shouldn’t you know how to swim to check off number nine on your list?”
Her cheeks go pink. “You said you didn’t remember what was on my list.”
I drop my gaze.
“Rhys?”
I glance up, my lips twitching. “Yeah, I lied.”
Her eyebrows shoot up.
“But only to make you feel better,” I add quickly, the grin giving me away.
Her eyes narrow, but the laugh sitting behind them tells me I’m safe. I dive under and swim to the steps. When I pop up, I shake my head hard enough to spray her with water.
“Rhys! What are you doing?” She throws up her arms to block the spray, then kicks water at me.
I duck under again, coming up just out of range. “You’ll have to come in if you really want to get me!”
Stella glares, then takes the last few steps into the pool, wincing as the water hits her belly.
“Told you to jump in,” I say, kneeling so the water reaches my shoulders. “You’d be done by now.” I blow bubbles on the surface to hide my grin—and the fact that the loose tendril of her hair has me itching to tuck it behind her ear.
“I don’t want to get my hair wet.”
“You can’t swim without getting your hair wet.”
“I’m not here to swim. I’m here to test out the pool—like you wanted.” She stops when the water hits her chest.
“Come on, La-La. It’s no fun if you don’t get wet.”
Her mouth puckers at the nickname, but there’s a smile hiding right behind it. I edge a little closer.
“It’s no fun washing chlorine out of my hair.”
“It’s a saltwater pool. No chlorine. Just rinse and you’re good.”
Before she can argue, I dive under again, swim a slow circle around her, and pop up behind her. “Come on, I’ll be the shark—you swim away.”
“Rhys, no games.”
I hum the Jaws theme under my breath.
“Seriously, Rhys. No games. I don’t swim.” Her voice wobbles between laughter and something real.
“Come on, Stella. How are you fun everywhere except the pool?”
She glares. “How are you grumpy everywhere except the pool?”
“Because I’m weightless in water.” I close my eyes and lie back. The weight I’ve been carrying melts away as I float.
Stella says something, but the water muffles her words.
“I can’t hear you,” I call.
“You’re not weightless! You could sink any second!” she yells.
A splash hits my face, forcing me upright. She’s smirking—until her eyes drift to my chest. Droplets slide down, and she tracks each one. I tighten my shoulders, giving her a better view. May as well put the weight training to use.
“Bodies are built to float,” I tell her when her gaze finally meets mine again.
“Speak for yourself.” She takes a step back.
“You don’t know how to float?”
“I know how to sink.” She crosses her arms, then uncrosses them when she catches where my eyes go.
I look back up, guilty. “Stella, for real, how’re you gonna swim in every ocean if you can’t even float?”
“Not every ocean. Definitely not the freezing ones. And I meant wading, not swimming.” She swipes at the water, but I catch her hand before she can splash me.
“Says swimming on your list.” I keep hold of her hand and tug her a little closer.
“Can we stop talking about my list, please?” she says, a bit breathless.
“Only if you let me teach you to swim. We’ll start with floating. I’ll even promise not to mention the list again.” My thumb slides over her knuckles. She exhales, shaky.
Our eyes lock, and for a second, the pool feels way too small.
“Fine. Help me float.” She pulls her hand from mine but doesn’t move away.
“You’ll have to get your hair wet,” I say, brushing the loose strand down her back.
She shoots me a glare over her shoulder. “I’m aware, Rhys. Worth it if it shuts you up about the list.”
I laugh quietly, stepping behind her. “All right, then. Just lean back and let your feet come up.”
Stella bends her knees and tips her head back. The second her head hits the water, she panics, shoots upright, and makes for the steps. “See? Told you! I sink!”
“You’re doing it wrong. Come back.” Laughing, I catch her hand and pull her close. The water sways around us. Her fingers brush my stomach, and something electric hits my chest.
“Do you trust me?” I ask, hand settling behind her back.
She takes a deep breath and leans back. I guide her with both hands.
“Keep going. I’ve got you. Straighten your legs.”
Slowly, she does.
“Tip your chin up.”
She closes her eyes, and I lift until she’s floating.
“Now, breathe. In and out. Slow. Move your arms a little—tiny kicks if you feel yourself sinking. Relax. I’m not letting you go.”
Her breathing evens out, though her exhales still shake. So, I do what I always do when I’m nervous. I hum.
The first tune that comes is the one I hate, the one she loves. But I hum the authentic version, the way I wrote it. Softer. More melancholy.
A small smile curls her lips. “Why does that sound familiar?”
“Because you were belting it out yesterday,” I say, still holding her steady. “Reckon it’s not the first time you’ve sung it either.”
She opens her eyes, catches the sun full on, and squeezes them shut again. She startles and sinks, clutching my neck.
I move my hands to her hips, setting her upright, our chests pressed together. We breathe hard, neither of us letting go.
“You know,” I say, voice low, “there are a few other things on that list I could help you cross off.”
Her gaze drops to my mouth, then flicks up. “Didn’t you just promise not to talk about the list?”
My lip quirks. “Haven’t finished the swimming lesson yet.”
“That’s cheating, Rhys.”
“Just offering to help, La-La. Take it or leave it.” I drop my voice, a little rasp in it—old habits.
And it works. Her expression softens, curious.
“Help with what, specifically?” she asks, walking her fingers along my shoulders until they link behind my neck. I slide my hands around her waist.
“I think you know. All you’ve gotta do is ask.”
Her eyes flicker, sparking a dozen new lyric ideas—each one about her lips and the way she looks at me now. I hold my breath, waiting for her to close the gap.
I won’t move first. But if she does—if she asks—I’m gone.