I keep my arm around her even though the water’s only knee deep now. Not because she needs it. But because I do.
And like the devil herself heard my prayers and decided to punish me, Margo saunters onto the pool deck.
Twelve o’clock on the dot. Neon nails, designer sunglasses, and her I-run-the-HOA voice turned up to eleven. “Benji?” she calls, all clipped and polished and just this side of passive-aggressive.
My stomach tightens. Right. Lessons.
“I’ve got to start my next session,” I say, but I don’t move.
Because I’m still holding Delilah.
Like... holding her. Hands-on-her-waist, her-cheek-against-my-skin, fully-ignoring-boundaries style holding her. Which, in hindsight, is super not professional.
But she doesn’t pull away. She just tips her head back to look at me with those eyes like cracked glass and quiet fire, and says, “So, next week? Same time?”
I should say something casual. Something friendly.
Instead I blurt, “Do you want to get lunch?”
Her eyebrows go up, and I want to crawl into the pool filter and disappear, but she just tilts her head like she’s not sure if I’m joking or about to propose.
“After your lesson, you mean?” she asks.
“Yeah.” I nod, maybe a little too hard. “An hour. If that’s okay. I mean, I’d just need a minute to change.”
She squeezes my fingers where our hands are still tangled, and my heart does something weird in my chest. A hiccup. Or a detonation.
“Did you have a place in mind?” she asks, voice light but eyes trying to decode something in my offer.
“I usually go to that sports bar down the road. But I’m open to suggestions.” I lower my voice, and add softer, “Wherever you’d be comfortable.”
“Hmm. That sounds fun.” She grins like I just handed her the match and dared her to strike it. “I like fun. What’s it called?”
Before I can answer, Margo calls again. This time in her string bikini, already half in the pool. “Benji. Benji.”
I wince. “I’ll add time to your session, Margo,” I say without looking over. My eyes stay on Delilah, who’s watching me like she sees something in me I didn’t know was there.
“The sports bar on Oak,” I tell her, still holding her hand. “Right across from the gas station with the mural. You know it?”
She nods, mouth curled in a dangerous little smile that makes my ears go hot.
I grin back. “One hour. I’ll meet you there.”
She gives my hand a squeeze and steps away slow.
Then she’s gone. Off the deck and around the corner, trailing droplets and sunlight like she was never real at all.
I blow out a breath and turn to find Margo already in the shallow end, adjusting her top in that way that’s meant to look accidental and absolutely never is.
She’s watching me.
“New client?” she asks, as if she didn’t already do a full mental autopsy on Delilah’s life based on one thirty-second sighting.
“First time,” I say, walking over and grabbing a kickboard. “New to swimming.”
Margo hums. “Mm. She seemed…comfortable.”
“She’s nervous around water,” I say evenly. “I was helping.”
