“Just one thing,” Brock said, giving me a stern look that made me shiver. “It’s beach volleyball. Players and spectators alike are required to wear swimsuits.”
“Bikinis, if possible,” Kincade added.
Yeah, right. Like I’d ever be caught dead in one of those. “I am wearing my swimsuit,” I pointed out.
“But you’re also wearing a shirt the size of a palm tree on top of it,” Brock replied.
“I burn easily,” I said, somewhat defensively. That was part of the reason I had a t-shirt on, but it wasn’t the only reason. The truth was that I didn’t like showing anyone what I looked like in a suit, let alone three walking advertisements for male perfection. And then there was also the fact that it was very hard to swim while simultaneously trying to keep my breasts from popping out of the top of my suit. Not for the first time, I wish I had the equipment to sew things like swimsuits or lingerie, but stretchy material like that was very hard to work with.
“They make this stuff, it comes in a tube. You rub it on your skin and it’s like a big f-you to the sun’s radiation,” Kincade said.
“I volunteer to rub it in,” Jessie said.
Kincade grinned. “And I’ll be his second.”
I rolled my eyes. “I’m fine the way I am.” I lowered myself down into the water, gasping a little until I got used to the water. Then I pushed away from the edge, as if to demonstrate how easy it was to swim with a shirt on. But the fact that the hem of the shirt floated up and seemed to be trying to smother me didn’t help my case.
“That thing is going to drag you under,” Kincade remarked. “By the time we extract you from it, you’ll be long gone.”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“How about we race you for it?”
Brock’s words made me stare at him in surprise. “What?”
“We’ll race. Once across the pool and back. If we all beat you, then we win and you lose the shirt before it strangles you. But if you beat any of us, then you can keep it.”
His deal made my heart beat faster. There was just something so take-charge about him. But he wasn’t much of a negotiator. “I already have my shirt, so that’s not much of a prize.”
“She’s got a point,” Jessie said as he hopped into the pool.
Kincade snapped his fingers. “I’ve got it. If you beat even one of us, then you win, and we’ll build a raft out of palm trees, tie the Annas to it, and launch them out to sea.”
I giggled. “That’s more like it.”
“But if we’re feeling less homicidal, we’ll substitute another prize of equal or greater value,” Brock said dryly. “Are you in or out?”
It was tempting. They all seemed comfortable in the water, but not particularly proficient in it. Not a single one of them had left the shallow end since we got in. I wasn’t a fantastic swimmer, but I knew I could make it across the pool and back. The question was, could I do it faster than one of them?
“Come on, live a little,” Kincade said.
I had to admit, the idea of three hot men owing me a prize was intriguing. Not to mention arousing.
“I tell you what. I’ll do that one stroke that Michael Phelps does,” Jessie said. “What’s it called, the butterfly?”
“I think so,” I said.
Jessie stood still and then swung his long arms out to the side. He pushed off with his feet, falling backward into the water. His arms windmilled in a wide arc until they sliced into the water, propelling him backward. Then he lifted his arms again and promptly went under. He came up sputtering.
“Are you okay?” I asked, trying not to laugh.
“Yeah,” he rasped, snorting out water.
“I think the butterfly is forward, not backward,” Brock said.
“Is it?” Jessie asked. He had his head tilted and was smacking his temple, trying to clear his ear of water.
“Why don’t you just do a normal stroke?” I offered.
“So you’re in?” Kincade asked.
Was I? A vague memory came to me from last night. Something about saying I need to be more kick ass. This seemed like a good place to start. “What the hell.”
“Atta girl,” Kincade said, and Brock looked at me with approval. Jessie was still flailing his arms around, trying to figure out the butterfly stroke.
“Let’s line up at the wall,” Brock said, taking off his sunglasses and using his long reach to put them out of harm’s way.
We made our way over there. Suddenly, the pool looked extra-long. The diving boards seemed a mile away.
Kincade sensed my hesitation. “Do you want a head start? You could start there.” He indicated a spot about ten feet away. I almost took him up on it, but then I caught a gleam of something in his eyes and realized my mistake.