Paying Her Dues
But before I can give him another sexy glance, Sam swims up under my legs, scoops me up onto my shoulders, and catapults me through the air. My giggle mixes with Mike and Sam’s laughter, and Lagerfeld’s happy-barks, as I splash into the warm deep end, dappled with sunlight, turquoise and white feeling like my life has somehow just started over.
An hour later, my skin is pruny and tight from the chlorine. Sam gets out of the pool and rinses off Lagerfeld in the outdoor shower, and I slowly emerge from the water. Mike checks to make sure Sam is busy with Lagerfeld and then stands up, bringing me two fluffy hotel-white pool towels. He wraps the first towel around my shoulders, and I inhale his warmth. The scent of cologne, soap, yummy manliness.
“Thanks,” I whisper my voice barely above a hush.
His eyes dart over to Sam again, who is currently shampooing Lagerfeld, cooing at him, “Good boy, goooooood boy. Such a good boy…”
“I hear we’re going to be alone tonight,” I say softly.
Mike’s eyes meet mine. His teeth are set, and his jaw flexes. Serious and intense. “Careful. You might start something here that you can’t finish.”
A rush of wetness spills out of me, warming the cold, wet triangle of skimpy swim suit between my legs. “What if… what if I don’t want it to finish?”
I can’t tell if he likes that or hates it. “You need to practice.”
I nod up at him. “Yes. Tryouts are tomorrow.”
“I know they are,” he says firmly. “So how long do you need. Not want. Need to practice.”
I sigh, squeezing the water out of my hair. “I don’t know. As long as it takes.”
He shakes his head. “I’m not your fucking mother. You’re an adult. Tell me what you need, what you really need, and I will make sure you have peace and quiet.”
The energy with, it’s the polar opposite than with my parents. So different. Here, there is trust, seriousness, respect, one hundred and eighty from the over-the-top micromanagement I get constantly at home. And I feel a little unsure of how to handle it. I’m like a dog being let off its leash for the first time.
“If I practice too long, I’ll hurt my fingers.”
His eyes tighten, like with a flash of buried anger. “So let’s not have you practice too long. Give me a time limit and I’ll watch the clock.”
A limit. A limit. Never has that word come out of my mother’s mouth. “If I put in ninety minutes, that should be the sweet spot.”
His eyes flash. “I like that. The sweet spot.”
God. “Me too.”
He hands me the other towel.
“Ninety minutes then. You shower. Eat something—as much as you want, whatever you want, but there’s no fucking celery in this house. Then get to work. And dinner will be waiting when you’re done.”
I wrap myself up tight in the terry cloth. My skin prickles with goosebumps, but I’m not at all sure it’s from the cool breeze. Because this chemistry between us? Ka-boom.
“Thank you, Mike.” I emphasize his name and see his brow knit together, an inhale sounds rough through his throat.
He traces my face with his eyes. I can tell he wants to touch me, but he doesn’t. Instead, he says, all deep and dark, “Anything for you, Jess. Anything.”
* * *
Just as I’mgetting settled in the beautiful, spacious den to practice, Sam pokes his head in to say goodbye.
I rub rosin gently on my bow. “You’ll be back later?”
Sam nods, winks, and blows me a kiss. “Yeah, probably late. Be good.”
He says that all the time, but this time it hits me differently. I wonder if he can sense the energy between his dad and me. Maybe, maybe not. But if he can or no, it’s there. Like smoldering embers. In my stomach, a hundred butterflies spring into flight.
“You too,” I say, doing my best to keep cool and calm.
I focus on the notes on the page, and hear Sam say goodbye to his dad. The door swings open, and then shut, and I hear the deadbolt lock behind him.