Her eyes sweep the pool deck until they land on her target. Poor Henry, my sweet, painfully shy newbie, happens to glance up at just the wrong moment. Reggie straightens her spine, rolls her shoulders back, and hits him with a wink that could power the lights in the whole building.
Henry goes redder than a lobster at a clambake and immediately pretends to be fascinated by his foam dumbbells.
“Oh, fine.” She sighs dramatically, though her mouth twitches at the corners. “I’ll behave. But for the record, if Henry did keel over, we’d get to call the paramedics again.” She fans herself like a swooning debutante. “And maybe this time, there’d be one for both of us.”
“I don’t need you manufacturing medical emergencies just to find me a date, Reg.”
“What if I faked one instead?”
I give her my best warning glare. “Please don’t pull the fire alarm again. They’ll fire me.”
She waves off my concern like it’s a fruit fly buzzingaround her head. “Those firefighters were hot and you know it.” Her eyes do a quick once-over of me, and she clicks her tongue like she’s grading a test I’ve already failed. “Honestly, you could learn something from me. You’ve got a fabulous figure. Stop hiding it. Why do you insist on that drab piece of Lycra?”
The one-piece she’s insulting happens to be my favourite suit. Yes, it’s not the most flattering garment, but it’s comfortable and has held up well through the years, aside from a bit of fading. Even though I teach the class from the pool deck, I usually sneak in a quick swim before or after class, and it’s the only suit I’ve ever found that doesn’t ride up. There is no delicate way to pick a bathing suit out of your butt when teaching in front of a large group of people.
“I’m not giving up on you,” Reggie admonishes, lowering herself into the pool like a queen entering a ballroom. One hand clutches the railing, the other flares outward for balance, and her entrance is every bit as dramatic as her personality. “Mark my words. I will find you a man.”
“I’m not looking for one,” I mutter, shaking my head as I lower myself to sit on the pool’s edge, feet dangling in the cool water. A man is the last thing I need. And yet…
Arthur’s face flashes uninvited into my thoughts—the earnest crease of his brow as he apologized yesterday, the steady determination he carried through every exercise in our session afterward. And damn it all, the way his shoulders flexed when he pushed himself just a little harder than he needed to.
Feeling my heart rate quicken and my temperature rise, I promptly push myself off the ledge and into the pool. The shock of the cold water helps, but not nearly enough. I dunk my head under, grateful for the excuse to hide, and in the process miss whatever Reggie just said.
When I resurface, pushing wet hair out of my face, I turn toward her. “Sorry, what was that, Reggie?”
“I said…” Her voice trails off, dazed, her gaze locked on something behind me. “I guess I’ll just find one for myself. And would you look at the candidate who just appeared.”
I twist around, and my stomach does a somersault. Arthur Stetson is standing on the pool deck, looking like a fish out of water. A very large, very broad-shouldered fish.
My mouth goes dry as my eyes shamelessly drink him in. He’s built differently than the athletes I treat. Less sculpted, more solid. He looks like he was designed to shoulder burdens no one else could carry. Strong thighs braced in black swim trunks, a broad chest dusted with dark hair, thick arms that could probably lift me as easily as one of the foam dumbbells stacked by the lane ropes. My traitorous mind lingers on the thought of my nails skimming down that chest, leaving red trails across skin that looks too inviting not to touch.
“Dibs,” Reggie loudly declares.
“Hi.” My voice comes out embarrassingly high-pitched as I duck lower into the water. Too low. My mouth fills, and I sputter and cough like a first-timer in swim class. “You came.”
Arthur doesn’t move, but his knuckles whiten around the towel in his hands. “You recommended it. And you’re the boss.”
Heat prickles up my neck. I don’t need a mirror to know I’m blushing to my roots. My brain scrambles for something witty, something professional,anything—but all I come up with is static.
“I’m up for the job if you’re not, honey,” Reggie pipes up from behind me, practically licking her lips.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” I rush out, forcing a bright smile and ignoring her. “We’re just about to get started. Come on in. The water’s fine.”
“The water’s not the only thing that’sfine,” Reggie stage-whispers, earning a ripple of giggles from the group of ladies clustered around her.
If Arthur hears, he doesn’t show it. His face stays carefully neutral as he grips the support rail and lowers himself into the pool. Even in the shallow end, the water barely reaches his waist, leaving most of him gloriously on display.
And I amdefinitelynot staring.
“Alright, everyone,” I call, swimming toward the ladder with a confidence I absolutely do not feel. “Let’s get this party started.”
I haul myself out of the pool, water streaming down my legs. I find my phone where I left it on a nearby chair, connect it to the pool’s speaker and start my playlist. Familiar Motown beats fill the space, bouncing off the high ceiling until the whole pool comes alive.
“Let’s start with a gentle warm-up. Follow me.”
I force myself to shake off the nerves prickling at my skin. The music helps. So do the bright, eager faces in front of me. This is why I love teaching aquafitness. I mean, where else can low-impact cardio double as a dance party? Within minutes, shoulders loosen, laughter ripples across the water, and voices rise in whoops when a favourite track kicks in.
It’s enough to anchor me. To make me forget that there’s a certain hot, perpetually grouchy man lurking at the back of the pack. Almost. He’s moving with the group, yes, but not one with them, shoulders tight, posture stiff. My attention keeps snagging on him anyway, like a sweater catching on a nail.
