Chapter Six #2
“Relax, Stopwatch. It’s a pool, not the Olympics. Wait… did you say great body?”
She slides her goggles down. “I give you four laps before you beg me to stop.”
“Two laps with me, and you’ll be using my abs as a flotation device.”
“Try not to drown. The paperwork would be annoying.”
And she’s off.
I swim after her.
Lap one: Textbook. Smooth stroke. Strong kick. I’ve got this. Obviously.
Lap two: She pulls ahead. Ever so slightly. Barely. I choose to ignore this.
Lap three: Pace quickening (hers, not mine). My arms tap out. No warning, no safe word, just straight-up abandonment.
Lap four: My lungs are drafting their last will and testament.
Who is this woman? A mermaid? She’s not even winded!
If she swims like this, she’d wreck me in bed. My dick would be gasping for air, and she’d only be getting started.
Lap five: Hail Mary time.
I grab my calf mid-stroke.
“OH GOD—”
I start flailing.
“MY LEG! IVY!”
I clutch it dramatically.
“MY BEAUTIFUL ATHLETIC LEG—”
She stops. Treads water. Stares at me as though I’m losing my mind (which, fair).
“CRAMP!” I gasp, going bigger. “Tell Blaze I went out like a legend.”
I suck in a loud breath. Then… sink.
I commit to the bit. Body limp. Bubbles drifting from my nose. I’d say I’m ashamed, but that’d be a lie.
The water closes over me, pool lights glowing pale blue, beautifully framing my fake death. Everything goes thick and quiet down here, the world narrowing to only my heartbeat and the faint gold shimmer of the sunrise.
Visually speaking, not a bad way to go.
Ivy’s silhouette breaks the surface above me, treading in place with a cold stare.
Not concern—evaluation.
Like she’s reviewing a contract, red pen hovering, deciding if letting me die is worth the paperwork.
And honestly, after I took credit for her hard work on our Books for Every Block campaign?
Yeah, I wouldn’t save me either.
Just as my lungs start bargaining with God about becoming a better man, she moves.
Her fingers graze my ankle as I surge to the surface.
She jolts back. Goggles up. Chest heaving. Water dripping down her throat.
I am far too aware of every place it goes.
“You hesitated,” I say, spitting out a mouthful of chlorine.
“You were underwater for thirty seconds.”
She groans. Swims away. I follow because ignoring social cues is what I do.
Reaching the edge, she settles against the tile lip, water sheeting down her shoulders. I slide beside her and hook my arm over the wall.
“What if I needed CPR, Stopwatch?”
“I had a strong suspicion you didn’t.”
“Based on?”
“Your smirk. The same one you’re wearing now.”
My grin spreads wider, and I don’t even try to stop it.
Her gorgeous eyes flare, then turn lethal. “You are un-fucking-believable.”
She gives my chest a firm, defiant shove, splashing water between us.
She’s not retreating, not this time.
My grip finds her waist, hauling her flush against me in a rough, unapologetic motion.
A sharp inhale escapes her parted lips. She’s stunned, but the protest dies on her tongue.
Because her body? It wants to be here, pressed to mine, her palms splayed over my bare chest like she’s challenging me to take it further.
My body’s all in—eager, hard, and overdue.
Last night, she was soft, trusting, curled around me in her sleep.
But now?
Now she’s plastered to my front, and every inch of her is burning into me.
The air is quiet. Just the faint slosh of water against tile and the ocean rumbling somewhere beyond the deck.
Up close, she’s devastating. The pool light highlights the water clinging to her lashes, darkening her gaze into something complicated. Her eyes are searching for something that won’t settle. Her wet hair is slicked back, every feature unguarded.
A drop of water slides from her temple, clings to her cheekbone, traces the angle of her jaw.
I follow its descent. I want to chase it with my lips.
“You’d really let me die,” I say quietly. “To win the promotion.”
Her expression shifts. Not fury. Not amusement. Something far more dangerous.
“I’d let you die,” she says, “before I ever put my mouth on yours.”
I move closer. Taking my time. Giving her every chance to stop me.
Her hands stay flat against my chest, fingers spread wide. She’s either bracing herself or holding on.
“What I’m hearing,” I say, my voice a low rumble, “is you’d rather watch me drown—” I pause, letting the silence stretch between us. “—than kiss me.”
Her eyes don’t leave mine.
“Correct.”
“What’s wrong with my mouth? Too much truth? Too much tongue?”
“I didn’t say anything was wrong with it.”
“You’re dodging the question. Is it me kissing you that’s making you nervous?” I whisper, my breath hot against her ear. “Or what happens after you don’t hate it?”
She rolls her eyes, but color floods her cheeks.
“Ohhh, here we go.” Her gaze stays on my lips. “Do you practice these lines in the mirror?”
“Tell me something, Stopwatch.” I reach out, finally brushing my thumb over her bottom lip. “If I quit asking and just did it, would you stop me?”
Her sharp inhale tells me everything.
I dip closer, ready to enjoy exactly how that mouth tastes. One inch. One reckless second. I’m done overthinking. Done pretending I don’t want this.
Her lips part.
Mine almost—
A door squeaks somewhere beyond the deck. Someone is coming.
We freeze.
Shit! What am I doing? We work together. We’re fighting for the same damn promotion. If I win, I’ll be her fucking boss.
I pull back, and her expression tightens. Not quite anger, something worse. Disappointment?
“Finish your laps,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel.
Her chin lifts. “You my coach now?”
I drag myself out of the pool.
Behind me, Ivy charges across the water again, her strokes knifing through the surface like she’s trying to punish it.
I drag a hand through my wet hair and keep walking. I don’t look back.
Because if I do, I’ll dive back in and kiss her senseless. Consequences be damned.