He leans forward, eyes scrunching ever so slightly. “You don’t agree?”
I throw an arm behind my head and close my eyes for a second, considering while squealing and splashing echoes around us. Oliver doesn’t say anything, just watches as I open and close my mouth, stopping and starting what I feel like getting off my chest.
I open one eye. “This doesn’t leave the pool?”
He puts up three fingers. “Scout’s honor.”
“I had an idea, a good idea, I think. Anyway, I’m not getting the recognition for it, and it’s pissing me off.” I let out a breath, feeling the weight of relief washing off me and sliding down the pool grates.
His shoulders shift. “Someone is taking credit for your idea?”
“Well, kind of. They are the better person to showcase it in the industry, but they don’t actually care about it.”
“So is your passion about the idea or getting credit for it?”
My brows lance together as I part my lips in retort. Before I can say anything, our eyes catch on someone bashing on the locked door. David jumps out of the pool and opens it, leans in to talk to the person, and then turns back toward the pool.
He swivels his head around to the rest of us. “Security is coming!”
Everyone in the pool frantically swims toward the steps, grabbing from a pyramid of rolled-up towels stacked like firewood and running into the changing rooms.
Oliver grunts as he leans upright. “We better go. If they find us, we’ll get thrown out of the hotel.” He says it so casually like it’s more of an inconvenience than anything.
My eyes widen in disbelief. “What? You didn’t think of mentioning that when we got here? I can’t get chucked out.”
“We’d better get a move on then.” The Britishisms sound even weirder with his accent.
We grab the empty bottles and pace toward the door, but when we get to the door handle, Oliver backs up and reaches out for me behind him. Before I have a chance to think, I grab onto his hand, his warm fingers curling around mine.
He whispers, “Without sounding like a Scooby-Doo character, we’ve got company.”
The fluorescent lights flick on in the corridor on the other side of the door, the light making me squint as we both step back.
“Everybody put your clothes on and get out,” a booming Italian voice echoes out from the changing room, followed by light whines, protests, and feet shuffling en masse.
“Shit. I can’t get kicked out,” I whisper, squeezing his hand.
“Then we have to hide,” he says.
My head spins around the spa until my gaze drops to the Jacuzzi circled by large Greek columns. Without a word, I drop our bottles and my phone and gun it for the tub, pulling Oliver behind me as I carefully step in. I’ve been in a body of water fully clothed and shoed, and I hope to never again, but this hiding spot feels like a no-brainer; it’s shrouded in darkness, so they’ll think they’ve caught everyone already.
My clothes bulge with air as I become submerged up to my chin, gesturing for Oliver to get in too. The Jacuzzi is right at the very end of the pool area, and with my back to the columns, we can’t be seen by security if they don’t explore the entire space.
His face contorts in confusion as he joins me under the rippling surface. “I thought you didn’t like water? Or couldn’t swim or something.”
“No, I just didn’t feel like taking my clothes off in front of a group of colleagues,” I snap. As a whisper, it sounds incredibly sarcastic, but before the security guard gets here, we don’t have time for me to explain how I’m not judging everyone else’s choices, just living with the regret of my own.
He flattens out my inflated shoulders, the touch making meshiver despite the hundred-degree temperature of the hot tub. “If it’s any consolation, the Michelin Man look suits you,” he murmurs.
The security guard’s footsteps get closer and closer, the sound like a ticking clock as he rhythmically scans the area. My fist forms around Oliver’s shirt, pulling him out of view and next to me at the edge. His eyes flare when his side bashes into mine. He floats closer to me, the water rippling and hiding most of my body with his. We both duck down, mouths just above the water as though the clear liquid will camouflage us. The light skims over the floor above, just narrowly missing the tops of our heads. Oliver rests his head over my shoulder and I turn my face toward him, hoping the cover from his dark hair will shade my features even further than the shadows.
As the footsteps get slower and closer, a cold shot of adrenaline courses through me. My chest heaves again, this time for a different reason. My mind runs through all the consequences of getting caught, but the potential scenario that blares loudest is getting kicked out of the competition. All of this for nothing.
Two flashlights chase each other over the tiles, showcasing parts of the room in a violent white light. I swallow, my heartbeat pounding so hard I’m shocked it doesn’t make ripples in the water. We stay completely still, only my occasional held and caught breath punctuating the silence.
A quiet buzzing sounds from the pool loungers where we were just sat. My body atrophies as I realize it’s my phone. The two men turn their lights away from the edges of the hot tub toward the loungers.
Oliver whispers into my ear, “Try to breathe normally,” the warmth of his mouth a calm compress against my anxiety.
