“Right.” She leans back against the tile with a practiced arch. A swimsuit commercial with a grudge. “You always help your clients like that?”
I don’t take the bait. I hand her the board. “Let’s work on your flutter kick. Last week you were overextending your knees.”
She sighs but takes it. “I liked it better when you just let me float and complimented my tan.”
I smile politely. “You hired me to teach you. This is the teaching part.”
Margo kicks half-heartedly, then adds, “You know, I just worry. About your…judgment.”
My jaw ticks, but I keep my voice calm. “You don’t have to. I know what I’m doing.”
“Do you?” she purrs. “She looked young. A little wild.”
I glance at the water, at the bubbles streaming from her kick. Think about Delilah’s hands clinging to mine. How small they were. How safe she made me feel, even when she was the one afraid.
“She’s an adult,” I say, voice firmer now. “And she’s brave. Getting in that water scared her, but she did it anyway.”
Margo rolls her eyes, but I don’t let her derail me. I’m not here for drama. I’m here to teach, and to keep things professional. I am professional.
Even if my head is completely full of pink hair and the sound Delilah made when she laughed at my stupid height joke.
“Your kick’s improved,” I say, nudging her ankle with the flat of the board. “Try keeping your hips higher next time.”
She stops paddling. “You’re really not going to tell me who she is?”
“She’s a client, Margo.” I give her a small, patient smile. “And you know I don’t talk about clients.”
She sighs, frustrated and dramatic. “Fine. But don’t come crawling back when that one tattoos your name on her thigh and starts mailing you teeth.”
I bite back a laugh and shake my head, stepping away. There will be no crawling back to Margo. Lesson learned. “You want to try backstroke next?”
“Only if you hold me like you held her.”
My cheeks go warm. “Let’s keep it professional, Margo.”
“You’re no fun anymore.”
Maybe. But the thought of that sports bar and the maybe-date waiting for me in forty-five minutes is starting to make my heart race.
Because I want fun.
Just not the kind Margo’s offering.
Once the lesson is over, I shower fast. Faster than I should, probably. Almost forget to rinse the chlorine out of my hair. My shirt sticks to my back from the humidity, and my phone buzzes with a reminder for something I immediately ignore.
Because I’m going on a date.
A real one.
With a girl who smells like frosting and moves like a prophecy. Who looked at me like I was something safe and solid in a world she didn’t trust yet like it wasn’t a big deal.
But it is.
It’s huge.
I park across from the bar and spot her through the window before I even make it inside. Perched on a stool, ankles swinging, leaning over the bartop. She’s wearing a pink sundress with little hearts on it.
And she’s smiling.
