Page 33 of The Trouble with Love and Ink
“Sometimes you have to get in before you’re ready.”
Beck shook his head and looked at the opposite wall, avoiding my gaze. “I think it’s a little different for guys.”
My cheeks warmed at the thought of him and his. . . more sensitive parts. I kept my head down as I snatched my pair of Aftershocks, which had landed next to his headphones when I dropped them to dive in.
“Well,” I said, “at the rate you are going, you’ll probably be up to your shoulders by the time we start our morning meeting. Might have to join us on Zoom.”
“Ha, ha,” he answered dryly.
I dove back in, swimming away before he could hear my giggle. Halfway down the lane, I trod water to turn my headphones on. I hadn’t even made it to the other side when I realized it wasn’t my music assaulting my eardrums but Beck’s. I’d accidentally grabbed his headphones. I actually had the exact song loaded on mine, but while my version was gentle and stripped-down, Beck’s was a cacophony of electric guitar and growly screaming. I pushed the next button, hoping for something better, but no. Same deal, just a different song.
As soon as I made it to the other side, I ripped them off, my ear drums seeking relief. Beck popped up next to me. He held out a hand for his headphones, thrusting mine at me as if they would burn him if he held on any longer.
“It’s like my music but declawed and neutered,” Beck said, his perfect features pinched into a disgusted expression. It was kind of cute on him, in an annoying way.
“Well, your music is like my music shotgunned an energy drink and got a face tattoo.”
“Enjoy your lullabies,” he said, nose still scrunched, body posed to push off the wall.
“Enjoy your hearing. While you can.”
At that, he smiled and kicked off the wall in a flawless butterfly stroke.
Still stinging from the burn to my music, I found myself trying to catch up to him. As if that would stick it to him. Not that it mattered because I never came close. His strokes were effortless. When I stopped for a drink at the same time he did, I struggled to keep my breathing under control. On the other hand, he acted as though he had gone for a walk instead of swimming eight hundred yards at the speed of a shark.
“How the hell,” I started between gulps of air, “do you do that Aquaman turn in the water?”
He laughed. “The flip turn?”
“Yes! That thing.”
“It’s easy.”
I gave him a look.
“Here, I’ll show you.” He floated on his back and did a slow backstroke to give us some space, and I definitely did not get a good look at the way his abs worked with the movement, or the thick line of hair that started at his lower stomach and disappeared into his swim trunks. He flipped back over, treading as he explained, “When you approach the wall, you are going to duck your head as if swimming down, but instead, tuck your knees into your chest. Then, kick off the wall while twisting back to your original position. But now facing the opposite side. Obviously.”
“Obviously,” I mumbled as if anything were obvious about the directions he’d given.
I watched closely as he modeled the movement, slower for my benefit but still a blur of twists in the water.
“Okay,” he said after surfacing. “Your turn. Remember to curl, twist, and kick.”
I thought about refusing. But the flip-turn looked pretty cool. Besides, I still felt invincible after finishing the menu board. Sure, I’d master the flip turn on the first try. I approached the wall, swam down, and twisted into some sort of mess, causing water to burn through my sinuses. I surfaced, coughing.
Yeah. Real easy. Natural, even—like folding a fitted sheet.
I expected Beck to laugh at the attempt, but instead, he came ready with suggestions for improvement. I didn’t know which was worse.
“Not a bad first try. This time, make sure to blow water through your nose with the twist.”
I did. And though my nose was spared the burn, upon completing the twist, I kicked out, only for my toes to touch seemingly endless water.
“Okay. This time, get closer to the wall. You have to get almost right up to it.”
I did get close, so close I looked up in time to see the tiled concrete an inch from my face. And smacked right into it. The wall was not forgiving.
“Are you okay?” he asked as I came up.
