Page 14 of Stuck-Up Big Shot
I feel the color bloom over my skin, the flush budding and mapping every visible part of me out of embarrassment and the sensual heat that passes between us.
Deciding I need to move to gain some distance from him for fear I’ll make an even greater fool of myself, I push off the bottom of the pool and swim on my back, leisurely stroking my arms overhead as I float over the rippling of the water. “I’ve come down a few times. It’s more nostalgic than a workout. It reminds me of my high school swim team. But that was a long time ago.”
Miles gives me a dubious look. “Right. . . so long ago.”
I want to slap the water hard at my stupidity over bringing up the swim team. The one sport I did with his sister. The sister Miles doesn’t remember that I know or was friends with. I should tell him. Come clean about how I know him and Melodie.
But I play it off, laughing shortly at his comment about my age and continue with my strokes and flutter flicks, slowly moving further and further away from him. Along with the chance to tell him about our past.
And then he pushes off, his long, lean body easily catching up to me as he swims alongside me. My belly does its own version of flutter kicks as we glide across the length of the pool, completely in sync with one another, our strokes in even patterns of movement.
When we reach the other side, our bodies mere inches apart, we turn to face each other. I blink the water out of my eyes, lifting my gaze to drink in his beautiful blue eyes, which now narrow down at me.
His tone is abrupt, almost accusatory, and his statement is a delayed reaction of sorts. “My sister used to be a swimmer too.”
I gulp, holding onto my breath wondering if he’s finally put it together and realizes who I am. And if not, now would be as good of a time as any to tell him.
Miles squints at me with wordless assessment, cocking his head side-to-side, as if trying to figure me out.
And then he goes and says it. And I want to drop my head in shame.
“You seem so familiar to me. Have we ever. . .?”
“No,” I raise my gaze back to his face again, ardently shaking my head. “Never.”
Technically, that’s the truth. We haven’t done what I think he’s referring to. No matter how many times in my teenage dreams we had, we’ve never been intimate or had sex. And I choose not to count the kiss we shared the day of Mel’s funeral.
At least, not in the way he’s suggesting.
Lord knows, if we had sex back then, I would be pretty pissed off right now if he didn’t remember me. It’s bad enough that my face doesn’t even ignite a spark of recognition with him. But if we had gotten down and dirty, and he’d seen me naked, and not remember me? Ouch, that would sting.
Miles nods, his narrowed eyes still scan my face for some trace of recognition. I’m obviously not very memorable, which honestly hurts more than I care to admit. But maybe it’s a saving grace, keeping me from the hot humiliation that boils over in my belly.
Although he can’t figure me out and continues to stare, I have to admit, it feels fantastic to have his attention on me. And I should tell him. Right now. Right this very instant, I should open my mouth and tell him about my friendship with Mel, and our shared past together. Say to him that he’s not crazy and that I seem familiar because I am familiar to him. That we kissed before—the most perfect kiss in the world—even if it happened on one of the worst days of our lives.
But someone must have poured glue over my tongue. Because as I search for the words to tell him, they clump together and get stuck in my throat.
And then, without preamble, he shrugs and says, “Come on. I’ll race you.”
I’m thoroughly confused by this change of events as he looks back to me over his shoulder, giving me a wink and with an expression that says, “You scared?” and I glare at him.
“You’re on.”
We both set our feet to the wall, hanging on with tight grips of our fingers, ready to push off at the go.
“On your mark. . .” he says, and it shoots a thrill down my spine. I haven’t raced for years, and it brings back so many cherished memories.
Memories of all the good times with Mel and me on the swim team. The two of us at competitions, of summers at the public pool, and of the man that now waits to show off his competitive side. A man who was once just a nineteen-year-old lifeguard that I crushed on for years.
“Get set. . . go!”
Let’s face it. There really is no competition in this race because Miles is a foot taller than me, has arms that sweep long and overhead, giving him a distinct advantage as he eats up the distance, leaving me in his wake. But none of that matters in the grand scheme of things, because even though I swim and kick as fast as I can, I won’t be able to make up the distance between us.
The most I can do is just watch, panting after him over the way his lean arms, and powerful legs carry him along, until he reaches his destination in record time.
The guilt floats along with me over my lie of omission. It’s heavy, and the weight tugs on me like an anchor, weighing me down with a drowning sensation. I’ve never lied to anyone before, not even my parents. It tastes bitter, and I want to cough it out like chlorine water before it chokes me. And I realize if I don’t do something soon to dislodge it, to expel that lie, it will most certainly drown me.
When I finally make it to the end, I find Miles already hanging against the pool’s edge, his elbows hooked behind him to partially exposing his torso, and he wears an arrogant grin. It’s smug and victoriously gloating.
