I travel back up to the top, my breath heavy. Although, I don’t mind it this time, it’s still not as heavy as it is when I wake up from a dream.
Mack stands there with his head tilted. Arms crossed over his chest. “That’s all you’re going to do? I could do that in my sleep.”
“Nope! Just needed some air.” Determinedly, I plunge back under the surface, continuing to scrub, scrub, scrub. I think we both know that the scrubbing does absolutely nothing to clean the tank, which is actually as spotless as Mack claimed. But . . .
Mack is watching me.
His eyes are on me.
And yet, I don’t feel watched, if that makes sense.
Instead, I feel seen.
It’s a new feeling for me. Maybe one I’ve never experienced before in my whole life.
I emerge again, but this time, I dip right back down. It’s a performance now. A performance with an audience of one.
As I swipe at the large swatch of glass, it dawns on me how large the tank really is. I might be doing this for a while. My muscle spasms in my shoulder, and my lungs scream at me to go back to the surface.
A little voice inside me speaks, though. “Stay under . . . give in . . . disappear . . . what would happen . . .”
Curiosity. That never-ending curiosity. Stay under . . . stay under . . .
The burning in my lungs lessens. The cessation of oxygen is nothing but a bright relief in the center of my chest. But then . . . .
Black spots.
Inky, watery spots dot the light in my eyes.
Oh, shit.
I’ve stayed too long. I can’t move my arms, my legs.
Crash!
Arms seize me.
And then oxygen hits me like a bomb.
“Jules! Jesus fucking Christ!” Mack’s body is pressed against mine, his arms enveloped around my chest. “Breathe, Jules! Breathe!”
Our faces are mere inches apart.
My chest heaves as I gulp for every little molecule of oxygen.
And I’m aware of every single little thing around me.
“Were you trying to fucking kill yourself?” he asks.
I wipe the wet hair from my face and yank off my goggles. “I forgot . . .” I pant, gulping down air before I can get out the words. “I forgot about breathing. I forgot I couldn’t breathe under water.”
“You definitely can’t. I think it’s time for you to get out—”
“No!” I shout.
He’s taken aback by the force of my declaration, and frankly, so am I. But every fiber of my being wants to be in this water right now. Maybe a little too much so considering what just happened.
“I’m fine! Stop!” I clear my throat and speak with a more even tone. “No. I came here to do something. And I’m going to do it.”
We stare at each other for a moment, like a standoff. But I refuse to blink or look away.
Finally, Mack’s intense stare softens. “Are you always this unreasonable?”
The way he asks tells me he’s not mad at me anymore. In fact, instead, it feels a little bit like an invitation.
For what though? Flirting, perhaps.
I smile and teasingly say, “What’s so unreasonable about me?”
He regards me with his pale blue eyes. His tongue flits out, wetting the middle of his full lower lip. He releases me and climbs from the water, but he doesn’t jump back down to the floor.
Instead, he dangles from the side of the tank like it’s nothing, hanging on by nothing but sheer arm strength. Then, the next words out of his mouth shock me to my core. “That bikini is pretty damn unreasonable.”
My breath has settled by now, but I let out a fake gasp, hand to my mouth. “I didn’t take you for a prude,” I say. And I swing the little string that’s fallen over my shoulder from the back of my neck.
“Not a prude. Just an observer.”
I tilt my head to the side. “You know what I observe?”
