“You’re a huge loss to the club … and to the country, Ri,” she said, squeezing my hand before passing me my towel. “I wish there was a way we could sponsor you to become a permanent resident … but I’m just being selfish, I’m sure you’re very excited to finally go home to your family after four years.”
I managed a twisted smile and a nod, quickly ducking my head under my towel so she couldn’t see my expression. If only she knew …
When I had myself under control and my swim cap and goggles off my head, I sat, not quite ready to leave the pool deck yet. Who knew how many more times I could safely come here? Simone was across the deck, chatting with Lincoln, my boss, who oversaw the kids Learn to Swim program. I quickly averted my gaze, not wanting to draw his attention. In two weeks, my job at the Learn to Swim school would be just another thing I had to leave behind to keep my slightly illegal presence in Australia under wraps.
Sighing shakily, I let my eyes roam the aquatic centre, inhaling the chlorine scent, the splashing sounds and the echoing giggles of the kids in the Learn to Swim pool. Several casual members were lap swimming in the far lanes of the fifty-metre pool. My gaze caught on one man, moving with sleek grace through the water, hair dark, body leanly muscled. He reached the end of the pool and surfaced, tugging off his goggles, and I got a proper look at him.
My lips parted. He was gorgeous! His features were carved in sharp, handsome lines, but softened with full lips that made me want to know what they would feel like on my skin. Flicking water from his black hair, he pressed his palms to the pool deck. I watched, practically salivating at the way his muscles bunched as he emerged from the pool.
My eyes trailed the beads of water as they sluiced down the planes of that body. His arse—la naiba, his arse, encased in a pair of navy-blue speedos. Italian Renaissance sculptors would have given their right foot to have this man as a model—not their hand, obviously, because they would need that to sculpt him.
He ran his fingers through that hair, and I watched it bounce back towards his scalp. It was going to dry curly; I could just tell.Dracu, I suddenly ached to run my fingers through silky black curls and feel muscles ripple under them as I slid them lower, towards that arse that needed to be immortalised in marble?—
“Morning, Irina.”
I flinched, turning to find Lincoln standing over me, ruffling his salt and pepper hair. “Can I have a word … when you’re dry and dressed, of course.”
“Sure,” I muttered, my stomach churning.
I’d worked with the kids in the Learn to Swim program since my first year at uni. Me—a girl who was a self-taught swimmer—helping young kids be safe and strong in the water. I’d loved watching them strive, and thrive, and slowly (or sometimes quickly—I’d had a few who I was sure would go on to be swimming superstars one day) find their form and move on from LTS to junior squad.
The thought of not being able to do it anymore … it was just another gut-punch.
“I’m going to need you to put in your two weeks’ notice, Ri,” Lincoln said without preamble when I closed the door to his tiny, cluttered, chlorine-infused office and turned to face him.
I swallowed back a sigh. “Is that really necessary?” I leaned on the chair in front of his desk. I wasn’t sitting. I just wanted to get this over with and get out. “We all know I’m done in a fortnight.”
Lincoln’s sympathetic smile made me want to punch something. “We do, but I need the paperwork—the club is playing silly buggers, and they won’t let me advertise for a new hire because we’re at capacity. But if I have your letter of resignation, they’ll at least let me start the process.”
I shook my head, a bubble of laughter burbling up from my chest. “Sure. Give me a pen and paper, and I’ll write it now, if you like.”
Lincoln must have sensed my mood, because his cheeks flushed, his lips twitching. “Oh … no, you can just email me one through when you’re home, I?—”
He snapped his mouth shut when I leaned over, snatching up a Post-it pad and pen from the desk.
“Irina Rusnac officially resigns her position at Sydney University LTS program, effective immediately, because the club is too fucking dense to understand that she can’t keep working here past the end of February anyway, and she doesn’t want to work for people who are so fucking stupid a second longer,” I read aloud as I scrawled the words across the paper, my hand shaking.
I signed a messy signature, tossing the pad and the pen down in front of Lincoln. “That should be enough to get your new hire.”
“Ri, I?—”
“Just don’t,” I muttered, spinning for the door. My eyes were prickling, but I wasn’t about to let Lincoln see me cry. I swallowed back my misery, stalking out of his office and down the humid corridor. I passed the dry land room, keeping my head high in case Finley and her cronies were still in there. The last thing I needed was any of them witnessing me losing my shit.
By the time I got back to my bag, I was shaking all over and furiously blinking back tears. What the hell had I just done? I mean, I knew I couldn’t work with the Learn to Swim kids forever, but I could have had another two weeks to say goodbye to my current group of little humans.
Not to mention, the extra money would have come in very handy …
“Fuck,” I muttered, grabbing my bag and slinging it over my shoulder.
“G’day, Ri.”
I turned, finding Gus Wolff, hair still damp from his training, standing behind me in a muscle shirt and gym shorts, a lopsided grin on his face.
I swallowed back my misery, stepping closer, walking my fingers up my past fuck-buddy’s torso. He would be the perfect distraction from this deluge of emotions that was threatening to choke me.
“Got condoms?”
Gus gulped, his Adam’s Apple bobbing. “Uh… yeah, back in my room, I?—”
