Fifteen #2
Tearing my intrigued gaze away from the couple in front of us – seriously, does no one else notice something between Imani and Brendan?
– I sigh wearily as I glance over my shoulder at the pair taking up the rear of our group.
Just as I did five minutes ago, I find an uncharacteristic scowl marring Heath’s face. ‘What’s his problem?’
‘Mankind. Emphasis on the man.’
‘What?’
With a sweep of her arm, Matilda draws my attention to the gaggle of bros on the other side of the street, walking parallel to us, eyes on us. My mood instantly sours, my face contorting to match that of the man skulking a few steps behind me. Yeah, I’m not a fan of that brand of mankind either.
Obnoxious, cat-calling, I scream profane commentary at women and it definitely makes them want to sleep with me mankind.
‘What?’ I question again. ‘One of them praise the tightness of his ass?’
‘No, one of them praised yours.’ Her elbow nudges my ribs. ‘He’s jealous, Dani.’
‘Oh, no, he’s not.’
‘Oh, yes, he is.’
‘He’s not like that.’
A ha booms out, loud and borderline mocking. ‘He is one hundred per cent like that. Are you kidding? Jesus, even when you were with Ben—’
Her mouth snaps shut.
Mine opens to a painfully intrigued gape. ‘What?’
Matilda blinks. ‘Huh?’
‘When I was with Ben . . . what?’
The flimsy wings strapped to her back flutter as she shifts awkwardly. ‘Did I say that?’
‘Uh, yes.’
‘Well.’ She titters nervously, swishing a dismissive hand through the air. ‘I’m drunk.’
‘Matilda.’
‘Oh, look at that.’ Detangling herself from me, she gestures wildly at the nearest house. ‘Last stop. We’re here.’
‘Hey—’
Shrieking something unintelligible, she takes off across the street. Like, at a dead-damn-sprint. She literally flees the conversation, leaving me gaping in her wake. I’m still there, still gaping as the others follow her, when Heath catches up to me.
‘If you’re gawking at those guys, I might actually lose it.’
‘God, you know me so well. I love gross frat boys. Do you think the skinny one will call me mamacita again if I ask nicely?’
‘He did what?’
‘I’m joking.’ I’m so not. ‘I was gawking at Matilda.’
‘Plot twist.’
I backhand his chest semi-gently. ‘She said something weird.’
‘Likely thing for her to do.’
‘When I was with Ben—’
Heath hisses. He literally fucking hisses and makes the sign of the fucking cross, and I think that if I try to bring up my ex again, he’d pretend to faint like a stricken, offended maiden.
‘There is something deeply wrong with all of you, you know that?’
Teeth playfully catch the tip of my nose, making it scrunch. ‘That’s why we’re so fun.’
My eye roll makes him smile, makes him kiss me, before he wraps his hand around mine and tugs me in the others’ wake.
His grip tightens as we cross the street, and his expression does too, eyes narrowing as we near that group of guys.
‘Enjoying yourself?’ he mumbles without looking at me, too busy re-enacting a freaking Western showdown.
‘Uh-huh,’ I reply, with less enthusiasm than is warranted because I actually have been.
The crowd is a lot and this street has some kind of weird barrier that traps sound and heat and amplifies both, and despite how hard I try to forget the sugar content in Jello, it never quite leaves my mind. But . . .
I’m in a group. I’m with friends. With people who know me and like me anyway.
People who included me like I’m not just their friend’s girlfriend.
People who see my ex from a distance and screech denied, scumbag before he can get within ten feet of me.
I’ve never had that before. I really, really like it.
I also really, really like when the bones in my hand are intact so, with a grunt, I wriggle myself free from Heath’s constricting grip, and hook my fingers around his waistband instead. ‘They’re really bothering you, huh?’
‘They’re not bothering you?’
‘Not my first day being a woman, Heath.’
He grunts, glaring as the objects of his irritation saunter inside, practically foaming at the damn mouth as he moves to follow.
Tugging firmly on his waistband, I make the wise decision to guide him elsewhere instead. ‘If one of us fights someone every time we go out,’ I start, as we pick across the front yard toward the side gate, ‘we’re gonna get a reputation.’
Heath grumbles a laugh, nudging me aside when I’m not quite tall enough to reach over the gate to unlock it from the other side. When the bolt slides free, I push it open and lead Heath into a relatively empty backyard, but that’s not our final destination.
I keep walking, Heath dutifully following, all the way to the very back of the enormous yard until we reach an outbuilding that’s the size of most people’s actual houses.
‘This is where you murder me, isn’t it?’
I snort. Rising to my tiptoes, I reach for the flowerpot hanging beside the entrance, fumbling blindly in the dirt until my fingers close around a key. ‘You know who owns this house?’
‘Someone living with excess wealth?’
‘Well, yeah,’ I concede, even though that’s not my point.
As I push open the double doors, I don’t dare to flip on the flights, but it’s pretty easy to make out where we are anyway – the pungent reek of ammonia certainly gives it away.
‘Letty St James. Captain of the Haven Cove University swim team.’
Owner of her very own Olympic-sized swimming pool, courtesy of her very own Daddy Warbucks.
An impressed whistle echoes off the flat water, rebounding off the high ceiling and windowed walls.
‘Why are we here?’
‘Being around the water always calms me down. Thought it might be the same for you.’
‘Seawater,’ he jokingly corrects, but the soft smile he shoots me is appreciative. ‘You’ve been here before?’
‘Once.’ Freshman year, just after I made the team. Right before Letty learned that I was better than her. The first meet we swam, I crushed her times, and, shockingly, I never got invited back here.
‘You wanna go in?’
I laugh.
He isn’t joking. ‘C’mon, sirena. You’re dressed for the occasion.’
‘I can’t swim in this.’
‘Then take it off.’
‘Excuse me?’
‘Hey, I’m just tryna broaden your horizons here. Remember? Things you’ve never done because of swimming?’
‘Yeah, I don’t remember skinny-dipping being on the list.’
‘Huh. Must’ve been on mine.’
I shove him with a huff.
He catches himself just in time to avoid plummeting into the pool fully-clothed – something he soon rectifies. His hat comes off, his tops next, and his sweats are pooling at his feet by the time I finally get myself together.
God, those abs are distracting.
When he starts plucking at his waistband, I screech his name. He holds his hands up with a sigh. ‘Fine. Semi-skinny-dipping it is.’
‘Have fun.’
‘Please. Pretty please. For me?’
I snort.
‘I’ll buy you something pretty.’
Another snort, although marginally less snide this time.
‘I’ll race you.’
My interest piquing is literally audible. Slowly rocking back and forth on the balls of my feet, I hum thoughtfully. ‘Two hundred meters?’
‘Are you trying to kill me?’ He scoffs. ‘One hundred.’
‘And I get something pretty.’
‘Sold.’ He seals it with a handshake and then he’s gone, hauling ass toward the far end of the pool, like if I take too long, I’ll change my mind.
Which I do, a little. I reach behind me and my fingers hover over the clasp of my bra, hesitating.
‘Oh, come on,’ Heath yells, throwing his hands up. ‘We have a deal.’
‘I, uh, don’t have anything on under this.’
‘Wear my t-shirt.’
And lose because sodden excess fabric is holding me back? That competitive little devil on my shoulder revolts.
They’re just boobs. Nipples. Pectoral muscles. Heath has them too, big ol’ developed ones that he flashes on the regular, that would honestly probably fill out my bra pretty damn well. It’s no big deal.
You’re not shy, I remind myself.
‘Turn around.’
‘You know my mouth—’
I shut him up with a scowl and a particularly vulgar gesture. With a wink, he turns – he even covers his eyes, earning himself another middle finger that he must sense because he laughs.
Quick, before I can over-think it, I unclasp my bra and let the material fall away. I wriggle out of my skirt and start toward the end of the pool, kicking off my heels as I go.
‘You know,’ he starts again, in that same teasing tone when I take my place beside him and give him the all clear to turn around. He faces forward before uncovering his eyes, not even looking at me, but I swear I feel the rake of his gaze anyway. ‘I have really good peripheral vision.’
‘Beat me and maybe you’ll get a little full-frontal.’
I swear I hear him choke a little.
Positioning myself to dive, I grin. ‘Ready?’
In my own peripheral, I watch him shake himself out before assuming the same position. ‘Baby, you are so fucking on.’
I’m halfway through my first lap when I realize that there is a distinct lack of excess splashing coming from beside me – I hit the wall and turn, and I come to an abrupt stop when I realize that there is a distinct lack of man beside me.
‘Excuse me?’ I holler, treading water on one side of the pool while Heath grins at me from the other. ‘I was promised a race!’
‘Sorry,’ he yells back, not looking very sorry at all as he lounges against the pool’s edge. ‘Got distracted.’
‘By?’
‘You. You’re too fucking talented. You need to be watched.’
‘I need to charge if you’re gonna gape like that.’
‘I can’t see anything good from here.’
‘All of me is good.’
He doesn’t argue. Pushing away from the wall, he dives underwater, swimming half the length of the pool before coming up for air. At a leisurely breaststroke, he continues his approach.
I resist the urge to retreat. The closer Heath gets, the harder my limbs have to work to keep me afloat. I’m a D1 swimmer, for God’s sake, and I can barely break the surface, everything submerged but the crease of my chin and up.
Bobbing only a couple of feet away, he stares at me like there’s a whole lot more than my face on show.
‘You trying to burst me into flames or something?’
‘I’m trying not to look at your tits.’