Page 87 of The Neighbor Wager


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Everyone who grows up in this neighborhood learns to swim well.

Mom made sure I had lessons, but she didn’t send me to summer practices or take me to the beach. I didn’t spend much time in the water until I moved in with Grandma, and by then, I was too old to learn it in my bones.

I lack Deanna’s grace, but I still feel in my element. It’s a rare feeling for me, especially in California, especially at the beach.

This isn’t my place.

It’s not the cool water or the warm sun or the murmur of family fun.

It’s her.

I wade to her, then I kick off the sand and I swim.

She watches me approach with interest in her eyes.

“We’re somewhere private.” I reach her. “Time to spill.”

She smiles and places her hand on my shoulder. “Can you reach the bottom?”

“I’m only an inch taller than you.” Not that I mind. There’s something about being the same height. We align in just the right way.

She towers over me in her higher heels, but I don’t mind that, either.

She’s beautiful and powerful. She should show it.

If she wants to wear heels to drink or dance, I’m not going to deny her.

Get a grip. Now.

The water is cold, but it’s not cold enough, not even up to my neck.

The brush of her hand pulls me back to the moment.

Deanna slips her arm around my neck. “Comfortable?”

“You’re the stronger swimmer.”

She grins. “What happened to the chivalry?”

“I don’t remember offering chivalry.”

“You used to draw all those knights and princesses and dragons.”

“Used to,” I say.

“You wanted to do the art on Magic cards.”

I did. “You noticed?”

She nods and smiles. “Why did you stop?”

“My tastes changed.” Intent drops into the words. My tastes changed. In art. In food. In alcohol. Inher.

“I can carry you.” She moves closer. Her thigh brushes my hip. Her feet brush my back. “If you need the help.”

Slowly, she hooks her legs around my waist.

She keeps a few inches of water between us.

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