Page 27 of I Almost Do

I haven’t been sleeping well at all. Which is par for the course for me, even before Marcus died. I never rest for more than a few hours at a time. And when I do, nightmares plague me.

But her dozing weight in my lap, her breath on my neck, her heartbeat against me—all of it acts as some kind of drug. I sleep, and my dreams don’t involve murder or my failed attempt to kill a monster. They’re of Clarissa, smiling and biting my lip.

I wake when she stirs, my thigh numb under her weight. I’m not sure how long it’s been, but it’s well over our assigned half hour.

She stretches and clambers off me with a mumbled “Sorry.”

I scratch across the scruff on my chin. “Nothing to be sorry for.”

“I’m going to take a shower,” she says.

I stand, working out the pins and needles in my legs, and pick up the bag I brought with me. I hold it out, and she eyes it curiously.

“What is that?”

I give the bag a little shake. “Open it and see.”

She takes it, peers inside with a tiny frown, then draws the contents out. “Ummm, why did you get me a swimsuit?”

It’s a one-piece in a shimmery green-and-gold pattern. Made for competitive swimming, not lounging on a beach.

“I swim at my club every morning before work. If you’d like to join me, meet me downstairs at five thirty sharp, and we’ll ride over together.”

She screws her face up. “That’s not morning. It’s still the middle of the night.”

“Hey, if you can’t keep up with me, just say so,” I say and reach to take back the suit.

She snatches it away and holds it to her chest. “I like to swim.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Maybe I’ll be there.”

I smirk. “I won’t hold my breath.”

11

Safe Place

Clarissa

Islidemygogglesfrom my eyes to my latex-covered head and look up at James. He’s talking to me, crouched at the edge of the pool in a black speedo with a white towel thrown over his glistening shoulders, and I can’t hear a word he’s saying because myGod.

I don’t even know where to look. I’ve been swimming with him six mornings a week for three weeks now, and the view never gets old. My gaze travels over the swirling ink of his tattoos, the ridges in his stomach, then lower to the bulge in his shorts, down to those muscular, hair-covered thighs—

“Clarissa.”

His voice sounds strained, and I drag my attention back up to his face. “What?”

“I said I’m impressed by how fast you’re regaining your speed and endurance. You’re a natural.”

I pull myself out of the pool and sit next to him, enjoying the sensation of gravity returning and the scent of chlorine. “Thanks. Before high school graduation, Bronwyn helped me apply to Blackwater State University. She took video of me, and we sent my times to the swim coach there. We used a fake name—” I laugh at the memory. “—because I wanted to see if they’d let me swim without knowing who I was.”

I shrug a little. “I thought nothing would come of it since Dad never let me swim competitively. I didn’t really think I stood a chance of making the team, but a girl can dream.”

“What happened?”

“Coach said they definitely had a place for me.”

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