Page 28 of Seductive Swimmer
14
Alex
My head is a mess. It would be easy to blame it on the whiskey I consumed last night, but that would be a lie. It wasn’t alcohol keeping me up all night, tossing and turning. No, it was the word that strikes fear into many an asshole man everywhere.
Feelings.
When it hit me that I was developing a true affection for Savannah, I panicked. I haven’t done more than kiss her twice, yet my cold, dead heart has suddenly decided to wake up and take notice of her. And I don’t have a goddamn clue what to do about it.
How does one go about pursuing a woman for an actual relationship? I feel like a bloody idiot, but I honestly can say I have never once done that. In the past, it was simple. When I would find a woman I was interested in, I’d wine and dine her, charm her clothes off, have a good fuck, and then we would go our separate ways. Women have always made their attraction to me known, I make my boundaries clear, and there has never been an ounce of confusion as to what we’re both after. It’s sex, pure and simple.
But right from the start, Savannah has been different. She’s resisted my charms, shied away from my flirtations, and made it near impossible to figure out what she’s thinking, to say nothing of what she wants from me. Normally, I would simply walk away and find someone else to satisfy my desires. Not only can I not avoid Savannah due to our working relationship, but for some godforsaken reason, I don’twantto avoid her. Quite the opposite, in fact.
Friday is a perfect example of that. Why the hell did I give up my workday, which was packed with meetings that now have to be rescheduled, to follow her to an animal shelter and walk dogs? Because it made her smile. That’s why.
After losing the entire workday on Friday, I spend that evening and all of Saturday catching up on things, including finalizing plans for a trade show I’ll be attending with Brayden this week. We’ll be stuck in Missouri for three days, attempting to network with other restauranteurs. It’s the last damn thing I want to do, especially when I realize I left things in an awkward place with Savannah, but I must. Five days without seeing her will be torture, and by Saturday evening, I know I need to reach out to her and explain myself somehow. The problem is, what do I say to this woman who has me so tied up in knots?
That question is what drives me to drink Saturday night, and leads to a sleepless night and a hungover morning.
Grudgingly, I lace up my sneakers and head to Central Park for a run. My hope is that a burst of exercise endorphins will help clear my head, but I can’t bring myself to go to the pool where I know all I will think about is Savannah.
Twenty minutes into my run and I’m remembering exactly why this is my least favorite form of exercise. My injured leg is aching, my breath is coming in pants, and I am incredibly uncoordinated. I drop down onto a bench and stare out at the grass and trees in front of me. Cross-training was never my strength when I was competing.
Rubbing the scar on my left thigh flashes me back to the morning after my accident. I awoke in a hospital bed, alone. Eventually someone, a nurse I think, came in and told me what happened. A shattered femur, cracked ribs, and my swimming career was over just eight months before the Olympics.
My coach and some teammates came to visit me that day, and the pity on their faces drove me mad. At least they came. It wasn’t until a full day later that my family reached out. My mother phoned, and I could hear the grief in her voice. She was full of excuses as to why she couldn’t come and be with me, but I knew it was my father holding her back. He wouldn’t even speak to me that day, or for weeks after. When he did finally break his silence, it was over an email that in short, demanded to know what I was going to do with my life now.
In his mind, if I wasn’t an elite swimmer, winning medals, I was nothing. And so, I healed from my injuries and grieved the loss of my dream by myself. If it weren’t for Brayden stepping in and dragging me out of my pit of despair, offering me a more visible position in our company and forcing me to refocus my life, who knows where I would have ended up.
My mother and I eventually mended our relationship, not that it had ever been all that close. We touch base every now and then, but my father doesn’t call me, and I don’t call him. It’s better that way.
But here on this park bench, massaging my aching leg, it isn’t my parents I’m thinking of. No, I’m imagining how different that experience would have been if I had woken up from surgery and seen Savannah’s face smiling down at me, felt her hand in mine, and had her to comfort me. I’m not fool enough to think the outcome would have changed, but perhaps she could have saved me several months of depression and borderline alcoholism if she’d been by my side.
I roll my neck back and forth, and a small smile stretches across my face. The sun is warm on my skin and adds to this sense of inner peace that thinking of Savannah brings. My earlier panic over the emotions she stirs in me is subsiding. I may not have the first clue of how to handle a true relationship with a woman, but if there’s ever been anyone who tempts me to try and figure it out, it’s her.
As I slowly wander through the park, headed back to my apartment to shower, I try to come up with how to best approach things with Savannah. My ruminating is interrupted by the vibration of my phone in the armband on my bicep. The irony of who’s calling strikes me, seeing as I was just thinking about my parents.
“Hello, Mum,” I say.
“Darling, how are you?” Her voice is infused with warmth, so I know my father must not be nearby. He doesn’t approve of affection in any form, after all.
“I’m well. Just out at the park,” I reply cordially. We exchange pleasantries for a few more minutes, she updates me on life in London, carefully avoiding anything to do with my father, and I tell her about our expansion plans, minus the issues we’re currently having. I don’t mention Savannah at first. Yet, I do want to know something. Something that could help me understand my own issues, and help me move forward with Savannah.
“Mum, why did you marry Dad?”
Silence meets my question. We’ve never discussed anything like this. For all that I consider my relationship with my mother to be fairly close, we don’t get too deep into the personal questions. She shielded me from the worst of my father’s demands, and supported my move to America, but she also lets him push her around and control her.
“Oh, Alex. There simply isn’t an easy answer to that, my dear.” Her voice sounds sad, and I wish there wasn’t an ocean between us for this conversation.
“Try. Please.”
“Why do you want to know this now? What good will it do?”
I wrestle with what to tell her, and in the end, I decide to let her in.
“I’ve met a woman. She’s quite spectacular. But I have no clue what to do.”
“Oh, I see.” Mum sounds different now. Hopeful, and also guilty. “You do not have to go through life alone, Alex. You are worthy of love, no matter what you do or who you are.”
