Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 103102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 103102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 516(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 344(@300wpm)
Did he grow up in an apartment complex with a pool? A little peanut-shaped one, maybe. I can see him there, sketching palm trees instead of swimming, the dorky kid with a scrawny frame and too much interest in his eyes.
He didn’t fit in there.
He doesn’t fit in here.
That doesn’t make sense. Our future. There can’t be a future if he belongs in New York, and I belong here. And I belong wherever Lexi is.
Or maybe I need to take one of those quizzes, to find out the truth. There must be one with a decent algo, but none of them can quantify the love I have for my sister. She’s more important than sunny days, mild winters, beach access, cool bars, great restaurants, low crime.
Maybe that’s the problem with this.
Maybe there is a magic we can’t explain.
But that’s sacrilege, isn’t it?
…
When I get to the hotel, the sky is dark and the space is quiet. River is in our room, on the phone with Ida. I kiss him hello, unpack enough to change into my swimsuit, and head straight to the pool in the courtyard.
It fits perfectly in the quaint hotel. A big, rectangular pool with clear water, surrounded by off-white lounge chairs, palm trees, and the cream hotel rooms behind that.
There’s a strange mix of seventies nostalgia and modern shapes, as if the hotel is trying to marry its history and its future. It doesn’t quite work. Some things don’t go together. Orange County and New York. Love and logic. Starlight and city light.
Even here, with the glow of the pool and the soft streetlights of the quiet town, the stars shine bright. Brighter than they do at our house anyway.
I slip into the empty pool, float on my back, watch the stars move through the sky. Though I guess it’s mostly the Earth moving around them. Everything in the universe is moving, changing position all the time, but it feels so constant. The same way the water in the pool rocks back and forth, with its own mini current.
I move, but I stay in the same place.
It means something, but metaphors aren’t my forte. That’s River’s department.
The cool water envelops me as I dive under the surface. Bit by bit, the day melts away. Then the week. The year.
All those questions running through my mind dissolve, until one thought occupies my brain.
I need to touch him again.
It feels like ages pass as I dive under the water, then surface. Again and again, the cool, safe feeling overwhelms me. It allows my concerns to fade away.
Finally, I surface, and I see him, dropping towels on a lounge chair, turning to watch me.
He’s in that same pair of board shorts, and his strong thighs are easier to ogle from here. He is too hot. It isn’t fair. But then life never is. And I’m not in the mood to curse or question it. I’m in the mood, period.
I move toward the edge of the pool and motion come here.
He walks toward me.
I push off the edge and motion come here again.
He smiles, all ease and interest, and slips into the pool with me. The shock of the water registers on his face for a moment, then he dives under, swims to me, surfaces with another big smile.
“Hey.” He cups my cheek with his palm. “Are you okay?”
Do all the questions in the back of my mind really show? No. It doesn’t matter. I don’t want to think about them. Only about this. “Better now.”
He traces the line of my jaw.
“Is your grandma okay?” It’s not like her to check in, but then maybe he’s the one checking in. That’s his style.
“She’s probably cursing Fern and North for keeping her busy.”
“She needs time for her gentleman callers?” That’s what she always said, when we were kids.
“Probably.” Under the water, he brings his hands to my waist and pulls my body into his. “Do you want to talk?”
“Absolutely not.” My pelvis melts into his. Then my stomach, my chest, my lips.
He kisses me softly, with care and attention.
The rest of the world slips away. Who needs the rest of the world? Why do I care about it anyway?
What could ever feel better than this?
I dig my fingers into his upper back. “I’ve never had sex in a pool.”
He motions to the women in the jacuzzi behind me. Two of them, older, around Dad’s age, or maybe Ida’s, with that same mix of enthusiasm and grace Ida has. “Is it the audience?”
“And the security cameras.” I motion to the cameras in the lights. One to our right. One to our left.
“You noticed that?”
“You notice everything, too.”
“Different things.” He pulls me closer. “You sure you don’t want to talk?”
“Do you?”
“No,” he says. “I want to swim.”
“That’s not the s-word I was hoping for.”
“How about soon?” he offers.