Sticking with the bear in the cage metaphor, him waltzing up to me right now was like a random hiker jabbing a stick between the bars.
“I don’t have one,” he said coolly, his hands tucked deep in the pockets of his jeans.
His biceps sort of winged out to the side. His chest muscles were stretching the capacity of his T-shirt. The man didn’t get that body just through conducting the symphony.
Maybe I accidentally stared too long at his body, or maybe he was messing with me, but he added, “I swim.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Me too,” I said too quickly.
“I have a pool downstairs. You can use it if you want.”
“I didn’t bring a suit,” I sounded disappointed to my own ears.
He crossed his arms. “You want to swim or not?”
Ten minutes later, he was in his swim trunks and I was in my bra and undies. That had escalated quickly.
Here was the thing: I did not wear sexy underwear these days. I’d gone through a thong phase during my Jethro era, but then I’d discovered the comfort of laser-cut satin full-coverage panties. Same idea for the bras. The point was, that if I wanted to rationalize this situation, I could say my granny panties and full-coverage bra were far more concealing than many swimsuits.
Rationally, that should have helped. But it didn’t. I was in my skivvies. Devlin basically was too. We were just a few feet apart with only Jesus and a couple of flimsy layers between us. Forget eye contact—I could barely look at his nipples. There was no safe space to focus on, so instead, I dived directly into the pool. Maybe he had been looking at my body. What would it mean if he had been? How would I feel depending on what I saw on his face? Best to not find out.
The water was uh-may-zing. Perfect temperature. Was it saltwater? My body felt deliciously buoyed.
The whole room was insane. At this point, cherubs could lower from the ceiling with tiny little harps and I wouldn’t even be surprised. It was an underground grotto, seemingly cut straight from the rocks of the Smokies. It could be a natural hot spring, for crying out loud. Natural rock formations were all around us, complete with stalactites and stalagmites.
Devlin smiled at me from next to the pool when my head bobbed back out of the water.
“What?” I asked, squinting the salty water out of my eyes.
“Interesting.”
“What?” I asked, drawing out the word.
“I didn’t peg you as the jump-right-in sort of gal.”
“Don’t paint me with that brush. And don’t you dare say that I’m not like other girls. Because if you do, I might go off on you like I did Wes,” I said all this while kicking softly to stay afloat, aware that my nude color bra was now just plain nude right under the surface.
He held up his hands. “You surprise me is all.” He shook his head with a laugh before lifting his arms above his head to stretch side to side. My own personal Colin Firth as Darcy. Back here again. Me staring, him existing. I let myself sink until my head was under water. Unfortunately, I didn’t stay there because … saltwater. I popped right back up like a fishing bobber.
A second later the water splashed into my face as he cannon-balled right next to me.
When he came back up, he shook his head once to dispel the water. His dark hair sprayed a stream and formed a peak over his forehead. Almost immediately it started to curl. He looked as happy as a goofy puppy with a chew toy.
“Oh, I would have never pegged you as a cannon-baller,” I mocked.
“I’m a total baller.”
I groaned at his stupid joke. The weirdness of earlier seemed to be dissipating but I still struggled with his idea of boundaries; one minute they’re firmly in place, the next he’s suggesting swimming together. It was a complicated situation, and I got the impression he wasn’t even sure how to handle it. I’d follow his lead.
My hand gripped the edge of the natural stone and I kicked softly, enjoying the lightness of the water. He came up next to me. His dark lashes were clumped together in little spikes and a drop of water ran down his face to his neck and continued lower. Ah, to be on that journey …
“I’m sorry about what I said while we were playing earlier,” he said.
“I did not expect that,” I said honestly. “You surprise me too.”
“I don’t think you’re replaceable,” he added seriously.
“Thanks,” I said.
His gaze moved from my hair to my chin and cheeks and nose and back to my eyes. “I’m trying to keep strict boundaries between us. The symphony and me. I didn’t mean to take it out on you. Favor is too easily swayed. One second, you’re loved by all. The next, you’re totally forgotten.”
“I’m sorry I stepped out of line. I didn’t mean—”
“You didn’t. I asked for your help.” He shook his head. “Let’s move on.”
My heart constricted with his vulnerability. I wished I could assure him that nobody would care about the man behind the mask, but I couldn’t promise that at all, could I? I ached to reach out and hug him but instead I said, “Race you?”
“What?”
“On your marks.” I braced the wall.
“I’m not racing you …”
“Chicken.” I got my feet ready to push off.
“… because it wouldn’t be a fair race. I’d obviously wipe the floor with you,” he rushed out.
“Get set.”
“Your funeral.”
“Go!” I ducked under the water and shot off the wall. He scrambled in the water next to me. I focused on my perfect stroke. It was like practicing scales, done enough times to come naturally.
We met again back at the wall where we started. We were both panting and grinning like fools. What was it about a swim race that brought out the child in a person in the best way?
“It was a tie,” I panted.
“Only because you cheated. If you hadn’t, I would’ve won.”
“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
He leaned on the wall with arms crossed. “Okay. You’re a solid swimmer.”
“Oh my goodness,” I said clutching a hand to my chest.
He put his hand on my shoulder, his eyes searched me. “What’s wrong? Cramp?”
“No. I just—I think you just gave me a compliment.”
He dropped his hand slowly into the water as his face formed a scowl. “I rescind it for unsportsman-like conduct.”
“Too late. I heard it. It’s going to my head as we speak.”
Using a cupped hand, he splashed water in my face. I sputtered and kicked him.
“Ouch! Is swimming your workout of choice?” he asked as he backed out of kicking range.
“Yes.”
“You work out a lot?”
“Yeah.” I felt weird talking about it, but it was so crucial for me. I added, “It helps to focus on something. If I don’t work out, I get—” I hesitated.
“I get it. Me too. Mental health.”
“Yeah. My parents were pretty strict after …”
“After you got out of rehab?” he asked bluntly. There was no pity or judgement in his tone. Just as though he were asking about my last dental checkup and not the worst year of my life.