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“Oh, OK,” I say. “That doesn’t explain why you are out here, trying to kill me while I am innocently trying to relax.”
“I didn’t want you to be lonely,” he replies, letting go of me to swim to the other side of the pool. “You looked so sad out here all by yourself.”
“Still doesn’t explain the dunking,” I mutter. “But I guess you can stay and hang out with me,” I add, delighted to get to spend more time with him. Three Oliver encounters in two days. How did I get so lucky?
“Gee, thanks for giving me permission to use my swimming pool.”
“Oh, shut up!” I grab him as he swims by, trying to force him underwater.
“Seriously, Lilly? Are you trying to dunk me? You, who can’t stand with your head above water in the shallow end,” he taunts me, referencing my lack of height. “Want to take me on?”
“You are going down, Oliver Harlow!” I declare, never one to back down from a challenge. I wrap my arms and legs around him from behind, wearing him like I’m his backpack, and attempt to use my body weight to drag us both backwards and underwater. It is a suicide mission, one might say, but well worth it if I succeed.
Unfortunately, there is no moving Oliver, who has become a man mountain. The water is causing a slippery friction between our bodies as I twist and turn on his back, and yes, maybe I am enjoying this game a little too much. However, it would seem that Oliver isn’t as keen on playing and is not budging at all. In fact, he is now almost unnaturally still.
“Ollie?” I stop my thrashing about. “Am I hurting you?”
I climb off his back and swim around to face him, where Oliver is looking anywhere but at me, his cheeks red.
“Hey, did you put on sunscreen?” I ask, distracted by his possible sudden sunburn. Strange given he has only been out here for five minutes.
“Hmm?” he answers, glancing at me and then away again as I tread water in front of him. “Yes, I put sunscreen on. Thanks for your concern.”
His face has returned to its normal olive complexion, so I let it go, instead focusing on the man in front of me. When did Oliver turned into this god? I mean, he was always fit, but from the looks of him today, Oliver’s muscles have developed muscles. How does he fit in the time to exercise during what I know must be a sixty-hour work week for him? I feel my cheeks heat as I pry my eyes away from his impressive six (eight?) pack and swim towards the shallow end of the pool, trying to gain some distance from him. Oliver seems to have other ideas, and he follows right behind me, like my shadow. Once on solid ground, now able to stand in waist-high water, I look at him again and squeak, “Been hitting the gym recently?” Nice way to play it cool, Lilly.
Oliver’s grin warms my insides as he gives me a knowing look and flexes his biceps. “Like what you see?” he teases.
“Oh, sure, it’s fine. If you are into that kind of thing.”
“What? You don’t like men with muscles?” he asks with interest.
“Ummm?” I pretend to think about it while giving myself the excuse to look him up and down. “I guess muscles are all right. Me personally, I prefer a dad bod on a man, one that won’t make me feel bad about my lack of a gym body.”
Oliver raises an eyebrow as he returns the favour, letting his gaze travel up and down my body, lingering on my chest and stomach. To my utter embarrassment, my nipples tighten under his gaze, and as I attempt to hide my reaction to him, Oliver’s gaze zeroes in on them.
“Lilly, I don’t think there is a single thing wrong with your body,” he tells me in a gruff voice, his eyes now fixed with determination on the blue sky above us.
I stare at Oliver in shock, covering my rebellious nipples by crossing my arms over my chest, forcing my boobs upward. Did Oliver just admit that he likes my body? As I grapple with what this could mean, Oliver grabs my head and submerges us both underwater, which is good for me because I need to cool off.
When we emerge, some of the weird tension between us has dissipated, and Oliver suggests we have a swimming race. This is the Oliver that I remember growing up with, the boy who was serious but always open to having fun. That Oliver doesn’t make an appearance all that often any more.
“Oliver,” I whine, wanting to play with him while he is in this mood but also wanting to choose an activity that exerts the least amount of energy. After the torturous bike ride this morning, floating in the pool sounds preferable to a swimming race. “Why must you always be so intent on being active? Why can’t we lie on the pool lounges and take a nap instead?”
“Lilly.” He mimics my whining. “You can relax later. Now we must find out which one of us will keep or win the Summer Champion Trophy.”
I roll my eyes in pretend annoyance and think back to the many summers when all the neighbourhood kids would gather in this pool and compete for this trophy. When I look back now, it was only ever me and Oliver who took it seriously, and for me it was never about winning but was a chance to be close to Oliver. Looks like some things never change.
“You are on!” I state. “Two laps, up and back, and I get a head start because I come with a handicap.”
“What handicap?”
“I have about a foot less in body length than you do, remember?”
He smiles back at me, his eyes crinkling against the sun.
“OK, I will let you start further down the pool. Does that suit you, Your Highness?
“That will be fine,” I reply in my very best fancy Bridgerton accent. I am obsessed with that show. We smile at each other and take our positions in the pool.
