by Lily Kate
“Come on,” Leigh says. “I’ll be right next to you.”
“Nah,” I say again. “I’ve already swallowed enough chlorine to set off a drug test. That’s clearly a sign I’m not ready for the deep end.”
“Go on,” Cohen tells the others. “I’ll convince her.”
Leigh and Jason make their way slowly down to the other side, alternating between a splashy doggy paddle and a simple fingertip drag along the wall.
Meanwhile, Cohen lowers himself so that his feet dangle in the water and our faces are inches apart. Closer than we’ve been all day, ever since we watched the others compete like marathoners at the beginning of class, and I’d accidentally touched his arm.
“You’re doing great,” he says, watching me through a jungle of green eyes. “Let’s try it. Come with me, and I promise that I won’t let anything happen to you.”
There’s an aspect of wild in his gaze. I can see it—the sort of wild that has my imagination running. Before I can control my thoughts, I’m wondering who he is, why he’s here, what his hands would feel like against my bare skin.
Also, there in his eyes, is a glint of protectiveness. The combination has me wanting to prove I’m not a total wimp. Just half a wimp.
“Do I get a life vest?” I ask. “I need something floaty.”
“I’ll be right there. What’s got you so nervous about the deep end?”
I give him a blank stare. “Uh... the fact that I can’t swim?”
“You are so close! You almost had it about five minutes ago.”
“Really? I’m surprised you noticed. You were doing such a great job ignoring me.”
“Annie.” My name sounds fluid on his tongue, like a whitecap on the ocean—turbulent and strikingly beautiful. “You know exactly why I ignored you.”
“Is that right? Because it sure felt like you—”
“Wanted to take you into the back office... alone?” He leans in so close his breath dances across my ear, tantalizing in its spicy freshness. “That’s the reason I stayed far away from you.”
“But—”
“If I weren’t here to clean up my act, sweetheart, I might have a different game plan.”
“Oh.”
“Unfortunately, you’re safe from my charms.”
“I am?”
“Yes.” He grins a playful smile. “I have to behave.”
My heart is pounding, an inexplicable rush pulsing through my veins. The scent of him is intoxicating, raw, and it makes me giggle like I’ve sucked in a gallon of helium. “Safe from what charms?”
He winks. “Just you wait.”
“I’m going to switch classes. See if Duke’s got availability.”
Cohen ignores me, extending a hand instead. “Let me help you.”
I cross my arms. “Give me something floaty, and we’ve got a deal.”
It’s his turn to smile. He watches me for a long second, then gives a shake of his head. “You win this time, sweetheart.”
I hate that his little nickname, the wayward touches of his hand against mine, the subtle glances my way, make me sizzle with happiness. He probably calls three different girls sweetheart on any given night, hoping one will fall hook, line, and sinker into his bed. I can see it in the way he carries himself, in his confidence. He’s not used to being turned down.
Luckily for both of us, he’s not interested—and neither am I. There’s too much on the line to risk getting involved with someone like Cohen—I’m waiting to hear back on my law school applications, and until I’m officially accepted into one of them, I can’t let my grades slide. Getting involved with someone like Cohen James would most certainly count as a distraction.
Not to mention, I’ve made a pact with myself not to date until I’m done with grad school. This, here, is exactly why. One second I show up for swimming lessons, and the next I’m staring into my instructor’s bright green peepers and wondering what it’d be like if I let him kiss me.
I push away my wayward thoughts as Cohen hands me a thin pole that has floatation devices on either end. It’s like a barbell made of Styrofoam. I’d much rather have a huge life jacket that hugs my body, but I’m done whining to Cohen. So, I stick the floaty out in front of me and kick toward the deep end.
I feel his eyes on me, watching from a safe distance on the pool ledge as I clumsily flop down the lane. At first, I think he’s watching me out of concern. You know, for my safety. Making sure that I don’t drown. However, when I slide a glance in his direction, I’m proven desperately wrong.
“Hey,” I hiss in annoyance. “Get your eyes off my butt.”
“What?” His attention snaps to my face, and he has the grace to give a sheepish shrug of his shoulder when he sees my glare. “It’s my job; I need to watch your form.”
I roll my eyes and continue onward, faster. I’m halfway there, and with each kick my stomach is wrapping itself into knots. The water against my stomach grows colder with each inch the floor drops away, and I can feel the emptiness below my body. If I put my feet down, I won’t be able to touch anymore.
I take a moment to glance between my arms, seeing nothing but the deep, clear blue of the nine-foot pool. It’s everything I can do not to hyperventilate. I can’t tell if Cohen is staring at my face, my legs, or my chest-—and I don’t care.
I can hardly remember Leigh’s name as she reaches for me. She must sense the panic in my eyes, the short, raspy breaths echoing against the walls. The fear freezing my body.
When our fingers connect, I latch onto her as if she’s my guardian angel, as if I can’t ever let her go. She stills my floundering, offers a word of encouragement, and guides me toward the wall.
Finally, once I’m stabilized and my breathing doesn’t sound like a cat with a hairball, I offer Leigh a smile. “Well, thank you for saving my life.”
Leigh laughs and waves a hand. “Nothing you wouldn’t do for me. Well, you know... once you can swim.”
I focus on peeling a few fingers back from the wall. Then, I focus on pretending Cohen doesn’t exist. How embarrassing. I’m a grown woman, and I just freaked out in the middle of a very safe pool.
Meanwhile, Jason and Leigh have already made huge strides; both are treading water without the help of floaties and without the fear of dying at any given moment. While I’m happy for them, it only makes things worse for me.
Thankfully, Cohen, after peering at me for a long moment, brushes past the whole incident. “You all are doing great,” he says, glancing down at his clipboard. “To pass this level, you’re going to have to tread water for sixty seconds. We’ll work on five seconds for now and build up a little each week. Sound good?”
Leigh and Jason nod.
“No,” I gasp, re-tightening my fingers against the wall. “You might as well fail me now. I’ll never be able to do that.”
“Sure you will.” Cohen sounds completely confident as he flicks a glance over me. “We’ll start with five seconds.”
“Nah,” I say. “I’d rather not.”
“You can do it. . Just stay close to the wall.”
“Not interested.”
“I know you can manage five seconds. Your kick is strong enough to keep your head above water. Your arms need some work, but we’ll get there.”
“Your arms need work,” I mutter back. When I’m frightened, apparently I revert back to first grade retorts. “Please don’t make me.”
“Fine.” Cohen glances at the other two. “We’ll start with you—five seconds, beginning now.”
I watch the others complete it successfully. I even scoot a little away from the wall, with my floatie of course, to offer a high-five to Leigh after she brushes water out of her eyes. They’ve both done it. In fact, Jason’s still going with no signs of stopping.
“Try it with me,” Leigh says brightly. “If I can do it, you can do it.”
I begin to shake my head, but that’s when I feel the floatation device slipping from my grasp. I clutch at it, holding on tigh
t. Then, I realize, it’s not slipping away... it’s being stolen from me. By freaking Cohen James.
With one hand, he’s guiding the floatie out from under my arms while reaching for me with his other hand. Except, he doesn’t catch me before the freak-out begins. The flailing happens, my arms waving every which way as I slip below the surface, sinking like a bag of coal.
I use my kick, scissoring my legs hard, but it only pokes my head through the surface long enough to screech for help before I’m plunged back underneath, water licking into my lungs. I catch a flash of panic in Cohen’s eyes as he reaches, still further, for me, and misses once again.
It’s too late, I think, turning as paralyzed now as I did back then. The first time I knew that I hated water. A day of ice skating on the lake that went horribly wrong.
Six years old. That’s how old I’d been when it happened. Others had been out before me that winter, skating, playing hockey, driving cars across the lakes. However, I drew the short straw that day, apparently, and hit the thin patch of ice. Without any warning, I’d plunged straight through to the frigid waters below.
When I tried to come up for air, I’d hit nothing but sheer frozen water. Trapped under layers of ice, lungs grasping for air, I had thought I would die.
I didn’t die, of course; I didn’t even go unconscious. My friends pulled me out and warmed me up, and I was fine. But nothing, absolutely nothing, could bleach the memory of utter silence from my mind. From the intense claustrophobia of seeing the sunlight, watching rays filter through a layer of crystals, only to be trapped underneath in the darkness.
The same panic is back now, my heart racing. My ears are full, as if there’s no space for sound of any kind and the world is blanketed in stillness. My throat burns, eyes stinging when I at last force them open.
There’s a flash of legs, a glimpse of flesh, and then I’m sinking, sinking toward the bottom, but my feet have yet to touch. I can’t push off from below, and I can’t reach the top.
The images come back strong from that day.
Lungs burning, fists pounding against the ice, distant cries yelling my name. The frigid cold, the soul-crushing temperatures struggling to steal my breath, take every wisp of energy—of humanity—as the darkness set in.
Then I’m back, the images are gone, and I’m hacking up water against the edge of the pool. Someone’s hands are on me, warm against my skin.
Cohen.
I know this before I turn to look.
“I am so sorry,” he’s saying. “I didn’t realize... I’m so sorry, Annie.”
My gaze lands on him, no doubt rimmed by terror, that terror rapidly making way for anger. If there’s one thing we, as humans, don’t enjoy, it’s having our soft sides exposed for all to see—for others to leer at, to pity, to watch with a keen interest because it’s not them hurting. It’s equal parts curiosity and sympathy.
Judging by the look in his eyes, I don’t need to explain how I’m feeling. There’s relief and fear there, and a mix of other things I don’t bother to explore. I’m too frustrated, now that I know I’m not dead. Because I definitely don’t want to die wearing this stupid swimsuit.
I pull myself to my feet, ignoring his gaze. I could get mad at him, yell, or ream him out for stealing my noodle, but I don’t. It’s not worth my breath.
Instead I pull myself out of the pool area and, without a word, wrap a towel around my body at the door. I make my way toward the showers, leaving him and the rest of the class behind me.
I step under the steam of the shower and let the water cascade down my back. The goose bumps wash away, as does the rush of adrenaline. Eventually, the nightmarish memories wash down the drain, too—at least for now.
Surprisingly, the only thing that doesn’t fade is the memory of Cohen’s hands around my waist. His fingers just a little too low, a little too close to my core. When he held me it was nice; it was strong, protective even, as if he’d never let me get hurt. This makes me even more annoyed because it’s the last thing I should be thinking about right now.
I stay under the water until another woman enters and decides it’s her time to shine in the karaoke spotlight that is the women’s locker room. She begins belting out a little ditty from Night at the Roxbury, and I decide it’s time for me to leave before my eardrums turn in their resignation letters.
I towel off, change, and return to watch my grandmother’s synchronized swimming class once I’ve calmed down. If I didn’t absolutely have to stay, I’d already be gone. Unfortunately, Gran’s my ride home. Well, my mother is, technically, and she won’t let me leave Gran here, so I have no choice but to wait.
As I enter the pool area, the last thing I expect to see is Cohen James, asshole extraordinaire, holding a baby. And looking sexy as hell doing it.
Before my ovaries combust, I turn away from where he’s teaching something that looks like a toddler swim class and face a bunch of women in their eighties attempting handstands and dance moves in the water. The change in scenery from Cohen James to retired synchronized swimming is not ideal, but it’ll have to work.
Because the way Cohen’s gaze met mine just now, across the open pool, a look of apology waiting specifically for me—the whole thing nearly wiped away my entire grudge against him. His eyes have an almost magnetic pull to them, as if begging me to run across the deck and jump into his arms.
That’s out of the question, however, since I’m still pissed at him.
Maybe, someday, I’ll forgive him.
Then, maybe, I’ll let him kiss me.
Chapter 5
ANNIE
“Hey, are you okay?”
I turn on the bleachers from where I’ve parked myself to watch Gran, surprised to find Leigh sitting next to me. She’s dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, her hair wrapped into a bun on top of her head, her face free of makeup.
She’s likely older than me by a good ten years, but dressed like she is now, she’s got the fresh face of a college student and the bright eyes of a child.
“I didn’t hear you sneak up,” I say, scooting over to make room. “Are you also watching your grandma try to do the splits underwater? If so, I’ll spare you the details; it’s not pretty.”
She laughs. “I’d love to be like your grandma when I’m eighty. Out there doing stuff that I was too scared to do in my twenties. Which one is she?”
“Can you guess?” I gesture to the six ladies in the water. Only one of them is flopping around like a fish. It’s my grandmother.
Leigh guesses correctly.
“I guess we flop in the same style, huh?” I give her a wry smile. “Like grandmother, like granddaughter.”
“No, you have a lot more grace to your flopping.”
I laugh. “Sorry I sort of just stormed off like that. I just get nervous in the water.”
“I understand.” Her smile fades a bit, and she focuses her attention forward. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“I’m fine. Really,” I say. “But I appreciate you checking on me. Thank you.”
She waves a hand and together we watch the ladies twirl to the tune of an eighties beat. I have to give them credit; none of them are moving all dainty and careful, as if they might bust a hip at any moment. They are attacking the water like masters of karate.
“He felt really bad,” Leigh says after the women have completed their routine. “I could tell.”
“Who, Cohen? Well, good. It wasn’t a very nice thing for him to do.”
“No, it wasn’t, but still...” Her voice trails off, and so does her gaze. She glances over her shoulder, watching the other, shallower pool. “I don’t think he realized how much it would upset you.”
“I told him no, and that should have been enough. I’m paying money—er, my mom is paying money—so I can learn how to swim, not so that he can drown me. He’s my instructor, not my drill sergeant. What does he care if I pass or not? He gets paid and his stupid photo taken for his PR lady either way.”
“That’s the thing. I think he does care. He was just misguided. A mistake. He was trying to push you to succeed, and he took it too far.”
“Then why did he try to kill me?”
“I know it was scary, but I just thought I should give you my opinion.” Leigh pats my leg and gives a bland smile. “And I think you should give him another chance. I’ll bet he apologizes before the day is over.”
“Oh yeah? What makes you say that?”
“The fact that he looks over at you every chance he gets.”
I find myself glancing over my shoulder before I realize I’m doing it. I can’t help it. I also can’t stop the iceberg I’ve built between him and I from melting a little bit as I watch him guiding a happily screeching toddler through the water, the pair of them laughing as they chase a toy boat.
“He’s dumb,” I say, for lack of something better.
Leigh laughs, not fooled by my halfhearted attempt to stay angry. “He looks good with a baby though, doesn’t he?”
I raise my eyebrows at her. “I’m not interested!”
“I didn’t say you were, girlfriend! I’m just stating facts. If he weren’t ten years my junior, I’d consider it.”
“You’re...”
“Divorced.”
“Oh, sorry.”
“It’s a good thing, don’t worry.” Leigh turns her smile back on me, though it’s a tiny bit dimmer this time around. “I have to pick my son up from his sleepover now, so I’m going to head out. You sure you’re okay?”
I nod. “Yeah, thanks, Leigh.”
“It was mostly selfish,” she says, standing to face me in front of the bleachers, taking a long, luxurious stare at Cohen. “If he tries to apologize, let him, will you?”
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t get his autograph yet, which means I’m stuck coming back for another week of lessons. Jason’s nice and all, but I’m pretty sure he ate garlic for lunch, and I can smell it coming from his pores. I need you in class with me or I’ll be all alone with him and Cohen.”
“You’re lucky! I’m feeling generous.”
“See you next week.” With a wink, she’s gone.