Seven #2
The dismissal doesn’t sting, exactly. It more . . . catches me by surprise. Knocks an inch off my height and a decibel off my voice, so I’m a little hunched and a lot mumbling when I admit, ‘I thought I could stay. Watch you swim.’
Obviously, the same thought hadn’t crossed his mind – obviously, my willingness to linger amongst my mortal aquatic enemies has taken him by surprise. ‘Yeah?’
I contemplate taking it back. Just for a second. For the single, quick second it takes me to recognize not just surprise in Heath’s expression, but hope. Like he wants me to stay. ‘Yeah.’
He beams like this is the best thing that’s ever happened to him.
I . . . well, internally, I might just beam a little too.
Legs crossed at the knees, I balance an open notebook on the curve of one. A pen poised between my lips, I chew on the end of it thoughtfully, brows pulling together as I watch the Cove College co-ed team run relays, and try to decipher what I’m seeing.
Try to figure out why, exactly, Heath is leisurely swimming lengths like he has nowhere at all in the world to be, like he doesn’t care, like this whole practice is a waste of his time – and how, exactly, he stills wins every damn leg.
He’s laughing. Bobbing around in the water like he’s in a wave pool on vacation. More than once, he ducks beneath the lane rope separating him from Kai and the two of them roll around like little kids, splashing and ducking and laughing, so much laughing.
I’ve never laughed during practice, not once in my life.
I try to imagine how my dad would’ve reacted if, in the middle of a lap, I just burst out into giggles, and I can’t because it never would’ve happened.
That was not the training environment Dad fostered.
That isn’t the environment I foster. I don’t find joy in training; I find joy in winning. In succeeding. In dedication.
I don’t like that sitting here, watching Cove College clearly adopt a very different attitude, makes my own feel wrong.
Wincing as I bite down a little too hard and taste ink, I swipe at my mouth and toss the ruined pen into my bag. I dog-ear the page I’ve been scribbling on before closing my notebook and putting that away too, standing just in time for Coach Keller to call time on practice.
Heath is still in the water when I make it poolside. I hover on the edge, towering over him, brows high. ‘Are you always like this?’
‘Dashingly handsome?’
‘Unfocused.’
‘It’s just practice.’
I quite literally look down my nose at him. ‘Practice is how you get good.’
Like butter wouldn’t fucking melt, Heath grins. ‘I’m already good.’
‘Practice is how you get better.’
‘I’m already better.’
My eyes roll before narrowing on the wet hand that wraps around my ankle, the other beckoning me closer. With a sigh, I drop to my haunches, forearms stacked on my thighs, spine curved, voice a low grumble. ‘Pull me in and I’ll drown you.’
A wicked smile curves his mouth. He tugs teasingly, but he lets me go.
Both palms braced against the concrete on either side of me, he pushes himself up out of the water like some kind of merman god.
His muscles strain as he brings his face an inch away from mine, one bicep bulging when he shifts his weight entirely to one hand so he can lift the other.
His thumb swipes the corner of my mouth and comes away ink-stained.
‘You were writing notes for me, weren’t you? ’
‘No.’ Just made a few mental ones. ‘I made a study plan.’
‘For me?’
‘No, for Coach Keller.’ I wind a wet strand of his hair around my forefinger and tug. ‘Yes, for you. That’s the deal, right?’
‘Right.’ Heath drops a little, chin lifted as he gazes up at me. His eyes go a little glazed for a moment, pupils blowing wide, and I’m about to ask if he’s having a stroke when he abruptly cuts me off.
Surging upwards again, he brushes his mouth against mine. That same lazy, chaste way he seems to prefer. Nose dragging against mine, wet hair tracking droplets down my face, the rest of him dripping all over the rest of me.
‘You’re getting me wet.’
‘Daniela,’ he scolds playfully, flicking water at me. ‘We’re in public.’
Against my will, my cheeks flush. I try to shove him away, but, apparently, he’s been doing upper-body workouts since the womb, so he goes approximately fucking nowhere.
So I do instead.
‘Get out.’ I slap my hands against my thighs before standing up. ‘We’ve got work to do.’
I’m not sure where I imagined Heath to live – I’m not sure that I ever actually have imagined it. I am sure, however, that it wouldn’t have been the quaint, sun-bleached bungalow nestled so close to the waves crashing on the nearby shore that I smell salt with every inhale.
Well, that last part, I could’ve guessed.
Not the ivy-covered exterior nor the wind chime providing a gentle, ringing soundtrack, nor the neatly kept garden speckled with flowers every shade of the rainbow, but the proximity to the sea, yes.
The surfboards propped against one side of the modest home, yes.
The child that comes tearing out a pale blue front door?
Not so much.
‘Uncle Heath!’ the little girl screeches, blonde curls bouncing as she throws herself at the man who drops to a crouch, only a few steps ahead of me, in order to catch the niece I didn’t even know he had. ‘You’re late.’
‘Late?’ Heath scoffs. ‘To do what?’
‘To see me.’ The little girl blinks, deadpan. ‘Did you bring Kiki?’
Heath chuckles. ‘Not today.’
His niece pouts. Pouts at me, as if I’m the reason this Kiki isn’t here, as if I’ve taken their place. ‘Who’s that?’
A palm running down the back of her curls, Heath squeezes her shoulder. ‘This is Daniela.’ He pauses, and I wonder if I imagine the way his grip tightens, the flash of discomfort on that handsome, sun-baked face. ‘My girlfriend.’
Boy, does he sound delighted to admit that.
The little girl doesn’t notice his tone. She’s too busy gasping in . . . surprise? Disbelief? Is even she, at her young age, astounded that her uncle would date me? Bring me home? Introduce me to his family?
I’ve never been introduced to anyone’s family.
Not really. Ben’s parents are hardly ever in town, and when they are, when they meet him for dinner, I’m never invited.
I only met his mother once, by accident, when I bumped into her at a meet, but I’m not entirely sure she knew who I was.
When I introduced myself, said I’m Daniela and stuck my hand out politely, she only replied that’s nice.
I guess that just wasn’t the nature of that relationship.
Apparently, it is the nature of this one.
Swiping my clammy hands down the sides of my shorts, I lift one of them in an awkward wave. ‘Hi.’
The girl dips her chin, squinting up at me from beneath the long lashes that must be a Belfort family trait. ‘Hello.’
‘Dani,’ Heath calls my attention to him, the reservation he wore only moments ago replaced with soft amusement. ‘This is Lyla.’
‘I’m five,’ the girl, Lyla, adds, clearly proud of what she must deem pivotal information.
‘Cool.’ I nod, stiff, unsure. ‘I’m twenty-one.’
‘Cool,’ Lyla parrots, before turning to her uncle. ‘Is she the girl you and Mommy and Aunty June talk about when you think I’m not listening?’
Heath clears his throat, and it’s only later, much later, when I’m lying in bed, mentally replaying the day, that I’ll notice how he ducks his head to hide a blush. How his chuckle is a little abashed, his insisted, ‘You’re delusional, little one,’ is a little choked.
As it is, in the moment, I don’t notice. I’m distracted. Surprised all over again when a blonde, curvy figure appears in the doorway of that adorable house. Barefoot, hands on her full hips, mischievous curiosity lighting up the face that, even from a distance, I can tell is ridiculously beautiful.
A face, I realize as she saunters across the sand-speckled, grassy front yard, that is the carbon copy of my fake boyfriend’s.
Tanned, freckled, and with long locks the same shade of blonde as the girl lingering between Heath and I, the woman comes to a stop a couple of steps away from us, and graces me with the full brunt of her attention. ‘Who’s this?’
A young voice grumbles, ‘Not Kiki.’
The woman chuckles. ‘Lala, honey, you saw him last night.’
Heath’s head snaps to her – to his sister, I quickly gather, because there’s no way that shared eye color is pure coincidence. ‘Kai was here last night?’
Kai. Kiki. I rein in a laugh, only managing it because I’m rather intrigued by the way the sister I didn’t know Heath had ducks her head to hide a soft, secret grin. The way she mindlessly, girlishly ruffles the curls of what has to be her daughter. ‘He dropped by.’
Heath, on the other hand, is not smiling. ‘Why?’
‘Brought us dinner.’
‘Why?’
‘Because we’re friends, Heath. Jesus.’ With a huff, she shakes her head, shakes off her brother’s inquisition, and focuses her own on me. ‘It’s Daniela, right?’
‘Right,’ I slowly confirm, fighting a frown, oddly put-off by her knowing who I am even though it’s not really that weird.
We live in a small town, my ex is her brother’s mortal enemy – it’s not exactly surprising that I would come up in conversation.
Except something, call it gut instinct or self-consciousness or delusion, tells me that I don’t just come up in context to Ben. ‘It’s nice to meet you . . .’
‘Saylor.’
Saylor. Right. Fuck, I should know that, shouldn’t I?
God, I might be an even worse fake girlfriend than I was a real one.
‘It’s nice to meet you,’ I repeat, like a dumbass, because I can’t think of anything else to say.
God. What’s wrong with me? I’m not the queen of extroverts or anything, but, fuck, I’ve interacted with living, human beings before.
I know how to function like one. So why am I all nervous and bumbling and fucking weird?
‘It’s nice to meet you too,’ Saylor replies, smiling sweetly, either kind enough to ignore my conversational inadequacies, or just not noticing them. ‘You hungry? We were just making lunch.’