Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 131271 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 656(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131271 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 656(@200wpm)___ 525(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
With five minutes to go, I pad across the tiled floor to the pool area, finding it deserted again. This could be a sign that the universe wants us to have some alone time, or maybe Riley isn’t coming. I shower and then sit on the poolside, letting my legs splash in the warm water. Across the pool, the women’s changing room door opens, and Riley appears, this time in a bright pink one-piece that leaves very little to the imagination. It’s cut high on the leg, accentuating her hips and thighs, and has a cutout at the waist on one side, revealing gorgeous skin. She’s slow to smile, glancing around at our surroundings and noticing we’re alone. When she reaches the poolside, she jumps into the water, disappearing beneath the surface for a second before emerging like a graceful mermaid.
Jesus.
Like she’s a magnet and I’m metal filings, every fiber of my being is drawn to her.
“Shawn,” she says as she swims towards me, a half-smile playing on her lips. With a face scrubbed of make-up and wet hair pulled into a twist at her nape, she has this simple glow about her, like something good inside is radiating out.
“Riley.” I grin, sliding into the water to meet her.
This really is the perfect date. We’re half-naked without undressing, and the water is warm and inviting. We can get close where there is no one around.
“I thought I’d find you swimming lengths.”
“I was waiting for you. Thought we could do them together.”
“Sounds good.” She starts to swim to the end of the pool, and I follow, cutting through the water in a crawl.
She smiles before pulling her goggles over her eyes, then pushes off, dipping into the water with each stroke. I follow, opening my eyes beneath the water, hitting a faster pace, and reaching the other end easily. I turn like a professional, emerging for long enough to spot Riley almost at the end, then focus on swimming. We lap each other, both caught up with the exertion of the exercise, until I’ve hit twenty lengths, and I haul myself out of the water, panting but satisfied. Rolling my shoulders, I find them loose and warm.
When Riley sinks onto the cool tiles beside me, swiping water from her face with her palms, I reach up and rub the back of my neck. For once, the usual swagger I carry around women is nowhere to be found. For whatever reason—history, desire, something to prove—I want this to go well. I want Riley to like me, not just tolerate me or be impressed by the surface-level charm or my hockey potential. I want her to see me, and that realization shakes me more than I care to admit.
“So, Shawn Drayton. You’ve got me here. What do you intend to do with me?”
“We’re in a public space, Riley. Have some decorum.”
She laughs, resting back on her outstretched arms, the tension leaving her body. That’s a good sign. I want her to be relaxed and happy.
“I don’t remember you being a swimmer.”
She glances sideways at me, then faces the end of the pool again. “I always loved swimming. My mom used to take me, and when she couldn’t anymore, my dad stepped in, understanding how much the routine meant to me. It keeps me strong, and it’s relaxing, you know.”
“It is. My brothers don’t get it. They prefer hitting the gym to keep in shape, but that’s like work to me. This is pure pleasure.”
She turns to look at me, her lips twitching into a small, almost mischievous smile. “Pleasure, huh? I thought you hockey bros know how to live.”
“Oh, we do,” I admit, letting the words hang between us. “But it isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
Riley arches a brow, her body language shifting slightly. “How do you mean?”
I lean back on my hands, matching her posture but keeping my eyes locked on hers. “You know how Christmas is the most magical time when you’re a kid? There are presents, and special food, and a whole load of other stuff you have once a year.”
“Yeah.”
“Well, imagine that Christmas was every day. The music, the food, the opening of presents would get old pretty quickly.”
“I guess.”
“That’s what it’s like when you play hockey. The sport is amazing. I love what I do. I love my team. I love that I share it all with my brothers. But the shit that comes with it that was great at the start—getting noticed, getting treated special, getting girls without trying—all of that feels exhausting now.”
She studies me, and I let my eyes travel over her body, following water rivulets as they drip over places I want to explore with my mouth. How is it that girls at frat parties and clubs who throw themselves at me are as interesting as shredded cardboard, but Riley looks like a gourmet dessert?