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Micah
Things are getting weird.
Luis, Bennet, and Jackson are related? I don’t know how to respond to that. I don’t see how it could be anything other than a fluke, but damn, that’s some coincidence.
It might be a little too coincidental, but what other explanation could there be?
I’m stoked about the existence of a pool for Six’s physical therapy. Not only will it be an effective tool, but it’ll probably be a little less tense than the tub.
Not that I’m complaining about the tub - that was hot as hell. And seeing how it did the same thing to Lukas…
Damn.
But I can’t be drooling and lusting over someone who is supposed to be my patient, at least not while I’m trying to treat her. I have to focus on being more professional so I can help her heal. It’s important to me that I put her wellbeing before my attraction, however hard it may be.
Six and I head downstairs to check out the pool. Instead of taking the elevator or carrying her down the stairs, I have her slowly walk down on her own, expecting her to only make it halfway down at most. I stay close to her for support, but she handles the steep steps with no trouble at all.
We’ve probably been holding her back by carrying her everywhere and doing everything for her.
The basement is huge. I can see where all the exercise equipment used to be, marked by the safety flooring panels. The pool is off to the left side of the room, but it’s otherwise empty down here.
Six heads directly to the edge of the pool, dipping a toe into the water.
“I think it’s heated.” She says as she peels off her shirt.
Be professional. Be professional. Be professional.
Repeating this mantra, I manage to avert my eyes from her body and stay on task. She starts to bend down to remove her leggings. Remembering that she isn’t supposed to bend down, I hurry over to help, still averting my eyes, and we get her stripped down to her underwear. Thankfully, she is a bit more covered today, wearing black boy short type underwear and a black sports bra.
Stripping down to my boxer briefs, I lower myself into the pool first and help her down into the warm water. The pool is on the small side, perfect for two people to swim and only about four feet deep. Under the water, there are two dark stripes running along the length of the pool, likely marking the tracks for the propulsion system.
I don’t bother turning it on, we’ll save that for another session. For now, we’re sticking to easy stuff. I start her with some basic exercises to get warmed up before moving on to something more challenging.
None of the exercises seem to challenge her much. Although water aerobics can still help with toning and balance, I have once again underestimated her. Before long, she’s more than ready for something harder.
“Will you teach me to swim?” She asks.
I check her stitches to make sure they are healed enough to be submerged. Astonishingly, the wound is almost completely closed. It looks like the stitches should have dissolved by this level of healing, but I swear it wasn’t this healed when we were in the tub yesterday. This rate of healing is like nothing I’ve ever seen, but I don’t want to freak her out, so I don’t say anything.
“I’d love to teach you to swim, and your stitches are looking great. Are you feeling up to it now?”
“I feel great. Zero pain and I’m not winded at all.”
“Well let’s do it,” I say, covering my uncertainty with a big grin.
I show her the basics, both of us studiously ignoring my body’s embarrassing reaction to touching her body in any way. She’s very focused.
Once the basics are covered, I turn on one lane of the pool and show her how it’s done. I swim for a minute or two, making my strokes as long and slow as possible, and showing her how I turn my head to breathe. When I stand back up, she’s staring at me with an odd expression.
“What? What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing. Should I try now?”
I cross my arms.
“Oh well, that’s certainly going to help.”
“What are you talking about?”
