Page 22 of The Sky in Summer
“I’ll meet you at the pool,” she says, moving away as quick as possible.
She sprints off, leaving me with my immediate problem. How am I going to handle the fact I’m wearing boxer briefs and not the pair of trunks she provided? Shit. Those were way too small, and the outline of my dick was on display. But I didn’t tell her. She might have put a kibosh on the entire plan. Wasn’t about to take that chance. Hell, I’ll figure it out when I get there.
By the time I round the corner and set eyes on the pool, she’s neck deep in the water. Man. The orange one-piece thing rests on the ground a few feet away from the ladder. I didn’t get to see the show she would have put on. A bikini stroll to the steps, or a graceful dive into the deep end. Missed it all. At least the swimmer doing laps has abandoned the pool. We are alone.
The duffle gets placed on a chaise and I remove the two towels we brought to dry off. I decide not to call her out for getting in the water ahead of me. I need her to give me a pass on the underwear issue.
“How’s the water?” I ask, suddenly noticing the red suit she wears is a one-piece. No bikini, but that’s all right. I’ll live.
Paddling in place, her head dips back and wets the crown of the long waves floating around her. It is a stunning image. She looks great. I never noticed how dramatic the complete absence of makeup can be. Natural. No adornment needed to look beautiful. I am used to seeing something completely different. Women with all the lashes and lipstick, eyeliner and whatever else they paint on. Most times what is underneath is more beautiful. They never believe that though. Layla seems comfortable in her skin. I like that.
“It’s a perfect temperature. Come in.”
“You need to shut your eyes.”
She thinks I am kidding and laughs.
“Are you planning on skinny dipping?
“If it’s an option, then yes.”
“It is not.”
“I’m in my briefs. The trunks didn’t fit.”
Instead of the bad reaction I expected, she stays facing me but covers her eyes with one hand.
Sliding my shorts down, I step out. Her fingers spread open but slowly, as if I wouldn’t notice her peeking.
“I can give you a better look, if you want.”
“No thanks. I’ve seen it.”
She splashes a handful of water at me, and swims away.
“Hey wait! It looks better than it did in nineteen eighty-eight! It’s much bigger!”
I laugh at myself, and dive in. The shock of water cools my alcohol haze. I needed that. Heading for the far end of the pool, where Layla lingers, I make sure to showcase my guns and smooth strokes. For her. Why does that sound like something a dick would say? Never has before tonight. I come up a few feet away from the object of my attention.
“You’re a good swimmer. So am I,” she says challenging me.
“Prove it.”
“What’s my handicap?”
“The fact you’re female?”
The cold stare coming my way makes me chuckle.
“It’s true, and you know it. Our arms are longer, our legs more muscular. We’re taller and stronger. Not to mention the testosterone coursing through our bodies. Of course, it’s a given we are going to win.”
“Thank you for making my case for a handicap. Now give me a head start, Mr. Muscles.”
“You think you’re pretty smart, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
I play out what is about to happen, and how I can work it to my advantage.
