“When you swim, it looks easy,” Luca says.
“That’s only because I’ve had years of practice. Now let’s try it again. But just strokes, not with the breath to the side. Take a deep breath before you start swimming, keep your head down and take several slow, long strokes, exhaling air through your nose and mouth. Once you need to inhale, you can stand up.”
He nods and repositions his goggles. Then he leans over and cups his hands bringing them near the water as he prepares to try again. I can’t help noticing how good his torso looks wet, every contour exaggerated by the slick water sliding over it. His biceps flex and the broad muscles in his back contract as he prepares to swim. Then he launches himself off the bottom. This time his strokes are slower, more precise. He’s catching the water. He manages to take twelve long strokes before standing up. He obviously has good lung capacity. He jumps up. Water drips from his thick dark hair, his chiseled face, over the taut mounds of his chest. His chest expands and contracts with each heavy breath.
“Is that better?” He looks at me for approval.
“Oh, yeah. Much better. You’re a fast learner.”
“And you are a good liar,” he teases.
“No, I’m serious. Did it feel different when you slowed down your stroke?”
“It did, actually. It felt kind of good. Much more powerful.”
“Excellent. Now we’ll get to work on the breathing.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Luca
I’ve never felt so awkward in my life. Lo que estaba pensando (What was I thinking)? I meet this mujer hermosa who swims like a mermaid. And instead of asking her to dinner, I let her persuade me into taking a swimming lesson. That’s a great way to impress a señorita. Letting her see up close what you’re the worst at.
It’s great that Jade doesn’t recognize me and that she isn’t giving me that star-struck look I’m used to seeing all the time. But this swimming scenario has swung things too much toward the opposite extreme. I’m splashing around and choking on water. Sin control (Out of control). She’ll never want to go out with me now. I wish she could see me doing a weight workout or finishing an eight-mile run. That might impress her. I want to impress her more than anything right now.
Even wet, she looks muy atractiva. Once she finished her swim, she peeled off her cap and allowed her hair to fall free over her shoulders. Then she stuffed the cap and her goggles in the waterproof bag she wears around her waist. My gaze keeps falling to her breasts. They’re impossible not to notice. Her swim suit is stretched tightly over them, exaggerating their perfect shape. I keep imagining how their weight would feel in my hand, how their fullness would feel in my mouth. I lick my lips, watching the cool breeze tighten her nipples. Damn. They’re only inches away. But I can’t think about nipples now. And how much I want to touch her skin. I need to listen to her analysis of my stroke and be able to apply it.
Basically, I need to blow up my swimming stroke and start over. Not that I’m surprised. Maybe this is hopeless. But my discouragement wanes when she offers a simple tip about slowing down my arm movements. That doesn’t sound too hard. I might as well see how it works. I try doing the slow strokes…and suddenly I’m actually moving. That turned out to be surprisingly easy. She tells me how great I’m doing. How did she do that? Ayúdame tan rápido (Help me so quickly). She managed to turn my discouragement into a triumph. Once I do the strokes to her satisfaction tres veces, she asks me to try the breathing.
“Try it first standing up,” she suggests. She demonstrates again, what she showed me once earlier. Her lean arm muscles tighten as she pulls her hand through the seawater.
I stare at her in awe. She’s incredible. She’d probably have endless endurance in…
“Remember three strokes and then breathe.”
Her words snap me away from mis pensamientos eróticos. I try a few stroke cycles, leaning over the water.
Her hand grips my wrist, slowing down my movement. “Remember, slowly.”
Searing heat rips through me. Every time she touches me, it’s like lightning strikes that spot and then shoots like an electric current straight toward my groin. This chemistry between us is muy intenso. The last thing I need is to finish this swimming lesson with an embarrassing erección. Jade seems so relaxed and in control. Maybe she’s not feeling the same hot sensations. Meanwhile, I’m out of control. It would have been much easier to get to know her in a quiet restaurant over a glass of vino tinto. Maybe I’m swimming somewhat better than when I started, but compared to her, I’m un desastre. But I tell myself it really could be worse. She could be chasing me for my money and fame like all the other women I’ve known.
“Are you ready to put it together?” She issues a challenge.
I nod, feeling a surge of determination rise in my chest. “Ready.” I take a deep breath and think about taking slow strokes before I start. I count in my head—uno, dos, tres as I swim along—and then I roll my head to the left and open my mouth to breathe. But I forget to exhale underwater like she told me. So I have to exhale and inhale before I put my head back down again. I do a little dog paddle while I breathe and then try again. Uno, dos, tres—this time I blow out my air and I inhale like I’m supposed to. Muy bueno. I might as well keep going. I feel my body rising and falling over the gentle waves. The sea supports me even though I’m not kicking much. Uno, dos, tres —I turn my head, but a wave goes straight into my mouth. I tread water, choking.
Jade puts a hand on my arm. “Are you okay?”
Her touch makes me jump upright. I’m still out of breath and coughing. Some water has gone so far up my nose I can feel it in my forehead and ears. Talk about uncomfortable. This is the strangest workout I’ve ever done that’s for sure. Physical discomfort blended with embarrassing awkwardness and a megadose of sexual attraction. I cough again and raise my hand and nod. “Y-yes. I’m fine.”
The warm empathy in her large dark eyes makes my heart swell. She knows this is difficult for me. Her voice sounds soothing and compassionate. “Your swimming looked really good. Why don’t you catch your breath for a few minutes and try again? If you feel a wave rolling toward you, try dipping the opposite shoulder a little. That way when you roll your head it will be higher above the wave and you can avoid swallowing water.” She moves her arms and dips one shoulder and then the other to show me what she means. “I know it sounds hard, but it will come naturally with practice,” she promises. My gaze fastens on her lean muscled shoulders and upper arms. Her bright-colored swim suit exaggerates her tan. She’s so strong and sturdy. I’ve never seen a woman with such toned muscles.
“Okay, let me try.” I think about everything I need to do to get this right. Then I plunge in and start swimming. I drop my right shoulder down low when I breathe to the left. And it works. I take three more strokes and breathe again without choking on any water. That small feat feels like such an accomplishment. I keep swimming. I do two more breathing cycles before I’m too out of breath to continue. I stand up to see Jade’s still right beside me waiting with a warm smile.
“That was fabulous. You really got it down.”
“Thanks. It felt really good.” I smile. Knowing that I’ve pleased her makes me feel that same swell of warmth in my chest that I experience when an audience gives me a standing ovation. Delivering a great performance matters to me because they’re loyal fans. They’ve sacrificed time and money to see me. But this is different because I don’t know my fans personally. I don’t know much about Jade either, except that every time she touches me, blazing heat surges through me. And so many things about her surprise me—de la mejor manera (in the best way). She’s so natural and real. She could have emphasized everything I did wrong. Instead she’s complimented and encouraged me until I was able to swim halfway decently, and I experienced a sense of accomplishment.
“Do you want me to do it again?” I say, even though I’ve had more than enough. The water feels like bathwater and the sun’s beating down on my back. My mus
cles feel heavy and tired.
“No, I think that’s enough for today. How about if we work on it some more tomorrow?”
“Sure. That would be great.” I answer too quickly. I wonder if I sounded too desperate. There’s something about Jade that just makes me want more. A lot more.
“Nine o’clock tomorrow then,” she says.
“Jade, I really appreciate this. I didn’t think I’d be able to do this. But you helped me to relax. And I actually enjoyed it.” I reach into my swimsuit pocket for the money I sealed in a Ziploc bag. “Please take this.” I reach toward her hand.
She looks up at me. “Luca, really. I don’t need you to pay me. I offered to help you because I wanted to.”
“I know. But I want to. Since you spent so much time with me and I know you’re busy.”
She tips her head, looks at me for a moment and sighs. “Okay, I’ll accept this on one condition.”
“And what’s that?”
“Tomorrow, I want you to come and let me teach you because…” She glances away for a moment and then meets my gaze. Flecks of gold appear in her large brown eyes. I see emotion in their depths. Deep emotion. That speaks so much louder than words. “Because I need a friend,” she says softly.
For a moment, I forget to breathe. I keep thinking about the words she just said—and the significance of them. She wants to see me again. Does that mean she feels the same pulse-pounding sexual attraction I do when we touch?
CHAPTER NINE
Jade
My cell phone is ringing when I walk into my condo. The instant I answer, I wish I’d let it go to voice mail. It’s my sister, Kelsi. I’m not in the mood to talk to her. I’m more in the mood to daydream—to flash back to what just happened out there with Luca. Or to take a shower and change. I’m still wearing a wet swimsuit. Goose pimples rise on my arms and I shiver, feeling chilled in the AC.
“I can’t believe you’re still down there,” Kelsi says.
“Yep. I’m still here. How’s Mia?” Mia’s her four-year-old daughter. My sister’s a single mom now. She and her husband split up two years ago.
“Okay, I guess. It sucks that you’re not here to babysit on the weekends. I never get to go out anymore. But my sister has become anti-American. She’d rather be down there than with her own family.”
“Kels—”
“Don’t you ever get tired of being irresponsible?”
I roll my eyes and wrap my towel tighter around me. “I’m not irresponsible. I’m just happier living in this quiet place by the s—”
“Whatever. I thought maybe eventually you would listen to reason, but I guess that’s not possible for you.”
And she really wonders why I left? Our parents died in a plane crash when I was a freshman in college. Like Kelsi, they were critical and self-absorbed. They didn’t approve of me choosing competitive swimming over playing a musical instrument. My dad went ballistic when he heard I planned to major in Creative Writing in college. There was no encouragement to go after my dreams. No recognition of all the awards I’d received throughout high school for my writing. My father told me I’d be standing on a street corner asking for handouts once I graduated. He said he wouldn’t pay for me to go to college unless I majored in engineering or business. I told him I didn’t need his money, which wasn’t true. I had applied for scholarships but hadn’t been offered any. My father was so angry with me. Once he vented and told me how rebellious and ridiculous I was being, he persuaded my mom to work on me. I eventually caved in and majored in structural engineering and managed to graduate magna cum laude even though nothing about the curriculum interested me.
Just last year, I put an end to the charade. I quit my job as an engineer, since for years I’d been publishing articles and books and taking online writing classes whenever there was time. But I still found myself feeling like I had to explain myself to Kelsi and Brandon and too many of my friends. Why I quit my job as an engineer. Why I thought writing was a worthwhile career. Why having a lot of money wasn’t that important to me. I’d finish justifying myself—which I shouldn’t even have had to do—and feel depressed and exhausted. It was hard to have a decent self-image when people kept hammering away at me, saying that my gifts—swimming and writing—were completely worthless. Now I’m here in Mexico, trying to sew together pieces of me that have been ripped apart over and over again. I’ll be damned if I’m going to let Kelsi destroy the mending I’ve done on myself so far.
“Living by the sea suits me. And I don’t appreciate it when you talk to me like something’s wrong with m—”
“Something is wrong with you, Jade. Can’t you see? You live in a fucking dream world.”
“I don’t have to explain myself to you, Kelsi.” But I start doing it anyway. “I have a place to live and enough money to pay the bills.”
“You still write those books?”
I feel an uncomfortable pulse in my head. I wish like hell I’d never picked up the phone. “I’m not having this conversation.”
“I know. You can’t deal with it. And you’ll blame me later if you get one of those migraines. You’ll tell everyone I ‘stressed you out.’” I can practically see her hands making air quotes.
“Well, if there’s no other reason you called other than to criticize me, I’m going to sign off now.”
“Whatever. I wouldn’t expect any different from you. You don’t care about me or even about Mia.”
“I asked about her right away when you called, but then you turned the conversation into a personal attack. I have to go now.” Without waiting for her answer, I hit the end call icon on my phone and rest my head on the counter. Why does Kelsi have to treat me like this? I left because I needed a change. I wanted to get far away from her and Brandon and be near the sea, which has always been my dream. Now I’m here in my new place and I’m happy. That’s what I would want for anyone I cared about. But not my sister. I’m sure if my parents were still living, they would have been livid, too. They never cared about what I wanted or what was best for me. I grew up loving to swim and write. They never watched me race—I always traveled to swim meets with my friends’ families. And instead of congratulating me, they ripped me to shreds over the writing awards I won, saying I was wasting my time. Why is it that who I am is never enough for anyone?
I run back down to the beach as tears fill my eyes. I’m desperate to feel that sea all around me. To be in the only sanctuary I know on earth. Ten minutes into my swim, I’m feeling better. Back in balance. The sea doesn’t criticize. It accepts me as I am day to day. And it soothes away my suffering. I see the sleek flash of a dolphin’s body in the distance. A few strokes later, I site in front of me just in time to see a line of fins just ahead. Then the group of dolphins dive underneath me.
Now dolphins are all around me, gliding by, releasing their loud, watery exhales through the blowholes on top of their heads before descending again. When two of them circle underneath me almost on their sides, I see their nearly white bellies underwater. I hear the force of air and water through their blow holes each time they ascend, their clicks and squeaks underwater.
Being near them makes me forget my suffering. I smile, I laugh. I feel joyful again. I don’t know if they are happy and I’m responding to that or if it’s something else. Maybe it really is true that the sounds they make somehow balance human brain chemistry. Whatever it is, I want to sing and shout as happy emotions power through me. The shaky, upset me who hung up the phone 30 minutes ago has been transformed into a new me who doesn’t give a damn what my sister or Brandon or my faux friends think. I’m the me I want to be right now, out here in this water with these awe-inspiring creatures, back to feeling light and free.
Two dolphins surface again. One has a large nick in its dorsal fin. The fin isn’t quite vertical—it’s slightly skewed to one side. Maybe something struck its fin from the side or it got caught on a fishing hook. The flaw doesn’t detract from the beauty of the dolphin. I’m still drawn to him. M
aybe battle scars don’t mean a person or a dolphin is unlovable. They’re what make him or her unique. “I’ll call you, Nick,” I say underwater. My voice sounds distorted. I wonder what the dolphins think of my underwater speech.
The response I get is a sound that resembles steady knocking on wood. I wonder what that means. Does he like his new name? But maybe this dolphin I’ve called he is actually a she. Nick could be Nic—short for Nicole—if the dolphin’s a female. But everything I’ve read online indicates that male dolphins tend to fight. Maybe the fin got wounded in a skirmish and Nick is a boy dolphin after all.
Being near them makes me feel strangely calm. Watching them glide and jump and splash around brings a smile to my face every time. The dolphins are beautiful to watch. I’ve never touched any of them. Even though I’ve wanted to. But I worry if I did, they might perceive me as a threat. I wonder what a dolphin’s skin feels like. Would it feel rubbery and slippery, like a swimming wetsuit? I hope one day I’ll find out.
CHAPTER TEN
Luca
I wait for Jade to finish swimming. I’m going to ask her out. She wants me to—I’m almost sure. She got shy and nervous when she made that friend statement yesterday. She’s attracted to me even though she doesn’t know I’m famous and she saw me being the opposite of powerful and masculine—choking and gasping for air—while swimming yesterday. This says a lot about her. It proves she’s drawn to more than just the image of me. She made me feel like it’s okay to be imperfect. I don’t have to perform any heroic feat to please her. I can just relax and be myself.
“Buenos días.” She pulls her goggles from her head and skims off her cap in one smooth motion. Dragging her feet through the shallow water, she speaks in her familiar, jubilant voice. She’s wearing a sunny smile and a pink and black competitive swimmer style bikini. Looking at her long lean wet body takes my breath away. Her swimsuit clings to her breasts and her flared hips, making me imagine peeling that wet suit off of her beautiful body.
Jade's Song (South of the Border Book 2) Page 6