Avoiding Intimacy (Avoiding 2.5)

Trying to get her mind off of the present wrapped in shiny black polyester, her eyes landed on his ribcage. She was close enough now to read his tattoos and figured that was better than staring at his crotch.

“There are extra suits in the changing room,” John told her.

“What?” she asked, glancing up into his eyes. Had he said something? She was trying to decipher a tattoo. Stop moving!

“Bathing suits. If you wanted to get in the pool,” he offered.

“You want me to wear someone else’s bathing suit?” she asked, crinkling her nose.

“They’re clean,” he reassured her.

“They just have them for residents. I doubt they’ve ever been used. If I’m going to keep doing laps, then you should get in the pool or at least the hot tub.”

Her eyes darted to the hot tub and back. Valid, valid point.

“Alright,” she agreed.

When she reluctantly turned her back on John, she heard him chuckle faintly before he dove seamlessly into the water.

John was right. There was a collection of bathing suit pieces in a drawer in the dressing room. More than three-quarters of them still had a price tag on them. The amount had been removed, but it appeared as if they wanted to let you know that they were new. That’s nice.

She slid her jacket off of her shoulders and placed it on a hook against the wall.

Her dress followed as she pulled it over her head in one sweeping motion. She hung it next to her jacket. Hooking her fingers into her underwear, she removed those next and then unclasped her bra. She tossed them into an empty wicker basket.

Grabbing a hair tie out of her purse, she knotted her long black hair into a messy bun at the top of her head. The last thing she wanted to do was try to find a way to blow-dry her hair if it got wet. Finally, she slid into a simple black bikini, tying the ends on the triangle top and bottoms.

When she walked back out of the changing room, John was sitting on the edge of the pool, breathing heavier than he had before. Actually, she had seen him swimming way faster than she ever could, and she hadn’t even noticed his breathing.

He must have been kicking his own ass in her short absence.

She didn’t make a sound as she approached him. His head was hanging forward, nearly between his knees, as his legs dangled over the edge of the pool into the water. She dipped her little toe into the water next to him and splashed some up into his lap. He jumped, kicking more water up. Chyna took a few skittish steps backward, not wanting to get her hair wet under any circumstances. When she saw he wasn’t going to reciprocate, she walked forward and sat on the ledge next to him.

The water was warm, warmer than she thought it would be. It wasn’t quite bath water, but it was refreshing and was probably cool against your skin after a good workout. She wondered how much he had to exercise in here to keep that body the way it was. A friend of hers was a swimmer and had always tried to convince her that it was the most amazing, impact-free exercise she would ever do.

Chyna had gone once and decided to never go back because it had taken three showers to get the smell of chlorine off of her body.

“I love it up here,” he finally said, breaking the silence.

Chyna tried not to look at him. They were too close together, and the tequila was still too strong in her body. “I can see why. It’s peaceful. Is it always this quiet?”

“Unfortunately, no. Why do you think I’m up here so late at night? This place is swarming with children after school,” he groaned.

“Makes sense,” she said with a shrug, kicking her feet lightly in the water. “So… Global, huh?”

“Yeah, it’s a pretty nice gig. How did you say you knew about them?”

“Everyone knows about them,” she said, rolling her eyes.

He laughed, mirroring her feet in the water. “You mentioned that your mom worked for Corsa?”

“What do you know about Corsa?”

Chyna asked, turning her face up to his.

He met her gaze. “Enough. What did your mom do for them?”

“She was a model. I mean, a supermodel,” she said, waving her hands in the air like it meant nothing.

“Wow. Impressive. I’ve never met a supermodel.”

Chyna smirked. “I find that hard to believe.”

“They don’t often venture to Flint, Michigan.”

“You never see them around Global?”

she asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Maybe. Not much time to pay attention,” he said casually. “So, is that what you want to do? I know you said you don’t base your life on your career, but do you want to model like your mom?”

Chyna wavered on the topic. She hated the idea of following in someone’s footsteps, but on the other hand, she really thought she would be good at it. “Yeah, I think I’d like to try it. Just need an in besides old Mommy Dearest. Kind of like to forge my own path, if you know what I mean.”

“Well, you should go for it. Really nothing holding you back,” he said, nudging her shoulder.

“Yeah, maybe I will,” she agreed, not convincing herself and probably not him either.

Silence ensued, and they were content in that moment to sit on the edge of the swimming pool, kicking their feet back and forth in time together. It was calm and peaceful.

The moment passed, and Chyna ventured forward with the conversation.

“Have you always swam?”

“I got into it in high school. I always played ball, and my coach saw me swim during P.E., freshman year. He called me over and introduced me to the swim coach. She was the hottest teacher in school, so I agreed to be all but naked around her after school on a regular basis.

I think that’s how she got so many talented athletes on the team. I ended up being pretty good, and I stuck it out all four years. Got more money in swimming scholarships than basketball or academics. It was an easy choice.”

“You’re such a dude,” Chyna said, giggling and making the mistake of looking up at him and his all but naked body. “So, did you hook up with your swim coach?”

“No way,” he said with a knowing smile. “She was married with two kids.

Way out of my league.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

He laughed, reaching down and splashing water on her lap. She squealed and shielded herself from his attack.

“You don’t even know me. Judgey, judgey!”