by Annie Kelly
Cyn and Carson were my wing-women. Then Cyn met Smith and started her teaching job. Then Carson and Wyatt fell crazy in love. And then I . . . I started staying at work two hours later than necessary. I did the thing people do when they’re lonely and alone. I’ve completely immersed myself in my work.
I don’t know if I’m sad or impressed.
My parents say I’m wasting my time here, but nights like tonight? As I shut down my computer, with hours of research under my belt, I wish they could see me. See my commitment. Yes, I was born with silver spoons all over the damn place, but I never drank the Kool-Aid. I never relied on the money my parents threw around—not since I realized the strings that were attached to every dollar they spent.
I glance down at my phone.
No texts. No messages. No Facebook notifications. I don’t even have a pet that needs me to feed it back at home.
And something about that statement—about going back to that empty apartment? I just can’t face it today. Not yet.
I walk through the dark office and into the small staff bathroom. There’s a bin of bathing suits we’ve got for teaching lessons. I find one in my size and change into it. It’s a tight red one-piece, a little more restrictive on the tits than I’d like, considering they’re practically spilling out of the scoop-neck top.
The burden of a great rack—what can I say?
I remove my shoes and pad down the hall, turning on a couple lights as I go. The pool is treated with chemicals on Friday nights, so I know I’m good to swim, even if it’s technically been locked up for the night. The way I figure it, access to an indoor pool is a bonus of the job that I very rarely ever take advantage of.
I make it to the main pool doors and I realize that no one’s locked them. I walk over to the women’s locker room entrance and realize they’re still open, too. I roll my eyes. I don’t know who was on duty tonight, but someone definitely dropped the ball.
I’m halfway through the locker room, cursing at the anonymous non-closer, when I hear something. I stop in my tracks and listen.
It’s water.
I take a few steps forward, then stop again.
A splash.
Fuck. Someone’s swimming.
I feel my stomach drop to my knees. We’ve had break-ins before—usually people looking for the nonexistent cash they think might actually be at a youth center. But there’s clearly someone here tonight, and that someone is swimming.
I creep around the sinks to the exit, leaning up against the cold cinder block wall and breathing as slowly and as quietly as I can manage. I can hear my heart beating in my ears and I consider heading back to my office to grab my phone. Instead, I manage to get enough balls to glance around the corner and out at the main pool area.
At first, I don’t see anyone. I squint through the shadows and notice some rippling in the water. Then a dark head emerges from beneath. I still can’t make out features yet, but I’m pretty sure it’s a guy.
He’s swimming laps, I realize. Back and forth along the lanes painted on the bottom of the pool. We don’t have actual ropes or formed lanes like at private pools, but you’re still able to maintain something remotely athletic.
I start to inch forward, perplexed. The average person who breaks and enters probably isn’t the lap-swimming type. Which is when I notice the pile of clothes on one side of the pool, the black Converse sneakers piled on top of blue jeans and an orange BYC polo shirt. The realization blooms over me just as the dark head resurfaces.
The person in the pool is Owen. My boss, Owen, is half-naked and wet, sliding through the water with graceful strokes.
I open my mouth to say something aloud, then snap it shut. Owen—again, Owen, my boss—presses his hands against the edge of the pool and, with a grace I’ve certainly never had, pushes up out of the pool. The water sluices down his body and I almost swallow my damn tongue.
I’m standing there in my suit—shoeless, towel-less, and staring—when Owen glances up and sees me. For a long second we both just freeze, looking at one another in complete surprise.
Then a smile—the kind that’s a force of nature—spreads out over Owen’s face. And something deep inside me begins to melt.
“You caught me,” he says, reaching around to rub a hand over his hair self-consciously.
“Caught you?” I ask dumbly. He nods.
“I figured it would be a good way to start getting some exercise. I hope that’s not totally weird.”
I shake my head, trying to give him an answer that isn’t just staring at him with my tongue lolling out of my mouth.
“Not weird,” I finally say. Apparently I’m limited to two-word answers tonight.
He glances back at the water, then over at me.
“So, do you want to join me?”
I close my eyes briefly. I know this is a bad idea. I’m absolutely sure of it. And that doesn’t stop me from nodding and moving toward him.
I need this moment of reckless abandon.
I need to make a terrible decision and live to regret it.
I need to feel alive.
“Absolutely,” I finally say. Then I dive into the water without looking back.
Chapter Eight
“You’re good.”
Owen grins at me as he swims past. I quirk a brow.
“Good at what?”
He turns in the water. “Swimming.”
He’s got the smooth, even, extended strokes of someone with obvious experience. I tread water as I watch him.
“Not nearly as good as you are. Swim team?”
He gives a shrug as he turns back to face me. “Yeah, in high school. And college.”
I nod. “It shows.”
“Well, I was never great at competitive team sports and I hated shit like golf and tennis, so I tried swimming as a freshman and I loved it.”
I push out away from the side and do an improvised freestyle in a circle around him.
“I only ever did theatre in high school. Well, and cheerleading.”
Owen chuckles as he reaches the side of the pool. He backs up against the wall and leans back, propping both of his elbows up on the edge.
“A cheerleader, huh? Were you a base or a flyer?”
I tilt my head in curiosity. “You know cheerleading terminology?”
He grins. “My little sister was competitive. She actually works at a dance studio now and she credits her cheerleading for her skills.”
“Wow, that’s awesome.”
I come over to the other side of him and press my front up against the side of the pool, suddenly reminded of how revealing this non-revealing suit ended up becoming on my body.
“So, base or flyer?” he asks again.
“Base,” I say. “But I liked the dancing best. The tumbling and stuff was what I lived for. When I got my back handspring mastered, I felt like a rock star.”
He nods. “That’s what Beth—my little sister—that’s what she says, too. She loved the athletics and the gymnastics of the entire thing.”
I cross my arms and lay my head down on them, looking at Owen. Something about the pool and the water makes him look younger. I know that we’re the same age, but the whole “him being my boss” thing makes me feel years younger than him on most days. Right now, we feel . . . equal.
It’s like we’re on a weird, wet pool date.
And, let’s face it: I can’t deny the sexiness of the surroundings. The dim light and cool, blue pool make everything seem somehow otherworldly. Which, I guess, is what makes this entire scenario so acceptable.
“So, if I ask you to do a cheer for me, would you do it?”
I look over at Owen with wide eyes. He’s grinning, clearly pleased with my reaction, and he looks so damn sexy with his hair slicked back away from his face.
“Um, no. Never.”
>
“Why not? Would your boyfriend mind?”
I freeze. He’s watching me, gazing at my facial expressions so closely, and I snort a laugh.
“So, was that your incredibly non-subtle way of asking me if I have a boyfriend?”
Owen shrugs, then pushes off from the wall, swimming backwards. Swimming away from me.
“Perhaps,” he says over his shoulder. I can’t help but grin as I shake my head.
“Don’t you think I would have mentioned a boyfriend by now?”
Owen turns back around. His eyes appear uncharacteristically dark in this light. He looks almost swarthy. That trademark shadow of stubble on his jaw is adding to the overall impression. God, I could cast him in a fucking stage revival of Magic Mike and, as long as the man could do the Electric Slide, we’d be in business. I’d make legit money off those abs and that face.
He runs a hand back over his hair, looking suddenly self-conscious. “I mean . . . you didn’t have to tell me. It’s not, like, a job requirement.”
I almost wince at the job reference, but I shake it off. The truth is that, despite having seen Remy, Cyn, and Carson over the last week—three of my favorite people, three of my best friends—this evening’s swim is the most fun I’ve had in longer than I want to admit.
“Well, no—I don’t have a boyfriend.” I pause for a second, leaning back to glance up at the enormous glass windows.
“Now, how is that fucking possible?” he asks, raising a brow. I shrug.
“I was seeing someone pretty seriously in college. He entered the military and I started grad school. It just . . . didn’t work, I guess.”
“What does that mean—‘it didn’t work’?”
I duck my head back, wetting my hair. It feels like the most effective method of avoidance. Finally, I look back up.
“He cheated—he wasn’t the first to do it to me, but he’s the one that hurt the most.”
Owen doesn’t say anything, but I can feel his eyes on me.
“So, yeah. Not much for relationships, I guess. I’ve been hurt enough to know that commitments usually lead to someone getting hurt.”
“I wouldn’t say all that,” Owen argues. I shrug.
“How many relationships have you had that have lasted?”
He gives a rueful smile. “Fair enough.”
We go quiet again, with nothing but the lapping water as the soundtrack to our swim.
Finally, I say, “Why, do you have a girlfriend?”
He shakes his head.
“I don’t. I had a fiancée a few years ago, but it didn’t work out.”
I raise a brow and sweep the water back and forth in front of me with one outstretched arm.
“What happened?”
He shrugs. “Honestly, we were just really different people. She thought I’d be taking over the family business. When I decided not to, she was a little less than thrilled with my chosen life plan.”
I frown at him. “That sounds absolutely shitty—what was your family business? Was it really that much more worthy than what you’re doing?”
He shoves a hand back through his wet hair and little droplets shoot out in various directions.
“Worthy of admiration? No. Worthy of crazy-ass money? Absolutely. My dad’s the CEO of Prototech.”
I look up at the ceiling, trying to place the name. “Should I recognize it?”
“It’s a software company. They work with a lot of car manufacturers to add automatic features—like sensory brakes and back-up cameras.”
I nod slowly.
“It sounds familiar . . . I’m sorry, I’m not really that tech-oriented.”
Owen grins. “Trust me. It’s not a problem. Being recognized for my family’s work, not mine, is just about the worst thing ever.”
He inches closer to me then, until he’s practically within arm’s reach, and his caramel-colored eyes are tinted with a golden glimmer of interest.
“So, did you think I had a girlfriend?”
I look down at the rippling water, trying to seem unaffected by his closeness.
“I hadn’t really thought about it.”
“Well, if I did have a girlfriend,” he says slowly, his voice lower and deeper than usual, “I don’t think she’d be thrilled about me having an impromptu swim session with one of my coworkers.”
I appreciate the fact that he doesn’t say “employees.” Still, I’m stuck on the “no girlfriend” part. I lick my lips, feeling slightly nervous.
“But, I mean . . . we’re just swimming. We’re just coworkers. What’s the big deal?” I ask, attempting an innocent expression.
Owen, however, looks as though he’s reached his limit of honest, innocent flirting. He advances, effectively boxing me in, the water rippling around us like an energy source all its own.
“Is that all we really are, Rainey?” he says quietly. “Coworkers?”
I blink rapidly, unable to look away from those golden eyes. They almost glow from the water’s reflection.
I bite my bottom lip and watch his expression. His eyes flare immediately. Flare brighter. Flare hotter.
Oh, yeah. This shit is so on.
“I mean, we’re also friends,” I say coyly, tugging on the ends of my wet ponytail.
But Owen isn’t having it. I don’t know if he’s just reached his fill of his self-imposed professionalism or if he feels the same heat from me as I feel from him. Regardless, we’re surpassing some kind of tenuous invisible barrier as he backs me against the wall.
“I don’t want to be friends, Rainey,” he almost growls, his gaze flitting back and forth between my eyes.
“You don’t?” I ask, legitimately caught up in his gaze and his heat.
Please make a move. Please make a move. Please make a move.
Owen swallows hard, his Adam’s apple moving down, then up his neck. Without thinking, I reach out and touch his jaw with one wet hand. I lick my lips.
And that’s all it takes for both of us to break.
My first kiss with Owen Marshall is probably the least graceful or romantic thing on earth. Owen and I meet in the middle of the open space, what little there is between us, as equals, and that means an equal amount of overenthusiasm. Our lips mash against one another and it takes a second to catch our breaths and pull back to allow for more air and movement between our mouths.
But when we do? When we do, the kiss is fucking stellar.
In some ways, it’s more than a kiss. More than mouths and tongues and lips. Our entire bodies are pressed against one another in a way that feels like a form of communication. Our skin needs that proximity—especially since we’ve been denying the attraction. Or, at least, I have been denying the attraction.
Owen pulls back slightly, allowing his mouth to travel along my wet jawline until it meets my ear. He tongues at my earlobe as he whispers, “Have you thought about this as much as I have?”
He pulls back then to look me in the eye, and I blink at him, then nod slowly.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Does that mean you want this, too?” he asks.
I run my tongue along my bottom lip and he moves in, powerless against the drive and need to keep his mouth on mine. I gasp as he captures my mouth again, spearing his tongue into it, then gentling his technique. This is a guy who has skills. Someone who may not have kissed a thousand women, but definitely should have. This kind of delicious, intoxicating embrace deserves to be shared with the masses.
“You didn’t answer me,” he murmurs against my lips. He lets his teeth scrape lightly along the plumpest part of my lip and I shudder with pleasure.
“Answer you?”
He pulls back and looks me in the eye.
“Do you want this, too, Rainey? I need to know that we’re on the same page before . . .”
“Before what?” I ask, my voice husky with desire.
Owen’s eyes are hooded as he leans even closer.
“Before we turn this into something we can’t walk away from. Before we let our bodies do all the things they want to do.”
He reaches out with one hand and cups my chin. I can’t put my finger on what makes me want him so badly. The truth is that there’s something about the “off-limits” theory. And this moment just feels too good to pass up.
I surge forward, coaxing Owen’s mouth open and delving my tongue inside. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me into him tightly, sliding a hand up into my wet hair, directing my head to one side. I let my hands move up his slick arms. His breath grows shallow and coasts along my exposed skin. I close my eyes, desperate to feel his mouth on me again—any part of me, at any time. Preferably immediately.
“Rainey.”
He pulls back and meets my gaze.
“What do you want?”
I swallow, watching Owen and feeling a burning deep within me. It takes a second for me to name it, to call it what it is—unbridled desire. The need to get fucked. The desperate urge to fuck him back. I want something physical and satisfying. I want something to feel right, but to be easy and without strings. I want to be naked in this pool with our skin and lips and everything intertwined. Everything but our hearts.
It’s not that I never want love. It’s not that I hate the idea on principle. I’ve just managed to avoid falling for someone—falling hard and fast and irrevocably—ever since Phillip cheated. I don’t want to find myself in the same position I was in before—in love with someone who ultimately hurt me, and torn apart from the inside out.
And that’s the hard part—the part that gives me pause. Because Owen is totally the kind of guy you fall in love with. The guy you take home to your parents. He’s not an easy lay or a way to pass the time. He’s the kind of man my parents would adore seeing me with. I can almost hear my mother half drawl and half purr his name.
But, fuck. He feels so damn good. He’s all I want right now. I look around the pool—the cool blue water, the wide open space.
“I want you,” I say, pressing a kiss against his neck and locking my arms around it. “Right here, right now. I don’t even care that we’re at work—that’s how badly I want you.”
