“The neck is a totally different category.”
“How do you know? I bet French people kiss each other on the neck.”
“French vampires, maybe.” He shoves a little water in my direction, grinning. Luckily for him, arguing is also my idea of a good time.
“Anyway,” I say, ready to wrap up the discussion part of our evening, “there was a lot going on. I was distracted.”
He paddles closer. “How about now? Am I catching you at a good time?”
“One second.” I hold up a finger, instructing him to wait there as I plunge underwater. Once I’m several feet deep, I scream as hard as I can, like Malia suggested.
When I pop up again, I do feel lighter—like I yelled away the tension and worry of the past few weeks. It’s just me now, in this moment. And Felix. I take a deep breath, filling my whole chest with it.
He grins at me, and I must be smiling back at him, because his eyes are locked on my mouth. I lean forward, giving him a tiny nod of permission.
It’s hard to say which of us kisses the other first, though I’m sure we’ll squabble about it later. For now, I’m concentrating on the fact that it’s happening. On purpose. As opposed to a surveillance-related maybe-accident.
Our mouths are damp from the pool, and there’s a moment where we both forget to paddle and start to sink, but even with those minor distractions, I can tell that this is something I’m going to like. A lot of things you build up in your head end up not being worth the wait, but kissing Felix isn’t one of them.
And if my mouth gets tired, he can always go back to the neck. I have no problem with that.
But then he pulls away. “I’ll be right back.”
“Oh. Uh,” I start to say, disappointed but trying not to show it.
Instead of heading for the side of the pool, Felix sinks to the bottom. I can’t see his face, but I hear the muffled sound of his primal scream as a stream of bubbles rises to the surface.
“Feel better?” I ask, when he shoots out of the water.
“I feel amazing. Might need to sing.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously charming?”
I shove him with both hands, and he does an exaggerated backward fall, going fully underwater before resurfacing to fling droplets all over me like the golden retriever he is.
“I’m glad you’re not wearing your mustache,” I tease. “It might have floated off and clogged the pool filter.”
“I’m glad you got that mole looked at.”
“I told you, it’s called a beauty mark.”
“Maybe I like your face the way it is.”
The great thing about being in the pool is that I can put five feet of water between us if I need to make an emergency pterodactyl screech. When I surface, Felix is waiting.
“Are we going to keep in touch next year?” he asks, swimming close enough that his legs brush against mine as we tread water.
“Is that your way of saying you want to?” I need more of a hint before I put myself out there. Is he talking about a long-distance relationship? And does that mean we’re dating now?
“If you do.”
I pretend to think it over, like it’s a brain teaser I need to solve. “I’m willing to investigate the possibility.”
“So that’s a yes?”
“Maybe.”
