The correct thing to do in this instance would be to duck underwater before anyone notices, but the problem is I’m still holding a pool noodle under my body.
So what I actually do is squawk and drop the noodle, which flies up out of the water and bounds into my face—all while my boob bounces around and I try to catch it and shove it back into my suit. Which is not easy as the top is tightly boned for support and I have to flatten my breast like I’m preparing for a mammogram.
Lauren has noticed my struggle—as has, I assume, most of the people within a fifty-foot radius—and, helpfully, is doubled over with laughter.
I shove myself back into a semi-clothed state but I know—Iknow—that Felix caught this whole incident.
Sue is pretending nothing has happened and is shouting out cool-down instructions, but I’ve had enough aquacise for one lifetime. I doggy paddle to the steps and pull myself out.
I would like to run off to my room in shame, but I’m soaking wet, out of breath, and don’t want to abandon my stuff. Which, conveniently, I left on a chair a few feet away from where Felix is sitting. And in the interim between spotting him and making my grand display, he has removed his shirt.
He’s all lean muscle and those sexy tattoos, and I find himincandescentlyhot.
I grit my teeth and wave.
Felix
Hope is heading straight for me, hair clinging to her neck and swim costume askew. She looks like a voluptuous, angry, wet Labradoodle.
I hope she’s not angry atme.
I didn’tmeanto look at her topless. It was just that I happened to be looking in her direction, and the whole slow-motion disaster was so riveting it was impossible to turn away.
That, and her breast was magnificent.
She stops four chairs over and I realize she doesn’t have a towel. I spring up to offer her my unused one.
“Thanks,” she says, taking it. “Did you see that?”
“See what?” I ask innocently.
She rolls her eyes at me. “Uh-huh.”
“Right. Fair. I think everyone saw it,” I admit.
“Humiliating,” she says.
“Just a wobble.”
“Literally.”
She towels off and sinks down in her chair. She’s incredibly pale, in a nice milky way that contrasts with her dark hair.
“Was it at least a bit of fun?”
“Exposing myself?”
“Aquacizing.”
“Well, I learned it’s possible to sweat in a swimming pool.”
“The wonders of homeostasis.”
She rummages in her bag to pull out suncream and shades, which I take as my cue to leave her alone.
I return to my book.
“Oh my God,” she says suddenly. “Are you readingMiddlemarch?”
