Chapter 11
eleven
Inod off watching film (both mine and Aleksandr’s, but I’ll take that to my grave), until Delilah finally texts that she's ready to go.
The sun has begun to set when I show up to her room, pulling at the thin tie around my neck to loosen the knot of my bikini top.
She opens her door, cheeks pink, her blonde hair in a bun, and a lavender polka-dot bikini strap poking out of her T-shirt.
“Hi!” she chirps. “Sorry that took so long, we haven’t talked in a while.”
That familiar bittersweet pang of knowing that, in many ways, I’ve been replaced.
“What, twelve hours?” I joke.
She snorts. “Probably less, but anyway. Ready to go?”
I nod. We’re outside the pool room two minutes later.
The sounds of splashing, Noah’s booming voice, and Harper’s laugh travel from inside.
The glass doors glide open with a soft whoosh, the humid air hitting us with the strong scent of chlorine and the fainter smell of eucalyptus, as though all the oils from the spa next door have spilled into the pool.
I’m lucky to be afforded luxury hotel stays during tournaments thanks to Pen’s sponsorship work, and this one is no exception: vaulted ceilings with the last bits of sunlight spilling through the skylight and dancing on the surface of the choppy pool surrounded by curved loungers upholstered in plush white-and-cream fabric.
At first, I don’t see Aleksandr. He’s not on any of the loungers, and the only people in the pool are Sahar, Harper, and Noah.
Until a head crests the surface of the water and an admittedly glorious set of shoulders appear.
His near-golden hair is darker, and I watch him push it out of his eyes with both hands, his corded biceps and triceps flexing.
I can just make out the line of text over his heart, a tattoo.
Below it is a perfect six pack, carved as though in stone, disappearing into the water along with a trail of hair—
“Nic, you’re ogling,” Delilah whispers as we approach the group.
A disgusted noise leaves my throat. “I am not.”
“Wipe the drool off your face before he notices. Better yet, rip off your cover up so he can ogle you back.”
“I will shove you in the pool.”
She tsks. “Always threatening violence upon those you love.”
“Sometimes those I love—”
I’m cut off by shouts of hellos from the group, who have finally noticed us. “Get in! It feels so good!” Harper calls. Her dark brown hair is piled in a knot atop her head, her dark green bikini top peeking above the water.
“What, like a five-year-old’s pee?” I ask, dropping a towel on one of the chairs and forcing my eyes away from Aleksandr.
“So pessimistic. It’s chlorinated to high hell.
I promise you will not contract a virus,” Sahar says.
Her thick hair is blacker than night in the water, and she’s wearing an identical bikini to Harper’s but in red, like they went shopping together with the express goal of bringing us Christmas in late March.
“Can you really promise that though?” Noah asks, and she pushes him under water.
Delilah pulls off her T-shirt and shorts, cannonballing into the deep end. All but Aleksandr follow her there, heads bobbing near the far wall as they work to stay afloat.
I pull off my own long T-shirt, pilfered from one of my many hook ups’ closets years ago that’s gotten softer with age.
When I turn, Aleksandr watches every movement, eyes meeting mine before they drop to where my hair coasts over my shoulders.
I’m not sure why, but I toss it behind me, and the motion makes Aleksandr smirk.
His gaze travels over my necklaces, then the little blue bikini top, eyes flashing as they take in the cut of my abs and the thin ties of my bikini bottoms.
Lust settles on his face. I can’t tell when someone is joking with me versus laughing at my expense, but I’ve spent enough time with enough men to know desire when I see it.
It sticks in his eyes and in the dimple in the corner of his smirk, egging me on.
I’m not proud of the warmth that flares through my entire body, sinking low until it nestles in my stomach and between my legs.
I’ve spent very little time with men outside of the bedroom.
Any more than sleeping with them becomes a sticky business.
Relationships don’t appeal to me, and when feelings (always his) seem imminent, I end things.
Less mess. And, I suppose, less worry that they might see something in me they won’t like.
Like the way I shy from touch once it’s all over, or that I lack the ability to appreciate their humor, or that when I’m hot or overwhelmed, I might react in a manner they’ll view as incongruent with the situation.
Slipping into the water slowly via the stairs, I allow myself one more second to take in his chiseled body up close before I glance across the pool.
“Never seen a woman in a two-piece before?” I ask him, leaning against the wall beside the stairs.
Aleks follows, his warmth mingling with mine. “Not one like you, no.”
Remembering what he said in the elevator, I sink into this flirtation, refusing to give him what he wants. There’s a reason I don’t hook up with people I spend time with. Too complicated, I imagine. But this I can do. It won’t go further than flirting, a battle of wits and nothing more.
It certainly has nothing to do with the pull to him I can’t shake or the strange yearning to learn more about this man who is superficially happy but clearly dealing with something below the surface.
“Not one like me, hm?” I ask quietly.
“Is that your way of asking me to elaborate?”
“I was just repeating your words, Aleksandr.”
He chuckles, switching so he stands in front of me. He’s staring at me like he knows what I’m doing, his eyes lit as they search my face. “Of course. In that case, I won’t elaborate, Nicola.”
The image of a dark, empty home stabs behind my eyes, the sound of a mother’s cold voice reverberating in the rare spaces of time when she felt like acknowledging her child. I try to hide my flinch.
“Nic,” he corrects himself quietly. “I didn’t get to tell you I’m proud of you for trying the sweet tea today.”
“Do you realize how patronizing that sounds?”
His lips twitch. “Maybe. But I’m still proud of you. I think this is going to be good for you.”
I only recognize that my bottom lip is sticking out when his thumb presses against it. It should be uncomfortable, should make me want to push him away, and yet…
“There you go pouting again,” he grumbles softly. “You want to know what I find so fascinating about you?” He removes his thumb and laughs when my lip protrudes more. “You’re so stubborn. That’s reason number one.”
“Says the man who steamrolled his way onto my team through sheer force of will.”
“I’d do a lot more for a lot less.”
“What does that mean?” I ask, hating the way my breath hitches in my chest. Even that, he takes notice of, his eyes dropping to the thin string lacing the twin triangles of my bikini together.
His pupils eat the blue of his eyes, and he takes a step closer, his right arm caging me against the pool wall, though he leaves room for me to exit on my right if I want. “That depends on what you want it to mean, I suppose.”
“That’s not an answer,” I whisper. Somewhere far away, I hear my friends playing a game.
“No, it isn’t, is it?” He sighs, glancing behind me.
At 6’2”, he’s only three inches taller than I am, and yet he overwhelms the space.
His chain dangles away from his chest as he leans toward me.
“Let’s just say I’ve spent a lot of time trying not to think too hard about what you’d look like in a swimsuit, and the few times I allowed myself to, well, I didn’t do justice to you at all. ”
I gasp, and his eyes drop to my lips, where they rest for ages. The air is taut around us, and I’m drifting closer, my body betraying me once more as my chest shifts toward him, inches from closing the gap.
All at once, I realize I’ve been lying to myself. I want it. Want him. Want him to kiss me and take me in his strong, calloused hands and keep going until he’s consumed me. Want him more than I’ve ever wanted any of the others I’ve been with.
The revelation shocks me enough that I slow my movement. He takes a step back. I don’t have it in me to voice that I didn’t want him to stop, glad that one of us ended it before it began.
“We’re chicken fighting,” Sahar sing-songs from nearby. It brings me back to where we are, and I realize they’ve moved to the shallow side, though they’re near the opposite wall, giving us a wide berth. Sahar sits atop Noah’s shoulders, her hands in his hair.
“Nic, hop on Aleks’ shoulders,” Harper adds.
“Ow! Sahar, that’s too hard,” Noah complains. His hair sticks up on the right where she pulled it.
“Quit being a baby.”
“Let’s go, solnyshko. There are games to be played.” Aleksandr beckons me, his hand held out.
“I’m not doing that.”
“Come on!” Delilah exclaims. “It’s not a fun evening at the pool if there isn’t chicken fighting.”
“I think that’s a stretch.”
This time, Aleksandr does cage me in with both arms. “This is not how I imagined my first time between your legs, but I’m game. Get on my shoulders.”
An affronted gasp leaves my lips. “That is an absolutely inappropriate thing for a performance coach to say to the player they’re training.”
“I’ll stop if it actually makes you uncomfortable. Say the word.” His voice drops, a grumble beside my ear, his breath kissing the shell. “I think, though, that you’re starting to like it. Even if you hate yourself for it.”
“You talk an awful lot,” I answer, hopefully in a way that doesn’t belie the fact that my legs are pressing together.
“You guys, come on!” Delilah says again. I’m definitely going to shove her this time. No threat or warning beforehand either.
“All I’m saying is that I’m perfectly capable of being a professional during the day and a delinquent with you at night.
Now, unless you’re absolutely opposed, I’m going to touch you so we can get you on my shoulders.
” He waits a beat, and when I say nothing, drops so his head is all that’s above water, then turns around.
He backs into me until his head is against my stomach.
I’m so shocked, my legs relax, and he slides between, my thighs coasting over his shoulders.
“Aleksandr!”
Warm hands I just imagined elsewhere wrap around my shins, and before I know it, I’m perched on his shoulders, my brain singularly focused on his head between my legs.