Chapter 16 #2
I shut my eyes and take a deep breath, then bend down and dip my hand into the water.
I know I could try a few lengths if I really wanted to.
Swimming would be a great form of rehab for you, Olive, as soon as the skin graft is fully healed.
Low impact. But I don’t want low impact.
I want to be able to give it my all and push my body to its limits, like I used to. There’s no point in anything else.
I clench my fist and shake off the water, then dry my hand on my jumper.
In a way, I don’t want to believe the doctors who told me I’ll never be able to swim at that level again.
I mean, who do they think they are? God?
They don’t have a fucking crystal ball to see into the future.
But it’s hard to convince myself that they’re wrong when my own dad is a doctor and tells me at great length that their prognosis is evidence-based, not just plucked out of thin air.
And that makes me feel like even Dad’s given up on me, even though the sensible part of me knows that’s rubbish.
Emotions are seldom rational—that’s the whole problem with them.
I’m so deep in thought that the sound of a voice makes me jump.
“So what shall we smash today?”
I whirl around, even though there’s no need. His voice kind of echoes in here, but I know it right away. I force myself to breathe first, then speak. I have to beat Fantino at his own game. “Are you following me?” I ask with the bored tone I learned from him.
He laughs like he knows perfectly well how hard I’m trying to sound unfazed. I’m afraid he knows me well enough by now that that’s probably true.
“Would you like that?”
I roll my eyes as he comes closer. “Can’t think of anything else to say?” He’s actually grinning.
“How did you even get in here?” I ask, because only the coaching staff and swimming team know the code to the door.
“It wasn’t quite shut. Wasn’t that meant as an invitation?”
“No, actually.”
I keep sitting there as he comes over. Don’t want him thinking I’m intrigued by his presence. Because I’m not. Not in the least.
“So, Olive,” he says, looking at the pool.
I fight back the urge to correct him. That’s Olive Garden, thank you.
It isn’t, but apparently, I’ve got used to Fantino calling me that.
Without that little extra, my name sounds almost naked from his lips.
“What do we have here, then? The diving board? Could be tricky—everything in a swimming pool is kind of robust.”
I give a derisive snort as he looks at me.
“Or there’s the glass here if you’re feeling hardcore?”
“Are you nuts?” I yell as Colin walks from the poolside and knocks his hand on the window. I’m immediately pissed off with myself for giving him the satisfaction of getting a reaction out of me. He grins with smug triumph.
“Oh, Olive Garden, what do you think of me?”
“Can’t you just stop being so fucking annoying?”
He turns back to me. “Fucking annoying?” he repeats.
“Yeah.” I look away. “Seriously fucking annoying.”
“It breaks my heart that you’re not pleased to see me.”
“Like anyone would be,” I mutter, which sounds more unkind than I meant to. Apparently, I’m not the only one to think so. Colin’s eyes rest on me as I glance at him. He doesn’t look hurt, but then he doesn’t look unhurt either. I wish I could take back the words.
“No, you’re right.” I hear the bitterness in his voice. “I can’t think of anyone either.”
“Hey, sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Yeah, you did, Olive. C’mon, admit it.”
I gulp as the look in his deep brown eyes bores into me.
“But you have to live with that,” he remarks, more casual again now. I don’t like how easily he can hide that my words upset him. I don’t have any chance to think about that now, though, because Fantino suddenly slips off his shoes.
“What are you doing?”
He kicks them aside and looks down at me.
“What does it look like?” he inquires, reaching for the hem of his hoodie.
He pulls it over his head in one fluid movement, and his T-shirt rides up slightly with it.
I hate men. I hate them for divesting themselves of their clothes without a bloody care in the world and flaunting their flat bellies.
I hate Colin Fantino and his gray joggers sitting low on his hips.
And then he takes them off too. Oh, God.
If I look away, he’ll think I’m prudish, but it feels wrong to stare. Not that it isn’t a pleasant sight. Colin Fantino is tall and athletic, long legs, defined shoulders. Shit, he’s seriously hot, and he knows it.
My eyes fall on the insulin pump just above the waistline of his black boxers, on his right hip.
“Is that thing waterproof?”
A lock of dark hair falls over his forehead as he looks up. “Let’s find out.”
It’s not a bad dive for a beginner, as he hits the water a few seconds later. He’s got good body tension and a kind of elegance I’d never have suspected in him. You couldn’t see it under his baggy jeans and sloppy hoodies.
I don’t budge an inch as he pops up again in front of me, stroking his wet hair out of his face.
“Oh, no,” he says, not taking his eyes off me. “It wasn’t waterproof, Olive. This is an emergency.”
“Ha-ha,” I say.
“Come on,” he says, swimming over to join me at the edge. “Stop being so fucking boring.”
“Then you stop being so fucking annoying.”
He grabs my ankle, and I flinch. “Colin,” I say threateningly.
“Uh-oh, first-name time—she’s deadly serious.”
“Stop it,” I say, keeping my voice cool even as I feel my heart start to quicken.
“What if I don’t?”
“You don’t want to find out.”
Some kind of challenge flickers in his eyes.
And then he pulls me over to the edge of the pool. Hard, fast, so that my fingers slide over the smooth tiles. He gets hold of my hips, and a second later, I hit the water in front of him.
I’d forgotten how cold the main pool is.
But not how good it feels to float weightlessly under the water for a second or two.
I hold my breath, and because Fantino’s a bastard, I count seconds under the water.
My eyes sting slightly as I open them, but now I can make out the shape of his body.
I give him ten seconds tops before he panics.
I’m counting down in my head, and I haven’t even got to five when he grabs me. I’m pulled upward, and I only put any effort in myself just before I break the surface.
I can’t read Colin’s expression as I wipe the water from my face. His eyes look me over, in shock and then pissed off as he realizes I was testing him.
“Oh, no, it’s an emergency,” I imitate him. His hands are still gripping my arms.
“What the hell, Olive?” he snaps. He’s never spoken that seriously to me before. Something stirs in my belly. “D’you think that’s funny?”
“Do you think it’s funny?” I retort. After all, it was him who just pulled me in.
For a few seconds, we face each other, then seem to become aware that we’re only centimeters apart. He’s right in front of me, and he’s wearing practically nothing. Tanned skin that looks so outrageously smooth I want to touch it to find out how it feels. His muscly arms, his wet chest.
I push myself away, and Colin immediately snatches back his hands.
“It was not funny,” he snarls as I turn over to float on my back.
“No, it wasn’t,” I agree. When he doesn’t speak, I glance at him.
“You’re unbelievable, Olive Garden,” he murmurs. It doesn’t sound as snarky as I’d expected, but perhaps that’s just down to the water in my ears.
The graft on my shoulder tenses as I stretch out my arms. I know I’m not meant to be in the water yet, but a few minutes won’t kill me.
My jumper’s sodden and it’s pulling me down, but there’s no way in hell I’m taking it off.
Even if I wasn’t ashamed of the way I look, I’m really not in the mood for Colin seeing my scars and starting to ask questions.
I dive under, and when I resurface, Colin’s looking at me again. Or else he never stopped.
“What?” I ask, and I’m annoyed at how hoarse my voice sounds. Anything but detached. But then “anything but detached” is exactly how I feel about what’s going on here. I’m in the water. With Colin.
“Nothing,” he says, not taking his eyes off me. He comes over, slowly. “Nothing at all, Olive.”
There’s chemistry between us. It was obvious from the very first seconds we met.
From the moment I was standing by that display case and Colin was there.
And then he was everywhere, and even if there are times I could launch him into outer space, I don’t want him to leave here now.
Because there’s something between us that I’ve never felt with anyone else.
It’s the certainty that Colin can see through me.
And that’s what stops me pulling away when he closes the last wee gap between us.
He’s right next to me and my heart is beating fast. Very fast.
His mouth, which really is very handsome, is open slightly and his eyes, which really are very handsome, are dark. He’s watching my lips, just for a moment, and then he looks me in the eyes again.
“Are you going to kiss me now?” I ask, because the silence is unbearable.
Colin gulps. “No,” he says.
“OK,” I whisper. So I’ll do it for him.
Colin neither moves away nor comes toward me.
In fact, he doesn’t move at all. He’s simply there, a warm body with hot, soft lips.
Softer than I thought. He doesn’t move until I let go of him again.
Before I can pull back, he reaches for me.
His hands find my face, and then he kisses me.
And I mean kisses me. Self-assured and tender, but urgent.
Underwater, my hands touch his skin. Warm, smooth, really smooth. They glide over his chest to his shoulders and the back of his neck as I open my mouth. Colin doesn’t hesitate. He keeps kissing me, and I can’t remember how to breathe at the same time. Everything’s gone.