I started to walk away, but before I knew what was happening, he’d jumped up, grabbed my arm, and yanked me down into the pool.
I screamed and splashed, but he didn’t let me go under, pulling me into his body and wrapping his arms around me instead. I looked up at him, breathing hard, and he looked down at me, our lips inches from each other.
Drops of water glistened in his hair and wet his eyelashes, and for a moment, I had no will. I lowered my eyes to his mouth. Supple and strong and most amazing when he used it to smile.
Tears pooled in my eyes. I couldn’t stop him.
Don’t. Please.
I wasn’t a happy person. Not ever. I won’t be able to stop you.
He pulled me in, and I opened my mouth to protest, but instead of a kiss, he just pulled me into his arms, pressed my head to his shoulder, and wrapped his arms around me so tight, it felt like he was the one about to break, not me.
I stilled, not sure what to do, but I could feel every muscle in his body flex as he held me and took deep breaths.
And slowly, I closed my eyes, every ounce of fight draining out of me, feeling his embrace.
It had been so long since I felt this. My grandmother was hardly lucid enough to hug me much anymore.
My arms itched, wanting to touch him. God, I wanted to hold him.
But before I could work up the courage to pull away or hug him back, he whispered, “I’m not like that.” And he pulled up, staring down at me almost nose to nose. “And I’ll see you on the bus tomorrow night, Emory Scott.”
He released me and swam for the edge, leaving me cold in the pool.
What?
The air chilled, and I watched as he pulled himself up the ladder, and I spun around just in time, giving him my back as his naked body exited the pool.
Shit.
Unable to help myself, I surrendered to the pull and glanced over my shoulder.
But it was too late. He was fastening a towel around his waist, the cords and muscles in his back intimidating and everything about him was perfect. Without sparing me another glance, he opened the men’s locker room door and disappeared inside.
Ugh. What was he doing? Why wouldn’t he just stop? I swam for the edge of the pool, picked up my shit without bothering to dry off, and stormed into the girls’ locker room.
Why couldn’t he just leave me alone? Didn’t guys like him want…something else? Or someone else?
He was getting to me. Making me think I was wrong about him or something. For years, he’d had this whole “what you see is what you get” vibe, and now he wanted to convince the world that we were wrong.
I didn’t need the trouble. I had much bigger problems than him, and I didn’t need this.
I dressed, stopped at my locker to grab my bag, and before I knew it, I was halfway home already, lost in my thoughts and replaying every frame with him in my head.
My throat swelled with a golf ball-size lump, and I couldn’t stop feeling his arms around me.
It was nice.
I didn’t want to want more. Everything I said about him was true. He was shallow, and he was using me. Bottom line. I couldn’t forget that.
There was a moment, though, when he held me, where he was me, and I was him, and we weren’t alone. It felt like I was supposed to be there.
I closed my eyes as I walked, tears wetting my lashes.
I was looking for meaning where there wasn’t any because I had nothing else. It wasn’t real, and he didn’t feel it, too. Remember that, Em. Don’t forget it. For a few seconds, I saw what I wanted to see.
Heading into the town square and up the small incline into the park, I gazed at my gazebo that I was building, the beams still wet from rain, but the smell intoxicating. I loved the smell of wood.