His voice is too dry to tell for certain, but I think he’s joking.
“No. And I don’t have to come at all if you’re…busy.”
A pause, and then he says, “I don’t have anything going on next week.”
“Okay. I’ll see you then.”
“See you then.”
42
CLAIRE
Ibreak through the surface, sucking in a deep breath of air. Swipe a hand across my eyes, clearing the chlorinated water away.
He’s there, lounging in one of the cheap plastic chairs that surround the pool.
My heartbeat, already accelerated from the exercise, kicks into a higher gear.
He says nothing. I say nothing. We appraise each other, me standing in the shallow end and him seated, rolling an unlit cigarette between two fingers.
“You smoke?” I ask, surprised.
It’s the antithesis of everything I associate with Otto. He sorts his priorities around what will make him a better athlete, and smoking only detracts.
“Used to, when I was younger. Thought it looked cool.”
“Why’d you stop?”
He flicks the cigarette on the table, next to the opened pack. “Got distracted by a girl, and it did not seem like her thing.”
My fingers swish through the cool water. “Seems like most Europeans must be accustomed to smoking.”
It was one of the first things I noticed in Paris—how prevalent the habit was.
“She was not European.” Otto leans back, spreading his thighs and smirking. “In fact, she did not even know the French word for taxi wastaxi.”
Realization slams into me. Warmth spreads through my trembling muscles.
“Not my finest moment.”
The smirk blooms into a full smile. “I would disagree.”
I walk over to the steps, climbing out of the pool and grabbing the towel I left on one of the loungers. I wrap it around my torso, shoving my feet into the pair of flip-flops I packed.
Humidity hangs heavy and damp in the air, nearly as thick as the awareness between us. Our match earlier ended with an announcement from Coach Taylor that Coach Willis would be returning from maternity leave in August. I watched a line of my teammates say goodbye to Coach Berger, and then the majority of them went out to celebrate today’s win, which leaves us ranked third in the league standings, headed into the second part of the season.
I begged off from celebrating, sensing the approaching melancholia, knowing I’d spend the evening faking smiles while secretly miserable.
I’ll be spending the next five weeks training, spending time with Mom, and—once Josh proposes—helping Cassidy plan her wedding. I’ll probably pick up a few shifts at Paul Rebeer’s, too, although I don’t need to supplement my income now that Mom’s care is covered, which is a relief.
I’m feeling restless. Reckless. I’ve spent so long treading water; I forgot how freeing it felt to swim with purpose instead.
I always pack a bathing suit for away games since most hotels we stay at have a pool, but I rarely use it. Swimming is anotherthing I associate with my dad—from sun-drenched summers at Michigan lakes to lessons at the YMCA down the road.
Otto stands, the scrape of the chair’s plastic legs against the concrete floor fracturing the silence between us. “You headed up?”
“Yeah.” I tighten the towel under my armpits, reaching for my phone and the room key I left on the cushion. “You?”
