You're What?!. Anne Eames

way down the hall and toward the Pool Deck.

      

      In navy blue swim trunks, Kevin stood sideways in front of the mirror and sucked in his stomach. He didn’t look heavy, he decided. Just a little soft. How long had it been since he’d played racquetball with Paul? All work and no play. Paul was right. He’d become a dull and out-of-shape body mechanic.

      He turned back to the sink and leaned straight-armed against the vanity. Paul had been right about many things. He did need a vacation, as well as a change in attitude.

      But was he ready for the next step? The mere idea of dating balled a knot of anxiety in his stomach. With Jessica it had been easy. It had been lust at first sight. He’d been just a kid, and he’d never given romance a thought. They’d met on campus, studied together, hung out at the student union and copulated like rabbits.

      He lifted his head and stared into the mirror. Next year he’d turn forty. He knew less about women now than he’d thought he did in school.

      He pushed off the counter and paced the small quarters. Michelle was intelligent, witty and…and…okay, beautiful. The face and body he had tried to ignore. Unsuccessfully.

      Was that the attraction? After all, it had been over four years since…

      He stopped pacing. Wait a minute. He’d only held her hand. There was a big chasm between hand-holding and…

      This train of thought was crazy. He didn’t know a thing about this woman. Even if he did, that wouldn’t mean she was interested in him. And what about sexually transmitted diseases? He’d never even bought a condom, let alone used one.

      He pulled a T-shirt over his head, shoved a newspaper under his arm and practically ran from the room.

      “Slow down, man,” he grumbled under his breath.

      Grace under fire. That was what he needed. He drew on it every day in the operating room. Where was it now?

      

      Michelle read the same page for the third time, trying again to concentrate on the words in front of her. Finally, she shoved the bookmark into place and laid the novel aside. She tugged at her cover-up, checking that nothing provocative was exposed, just as she spotted Kevin approaching. She wished his white body was a turnoff, but as he strode confidently toward her, his commanding posture and lean physique made her stomach do another somersault.

      “Is this seat for me?” he asked, smiling down at her.

      “I haven’t had a better offer.” Michelle gestured for him to join her, doing her best to match his casual air.

      “It doesn’t look like you’ve been in the water yet,” he said, looking her over.

      “No. Not hot enough to tempt me yet.” Poor choice of words. And a lie, to boot. It could be twenty degrees cooler and she’d still be feeling this unyielding heat.

      But the idea of removing her cover-up and displaying her body seemed about as appealing as jumping overboard. The chartreuse bikini had seemed like a good idea after a week at the tanning salon. Now she was sure it would look like a neon sign that shouted, Take Me, Take Me.

      Michelle looked out of the corner of her eye. Kevin had unfolded his paper and was reading the business section, oblivious to her discomfort. She reached for her book, if for no other reason than to provide a prop for her unsteady hands.

      She flipped the page pretending to read. A moment later she turned another one, the silence becoming unbearable. She couldn’t see what had captured his interest. It must be an engrossing article since he hadn’t turned the page once. Finally, she gave up the pretense of reading and sauntered over to the pool. Still covered, she sat gingerly on the edge and dangled her legs over the side. The water was warm yet refreshing. If Kevin wasn’t behind her, she’d shrug out of the cover and slide in.

      But in a flash he wasn’t behind her. Without moving her head, she watched his long legs slip into the water next to her.

      Whose idea was this, anyway? Spending the afternoon with this…this handsome, eyes-of-steel, male person. She let her breath out slowly, trying not to show her anxiety.

      He splashed water in front of him with his feet, still not saying a word. Just when she thought she couldn’t take the silence another moment, he spoke.

      “What are you hiding beneath that white thing?” He turned his head and she caught his devilish smile. “Midriff bulge or an appendix scar?”

      Michelle straightened her back. “Neither. I…I didn’t want to get sunburned.”

      He arched a disbelieving eyebrow. “Okay. Leave it on.”

      That did it. She never could back down from a challenge. Implied or otherwise.

      As with removing a bandage, she decided fast was best. She stood, untied the sash, dropped the cover and dived into the tepid water. Doing a perfectly clean crawl, she swam the distance of the pool and back to Kevin before stopping for air.

      Her chest was heaving rhythmically below the surface. Kevin was staring at her openmouthed, his gaze at water level.

      “Nice…stroke,” he said, his eyes eventually straying north.

      She caught her breath. “Want to race?” At least it was something physical that wouldn’t get her in trouble.

      “I don’t know.” He cocked his head to one side and smiled. “You’d probably win. I’m not in the best of shape.”

      “I noticed.” She smiled back before diving deep, coming up near the far end. When she turned and swung her wet hair from her face, he was inches away, his smooth freestyle carrying him past her and to the wall.

      With elbows hooked over the edge he eyed her as she came alongside. “How many laps?” he asked.

      His breathing was already labored. This would be a piece of cake. She glanced to the opposite end, then back to his challenging smirk. “How does five sound?” She fully expected him to protest.

      He took a couple of deep breaths and exhaled loudly. “I’m ready when you are.”

      She positioned her hands and feet behind her, gave him one last look, then shouted, “Go!”

      They started with a flurry, arms flying. Right, left. Right, left. Kevin was half a length in front of her.

      No big deal. So he was a sprinter. She was a long-distance runner.

      She let him set the pace, purposefully holding back, measuring her energy. He wouldn’t be able to keep it up. Let him have his ego intact a little longer.

      Michelle pushed off the wall as he came out of his turn and stayed with him through laps two and three and into four. Finally, he slowed his pace, his arms chopping instead of slicing through the water, less splash on his kick.

      Keeping her same steady rhythm, she pulled alongside, then passed him on the last turn. He was gassed. No doubt about it. But then her own lungs were begging for relief, too.

      She could do it. Just half a lap. God, her legs were tired. They felt like dead weights pulling her down. She slowed slightly, gliding the distance with each stroke, hoping the next one Would result in her fingers touching the wall. Two more. Three max.

      There was a splash beside her followed by a wake. She pulled hard and touched the wall.

      A second behind Kevin.

      Gasping for breath, she hung on to the side with one hand and wiped chlorine from her eyes with the other. Kevin’s chest was heaving as fast as her own. He was inhaling, exhaling, lips white with exertion.

      But still, she didn’t miss his smile of victory, the glint in his you-didn’t-think-I-could-do-it-did-you? eyes.

      “Let me guess,” she said between gasps. “Besides choir, you were on the swim team?”

      “The first couple years. Then