Learning to Swim(39)

Swimming? “I don't have my suit,” I said.

“I know,” he said with a wink.

My heart slammed against my chest like a crash-test dummy against a brick wall. He wanted to go skinny-dipping? Even though just minutes earlier I had been considering going all the way with him, I was possessed with a panic so intense, it was amazing I was still conscious.

I made a quick mental list of all thoughts spinning through my mind:

Holy crap.



Barbie was right. He's not innocent at all.



Am I wearing my spanky pants or my good bikinis?





My panic must have been obvious, because Keith grinned and said, “We can wear underwear if you want, Stef. No pressure.”

“I think it would be better,” I said. “After all, I don't want any fish…” My voice drifted off. Fish to do what? What exactly was I worried that the “fish” might do? “You know,” I added, as if that summed it up.

Keith popped open the trunk and pulled out two thick white towels emblazoned with the Tippecanoe Country Club insignia. He took my hand and led me down to the beach. He dropped the towels and wasted no time in yanking off his jacket, shirt, and tie.

Okay, so we were just going to strip right there. I could handle it. After all, even though I was wearing my matching bikini set (I had peeked, just to make sure), it still covered just as much as a bikini. Right?

I pulled off my crocheted cardigan as Keith kicked off his khakis. I was happy to see he was a boxer, not a brief guy. I hated watching those reality shows where they had a really cute guy and suddenly they'd show him getting ready for bed and he'd be wearing, like, skanky black bikinis or tightie whities or something. I was supersmitten with Keith, but I would've had a hard time getting over little black bikinis. In any case, I didn't have to worry. Keith wore those white boxer-briefs that were kind of thick and snug, so in reality (I reassured myself), they covered just as much as his suit did.

I unwrapped the tie on my dress and slipped it off. There I was, standing in front of Keith McKnight in my matching light blue underwear that my mom had tucked into my stocking at Christmas.

He took my hand and nodded toward the water. “Come on.”

We walked in together, and when the water was up to our waists, Keith let go of my hand and dove in.

He popped up a few feet away and held out his hand to me. “Don't be frightened, Stef.”

The words alone were enough to make me melt. Not to mention the way he was staring at me.

“Let's see what you remember,” he added, giving me a nod of encouragement.

And that's where the movie moment ended. Because even though I plunged right in, it was not a graceful move. My swimming was all discombobulated, kind of like the doggy-paddle desperate-to-stay-above-the-water stroke. Not pretty in the least. In fact, highly embarrassing would have been the best way to describe it.

He caught me under my arms and lifted me out of the water. Holding me tightly against him, he said, “Look up.”

It was a full moon and the sky was littered with stars. There weren't any clouds either, just a streak of constellations showering us with light. “I used to come here at night as a kid. I would strip down and just float on my back for hours, staring up at the stars.”

“It sounds… incredible,” I said breathlessly.

“Just focus on the stars,” he whispered into my ear. “The water will hold you.”

I stepped away from him. I looked up. I leaned back, resting my head on the top of the water as if it was a pillow. I felt my feet slowly rise toward the surface. But I didn't think about my feet, I didn't think about anything but the stars. And I floated. All by myself. I was vaguely aware of Keith drifting beside me, and every now and then our hands would brush up against each other. But neither of us said a word.

Suddenly, I realized that Keith was no longer floating. He was standing beside me, looking down at me with this hint of wonder in his eye that made me feel like I was special.

“Time to go,” he said, and helped me to my feet. He led me back to shore and we wrapped the towels around ourselves and gathered up our clothes. We drove back to my apartment in silence, as if we were both anticipating the possibilities.

He parked the car and followed me into my apartment. Considering that both of us were in our underwear with nothing but towels wrapped around us, I was more than grateful we had not run into our neighbor Herbert Lewis. That would have been a big buzz kill.

When we got inside, I turned on the light next to the couch. What was I supposed to do now? I thought back to that lawn mowing day at Alice's. “Do you, um… want something to drink?”

Keith fidgeted with his towel. “Sure. What have you got?”

I went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. The only thing to drink was my mother's grody melon coolers (they tasted remarkably similar to the cough syrup in our medicine cabinet) and three cans of diet Pepsi.

“I'll just have water,” he said.

I poured him a glass and handed it to him.

“Are you all right?” he asked, motioning toward my shaking hand.

“Sure,” I said with half a laugh. But there was nothing funny about this situation. Nothing at all.

He ran his finger down the side of my face and neck. “Don't be nervous,” he said. And then he gave me a soft, slow, passionate kiss. He stopped and smiled. “Come on.” He took my hand and pulled me onto the couch. Then he put his arm around me and leaned over me, kissing me again and again.