Chapter 3
Two steps into the pool, my entire body goes rigid.
The water laps up around my knees. This is the deepest I’ve managed to go since my therapist recommended exposure therapy, a sign that even though it’s slow, it’s working.
We started with visualization practices in her office, then graduated to real-life scenarios.
Showers don’t bother me, just standing water.
Back home, I used my tub, slowly increasing the water bit by bit, until I could sit with relative ease.
But the pool is different. It’s public. It’s vast. And even if I’m in the shallow end, I know a deep end is lurking somewhere close by, bringing my heart up into my throat.
Focus.
I take a deep breath and count to four, gripping the metal rail so hard my arm trembles. Anxiety tightens my chest. A burning sensation spreads down my arms and legs as my pulse pounds.
I’m okay, I think, as the memories swell, pressing against the barriers I’ve built up in my mind. It’s just a pool. I can go at my own pace. There’s no rush. The water is safe. The water is still. It’s daytime. I can see. I’m not back there. I’m here. I’m now.
A whistle blows.
I flinch back to reality. The lifeguard leaps off the bottom rung of her stand and runs over, one palm covering her mouth while she gestures wildly with her free hand.
I think she’s telling me to stay or wait, which, yeah, no problem.
I toss her a thumbs-up. Gratitude lights her eyes and she sprints for the door.
I wish it were easier being here alone. I wish feeling less self-conscious meant feeling braver too, but that’s just not how I work.
My courage has never come from within. It’s a sentiment forced upon me by other people.
I have to save face for them. I have to prove myself to them.
Without the external pressure, I flounder.
I try to focus on what I have to gain, on my goals, the way my therapist told me.
Whoever heard of a marine biologist who’s afraid of the water?
Scuba certification is part of my curriculum here.
If I want that internship in Australia junior year, I need to do this.
If I want to graduate with a degree, I need to do this.
If I want to land a job in the career field I’ve been dreaming about for as long as I can remember, I need to do this.
I just…can’t.
Marine biology is my only internal motivation to be brave, but even that isn’t enough right now.
The longer I wait for the lifeguard to return, the more terrifying the next step becomes.
Logically, I know it’s only about ten inches down.
But logic has nothing to do with it. Even the thought of stepping deeper leaves my breath shallow.
My heart flutters in my chest. I swallow through the tightness.
Nerves all over my body snap and burn in fear.
Cracks splinter and spread across the wall I’ve built.
Just as the dam on my memories is about to break, a familiar voice locks it solidly back into place.
“You shouldn’t swim alone.”
I whip my head around. He’s even more attractive in the daytime.
Black hair curls around his ears, framing a strong nose and defined cheekbones.
His lips are fuller than I remember, the bottom edge pouting over the deep cleft in his chin.
Long, thick lashes frame his eyes, which are set deep beneath his brow.
His jaw could crack walnuts. It’s not even fair.
Bright lights are supposed to uncover faults. Apparently, he doesn’t have any.
Asshole.
My own faults flash in shining colors, like the billboards in Times Square, the moment I meet his too-knowing gaze.
“Why not?” I ask, immediately on the defensive, probably unfairly so, but sue me. I can’t help it. “Looks like you were planning to.”
“I didn’t say I shouldn’t swim alone.” He pauses to look me up and down, gaze snagging on my floral bikini. Annoyance flashes across his eyes. They narrow. “I said you shouldn’t swim alone. As in you. Singular.”
My shoulders writhe beneath his continued stare. “I can swim.”
“Can you?” He arches a dubious brow.
My nostrils flare. “Yes.”
Because I can. Well, I could. And one day I will again. So, ha! There. Nailed it.
He crosses his arms over his chest. I try not to notice how his hoodie brings out his eyes. Our school colors are hunter green and white. I always liked them…until now.
“Prove it,” he says, jutting his chin toward the water.
I glance down. For a second, I actually forgot I was still standing in the pool, which is a miracle in and of itself, but the thought of jumping in, of fully submerging myself, sends a wave of ice through my veins.
Not even the lure of proving him wrong is enough to overcome the dread knotting my insides.
But I can’t keep standing here, either. Exposing myself in front of the lifeguard was one thing, an unavoidable necessity since swimming in the pool alone is against the rules.
I’m not going to give him another chance to see me so clearly.
Based on the challenge in his gaze, he’s seen enough already.
I make my way out of the pool, willing my legs not to tremble.
He watches my every move with an intensity that leaves me flustered.
It’s all I can do to wrap myself quickly in my towel.
“I’m already done,” I say, shrugging with a nonchalance I don’t feel.
His focus shifts pointedly to my dry hair. “I see.”
Those two words set me off. “Fine. If you’re so good, let’s see it then, Mr. I Can Swim All By Myself.”
He snorts and a cocky little smile twists the corners of his lips. “Fine.”
He grabs the back of his hoodie and pulls it over his head.
I try not to stare at his chest, but, come on, I’m only human.
He, on the other hand, is not. If I thought his back was sexy last night, I was not prepared for his front.
Holy mother of god. My cheeks flame. There are abs—so many abs.
And broad, muscled pecs. And biceps that could toss little, petite me around with evident ease.
I can’t help but return to that moment last night when he carried me out of the water with no effort at all.
I had too many other things on my mind to notice, but suddenly, it’s all I can think about.
When he reaches for his waistband, drawing my gaze to the defined V disappearing into his pants, I jerk my face to the side.
A loud exhale escapes his lips. I wouldn’t call it a laugh, but I wouldn’t not call it a laugh either.
It’s close enough I grit my teeth. Before I can say anything to defend my honor at being caught checking him out yet again, he’s in the water.
I wait for him to come up for air, but he just…
doesn’t. When he finally surfaces, he’s halfway across the pool, body like a torpedo cutting through the water.
One blink and he’s at the other end, smoothly flipping over and pushing his feet against the wall.
His strokes are lazy somehow, despite the speed.
His arm motions are smooth and unhurried.
I’m not sure if he’s trying to show off or if this is just him at a relaxed pace, but he’s faster than anyone I’ve ever seen.
I glance back at his pile of clothes on the pool deck and read the words surrounding the white rattlesnake emblazoned on the green.
Swiftmore University Swimming.
When Nova said her brother was an athlete, my mind went to baseball or basketball or something like that. But nope—just my nonexistent luck. He’s a swimmer.
I should’ve freaking known.
“Was that good enough for you?” He lifts himself high enough out of the pool to cross his arms over the edge with a victorious grin. It takes a herculean effort not to dip my attention to the rivulets of water streaming over his shoulders.
“It’ll suffice,” I murmur.
He snorts and whips his head to the side, tossing his wet hair out of his eyes with the ease of someone who’s done it a million times before, who spends more of his life in the pool than out of it. A bad feeling gurgles like rotten food in my gut.
“What are you doing here anyway?” I ask, digging for information. “The schedule said the swim team doesn’t practice until nine on Saturdays.”
“I have my own schedule.”
“Which is…?”
“None of your business.”
“Look, Logan—”
“Logan?” he interrupts, brows pinching.
“You don’t seem to like me very much,” I plow onward, ignoring him.
“And I don’t really like you. But Nova is my friend.
At least, I hope she is. Either way, she’s my roommate.
And I know you’re her brother. So I don’t want to be rude, but if you could just tell me when you’ll be here, I’ll be sure to come any other time so we don’t have to keep running into each other like this. ”
“Logan,” he murmurs again, really stuck on his name.
“Yes.” I sigh. Did he not hear another word I said? “Logan. I heard Nova say your name last night, you know, right before you dropped me in the lake?”
“Right before I…” He trails off into a sudden bout of laughter, so unexpected I flinch away as he throws his head back. When he returns his gaze to me, there’s a victorious gleam in his eyes I’m not sure I like.
Scratch that.
I definitely hate it.
“Oh, this is going to be good,” he drawls, a superior sort of chuckle laced through the words.
I frown. “What?”
“Nothing.” He shakes his head and holds his hands up in surrender. But I’m not an idiot. He’s not the type to back down from a challenge.
Unless he knows he already won.
I’m missing something.
Something important.
Just when I’m about to interrogate him for information, a door slams open.
An older gentleman in a Swiftmore University quarter-zip and matching sweats marches up to the pool, the words Coach Fleishman embroidered on his chest. He’s a little pudgy around the middle with thinning white hair cut short to his scalp, but his tall frame exudes authority.
Thirty years ago, he was clearly intimidating and he still carries himself with the weight of that don’t fuck with me energy.
I gulp when his gaze narrows on me, then on Logan before jumping to the empty lifeguard stand behind us.
“Where’s Sofia?” his deep voice booms.
I assume he means the lifeguard. I don’t want to throw her entirely to the wolves, so I step in. “She went to the bathroom. I told her I’d stay out of the pool while she was gone.”
He nods once and turns to Logan. “And what are you doing?”
I glance between them, wondering for a moment if I need to help Logan with an excuse too, but he just rolls his eyes and falls back into the water. “Warm-ups.”
His coach snorts. “That doesn’t look like an 800-meter mixed swim to me.”
Eight hundred meters? For warm-up?
I choke on my own breath. Coach Fleishman glances at me, muttering something before he walks away. I take the opening to leave.
“Hey, Clara?”
I stop midstep. The sound of my name on his lips strikes like lightning. I know I shouldn’t, but I can’t keep from peeking over my shoulder. “What?”
“When you’re ready to apologize, I’ll be in my room.” The corners of his eyes crinkle with a barely suppressed grin. Arrogance practically exudes from his pores. “I’m pretty sure you know where it is.”
You son of a—
I spin on my heel and walk away without gracing him with a response.
Because, really, I have none. When I get back to the changing room, I quickly google Logan Monroe.
Nothing pops up, which is odd, because I know his mom is famous and Nova implied that she kind of is, too.
I’m not big into celebrities, so it’s not surprising that I’ve never heard of them, but surely the internet—
My phone rings. It’s my mom. I glance at the time.
Shit! Breakfast.
I hastily pull on dry clothes and call her back on my way out the door, forgetting about Logan in the rush to get to my parents. But I sort of wish I hadn’t. Because five more minutes and I might’ve realized my mistake.
Instead, it’s not until a few hours later on the quad when the weight of my fuckup really hits.