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I can’t help remembering what she said earlier. She was a nurse. Meaning she isn’t anymore? Why not? And what else is she hiding, that makes her so tentative? Even Mrs. Jenkins, who’s been asking her polite, small talk questions all throughout class, like where she’s from (“continental US,” she says mysteriously), and what she does for a living (“figuring that out at the moment,” apparently, so definitely no longer nursing), can’t seem to get a straight answer out of her.
By the end of the lesson, I don’t know much more about Sinclair than I did at the start of it, besides her name, and one more very important thing.
I still want her, damn it.
3
Sinclair
Fuck.
Fuck, fuck, fuck. My whole plan when I came here was not to get involved. Not with anything or anyone locally. I was going to keep my head down, lie low, and figure my life out.
What’s the first thing I do? Rescue a drowning kid on the beach, in full view of everybody, raising about a million questions from everyone watching. The opposite of lying low and not standing out like a sore thumb. And now, according to my chat with Ankor, just about everyone who lives in Maui is talking about me, the mysterious hero. Great.
And what’s the second thing I do, once I recover from that disastrous idea?
It’s to take a swim class with the hottest guy in the old people only resort I booked—one that I chose specifically because I figured I wouldn’t meet any hot guys here, never mind one who looked like him. Goddamn. Between the perfectly sculpted abs and pectorals, his deep tan skin and his dark eyes, which light up with amusement and something else, something that sends a trill of desire straight to the pit of my belly every time he looks at me, I know I’m in trouble.
And the way his hands felt, all over me during the opening of the lesson… Fuck. Warm and strong and capable, for once I felt safe in the water, with his hands on me. I thought I could actually do this, maybe, actually conquer this fear.
Then he let go, and I made an absolute fool of myself. I groan and run my hand across my forehead. The last thing I want to do now is focus on how embarrassing that swim lesson was. He’s probably seen children behave better in water than me. Probably a lot of them, for that matter.
Still, in spite of the embarrassing parts, I can’t help remembering the lesson. The way it felt to be close to him. The way his eyes couldn’t keep away from my body. There’s no way I was imagining it. He feels something for me too.
Which only makes him more dangerous.
This is exactly what you told yourself you wouldn’t do, Sinclair, I think angrily as I storm into the changing rooms beside the pool. Out behind me, I can hear chatting, as the older women corner Ankor after the lesson. As for me, I couldn’t sneak away soon enough, afraid that if I stayed, I would cave in to my desire to talk to him more. Talking would lead to flirting, would lead to drinks at the very scenic hotel bar I spotted the other day, out overlooking the beautiful beach… And then drinks would lead back to his room or mine, where… where I can’t let myself go. Certainly not now. Not after everything that’s happened.
Not after I finally let someone get close to that, and then… I shake my head, hard.
I have to stop. I have to ignore him and pretend there’s nothing there.
That’s what I’m telling myself as I strip off my bathing suit to step into the showers. But as I run my hands over my body, I can’t help remembering all the places his just were… and wishing it were him here touching me again. I shut my eyes under the stream of hot water, imagining Ankor beside me, grinning that sly dark smile of his and pinning me against the shower door, before he bends to kiss me, his hands wrapped around my waist again, but this time doing more than just bracing me up in the water…
Stop it. I switch the shower to cold, just enough to make me gasp, and hopefully stop my imagination from running too wild.
When I’m finally soaped and rinsed off, still dripping, I turn to head back from the shower to the bench where I left my towel and my clothes earlier. But the floor is slipperier than I anticipate, and my mind is still not fully present, too distracted by thoughts of Ankor and the scene I just left behind in the pool. Without watching where I’m headed, I step directly into a slick puddle, and I let out a scream as I stagger.
