Playing the Player(32)

I couldn’t stop staring. I couldn’t move, either, because what I really wanted to do was wrap her in my arms and kiss her. Hard.

Shit. And double shit.

She bounced over to me, still laughing. “Don’t tell me you’re a sore loser, Edmunds.”

I glanced at her, afraid to do anything that would betray me. My forced smile was an epic fail. Her face, which had been glowing just seconds earlier, paled as she turned away. I felt awful, but no way could I let her guess what I was feeling.

Trina and the kids traipsed off to the clubhouse while I stayed where I was, wondering what to do. I couldn’t be an * to her, but I didn’t want to joke around with her either, because if I did, she’d smile and laugh with those cherry lips, and then I’d start thinking about kissing her again.

“Slade, come on!” Max waved from the clubhouse.

This was just some weird hormonal glitch. I needed to take care of Max. I’d focus on him and Gilly, not Trina. Get a grip, I told myself. Do your job. I ran toward the clubhouse.

Anyway, nothing would ever happen between Trina and me because, like Alex said, she couldn’t stand me.





Chapter Sixteen


Slade


Tuesday, June 11

The clock on the rec center wall said 10:03 when I ran through the door. I nodded to Mark, the manager. “Sorry I’m late.”

He shook his head, grinning. He’d known me a long time.

“What age group?” I asked. “Three-and four-year-olds? The guppies?” The little ones were my specialty. Plus their parents were great tippers.

Mark raised his eyebrows. “Not today. Adult beginners. “

I gaped at him. I’d never taught an adult swim class before. Plus they were beginners, so they were probably terrified. As I hurried to the locker room, I considered strategies. Turn on the charm. Make them laugh. Settle their nerves. It couldn’t be that much different than teaching toddlers.

A group of older women about my mom’s age stood clustered together in the shallow end, laughing nervously. A pale, skinny guy stood off to the side, glaring at everyone. The older women would be easy. Skinny Guy might be tough.

I jumped into the pool next to the ladies, splashing them a little. They gasped in surprise, but I flashed them my biggest grin. “Greetings, ladies”—I turned to the skinny guy—“and gentleman. Sorry I’m late. I’m subbing for Lindsay. She sprained her ankle.” When she’d called me in a panic last night, because all the other subs were busy, I’d agreed to help out.

My dad had made some sarcastic remark about me juggling “so many jobs,” but he’d looked almost happy when I raced out the door this morning. Not that I knew what happy looked like on him.

“So are we ready?”

The ladies nodded. Skinny guy shrugged.

“We’re missing someone,” one of the ladies said.

“That cute girl,” another lady said. “She’s never late.”

Cute girl? By their standards, it was probably someone in her thirties.

“That’s okay, she can join us when she gets here. Who wants to show me what they can do? Is anyone able to swim a few strokes yet?”

Skinny piped up. “Yeah.” He dog-paddled across the shallow end of the spool, splashing like a three hundred pound whale, but he made it to the other side.

“Cool.” I gave him a thumbs-up. He narrowed his eyes at me while the ladies applauded. I couldn’t blame him. It must suck to have someone my age teach him.

“There she is.” One of the ladies pointed.

I turned around. And my heart stopped.

Trina walked to the edge of the pool in a blue one-piece swimsuit, goggles dangling from her hand. She smiled shyly at the lady who’d recognized her, and for a brief moment I was able to drink her in with my eyes. She wasn’t tall and leggy like Beth or Lindsay. But she was undeniably, unbelievably hot.

How had I been so blind all this time?

When her gaze landed on me, the horrified look in her eyes cut me worse than any knife could.

“Where’s Lindsay?” she asked crossing her arms protectively over her chest.

“She sprained her ankle. I’m the sub.” I gave her my best smile. At least I hoped it was. “Hop in,” I said casually, like it was no big deal that we were half naked. In front of a bunch of desperate housewives. And an angry skinny guy.

Like anything could ever happen here.

She bit her lip, then glanced at the clock on the wall. “I’ve already missed part of the lesson.” She took a step backward. “I should probably just go home.”

Was I so awful that she wanted to run away from me? After the Putt-Putt disaster, we’d hardly spoken during the movie, each of us focusing intently on the kids and not each other. I’d wanted to apologize, because I knew I’d hurt her feelings at the golf course. But I hadn’t.

“Come on in, honey,” one of the housewives called out. “We’re all in this together.”

Suddenly I remembered our argument last week about taking the kids swimming. No wonder she hadn’t wanted to go. But why hadn’t she just told me she couldn’t swim? Then I swallowed, remembering how she’d accused me of making fun of her at school. Of course she hadn’t told me.

I turned my attention back to the ladies. If Trina wanted to leave, I’d let her fade away without calling attention to it.