“Shh. We don’t want anyone to know,” I say, pressing a finger to my lips.
But the pool is quiet. It’s only us.
He parks his elbows on the edge of the deck, water droplets sliding down his face, one hitting his lip.
My finger itches to touch it, to swipe it off.
I ignore that desire, zeroing in on everyday us. “Just wondering if you wanted to grab a quick breakfast when you get finished. I would love to go over my plans for how to use the money from the essay. That is, if you have time.”
“I have a meeting at nine, but I always have time for the future Mrs. Harris.” He’s laying on the charm, flashing a slightly strange smile, but he doesn’t move to get out of the pool.
“Breakfast is on me,” I add.
“Sounds great,” he says, still not budging.
“Do you have more laps to do?” I glance at the wall clock. He’s usually done at seven on the dot, and it’s ticking past the hour.
His eyes light up. “Yes, I nearly forgot. I have ten more to do. Can’t fall behind.”
“Cool. I’ll wait for you on the bench.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
“I don’t mind. I can answer some emails.”
His eyes stray longingly to the clock. “Maybe twenty more laps. You’d better wait in the lobby. You know, for your health. Nasal health.” He taps me on the nose, an overly cute gesture. Made all the overly cuter when he crinkles his own nose.
“For my nasal health?”
“Well, all the chlorine in the air,” he says apologetically, like it’s somehow his fault. “It isn’t great to breathe.”
“I already taught a water aerobics class, so I’ve been inhaling it all morning.” The whole exchange makes me wonder what he’s been inhaling, but I just point out, “I’m not affected.”
He simply shrugs. “If you say so.”
I rock forward and rap my knuckles on his forehead. “You’re being odd.”
He’s silent, and I see the cogs in his head turning, picking up speed. Then things seem to click, and he heaves a dramatic sigh. “Fine. Fine. I’ll skip the rest of the laps. I was trying to do you a favor. I just thought, with you being my fake fiancée and all, it’d be even harder for you to look away when I got out of the pool. I didn’t want to tempt you.”
I roll my eyes. “I’ll do my best to resist you.”
Though, admittedly, resisting him is much harder now that I’ve kissed him. Twice.
Even though they weren’t real kisses.
He glances at the pile of towels on the bench. “Any chance you can grab one for me?”
My brow knits. He’s suddenly strangely shy. More proof the kiss was a one-way street.
With tongue.
And moans.
He definitely moaned the other morning.
I can still hear the sound of it rumbling in my ears.
Whatever. I’m not letting myself go there, and I’m not thinking of his hands all over me at the wine tasting. How they felt when he slid his palms down my bare arms.
I turn around, head to the bench, grab a towel, and return to him. He’s at the ladder now, and he climbs out, quickly wrapping the towel around his waist like he’s preventing me from seeing his Speedo.
“Weirdo,” I mutter.
“Takes one to know one,” he says with a wink.
Ah, that’s the Oliver I know. Fine, I get it. He’s firmly planting his flagpole in Friendship Land.
Well, duh. Where else would he plant it?
“I’ll be ready in five minutes,” he says.
“That’s all it takes to blow dry your Harry Styles hair?”
He drags a hand through his wet locks. “Harry’s got nothing on me, baby.”
There’s the sound of shoes clicking on the tile, then a voice calls out—older, feminine. “Summer, dear. Have you seen my silver tennis bracelet? I think it fell in the water this morning.”
Hello, déjà vu.
