I kicked up, up, up, until my head broke the surface. At least I’d escaped Cash. Looked like we weren’t having that conversation after all. I turned to see what was surely the most pissed-off expression he’d ever worn.
But he wasn’t in the boat.
My gaze darted around, searching.
Suddenly, he erupted like a freaking sea monster, five feet behind me—shirtless and livid. I screamed and dove back under, kicking hard for the shore—but my shoes were heavy, impeding my progress.
When I came up for air, he was right next to me, his expression a swirl of anger, shock, and that stupid smolder that was permanently etched into his face. “You sank the boat,” he growled.
“It’s your fault,” I said, my voice shaking, almost hysterical. “You pressured me and I don’t handle pressure well!”
His jaw was tight,biceps shoving water in and out—gliding like a dolphin while I flopped around, fighting for movement like a dying fish. “Take off your shoes,” he said. “I’ll carry them for you.”
“No. I don’t need your help,” I humphed. When had this lake doubled in size?
“Give me your shoes,” he said again after I struggled to go another fifteen feet.
I couldn’t argue. My Nikes might as well have been concrete anchors. So I doggie-paddled as I pried them off and handed them over. My shorts and shirt felt almost as heavy but those weren’t negotiable. I’d rather sink to my death.
When we heard a thick sucking sound, we glanced back at the boat. It was halfway under already. He hissed a swear word.
I took off for the shore.
He took one stroke to my every three, like Michael Phelps at a backyard pool party. “Grab on to my shoulders and I’ll tow you.”
“No. I can do it,” I said stubbornly.
“Why won’t you have this conversation with me?”
Instead of answering, I swam away. At least I tried. But frustratingly, he was right next to me.
His hands cut through the water like a propeller. “At least take your shirt and shorts off.”
“Wouldn’t you like that?” I huffed. “I’m not stripping to my skivvies in front of you.”
He sighed. “It’s not a big deal. I’ve seen you in a bikini. You used to wear them all the time.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine. You sound like you’re about to pass out with all that wheezing. Your clothes are wearing you out.”
“Shut up! I wouldn’t be out here if it weren't for you. What kind of—” I gasped. “Terrible person.” Gasp. “Shanghai's someone.” Gasp. “And then sings them their own song.” Gasp. “That was never supposed to see the light of day?”
He smacked one of my shoes against the water. “The kind who isdesperateto love you. The kind who wants to know why the hell you don’t want to be loved. Why are you fighting this so hard? You know you want it.”
I did. So much. And I didn’t know what hurt worse—that he knew that now, leaving me completely exposed for the rest of my life, or that I couldn’t give it to him.
A sob clawed its way up, so I dove back under to escape his words. He went with me. When I came up, he came up. We went like that, up and down, three more times. A mermaid and her annoyingly protective merman.
“I’m going to hang with you, no matter what you do,” he said, and I knew he meant longer than this swim.
I looked at the shore, a hundred yards away. It looked like a hundred miles. “Your choice,” I said, like sticking with me was a punishment.
“Yeah. It is. And I’m choosing you. And I’m going to keep choosing you until you choose me back.”
A rush of panic gripped my lungs.
I flexed my feet and straightened my legs, stopping my forward propulsion. “Why?” I cried. “We’re not a good fit.” I lifted my chin, trying to stay above water, but my muscles were spent.
