Vince noticed too. His shoulders tensed each time Caleb spoke, which was a lot.
When the plates were cleared, Margie waved off Erica’s offer to help. “You’re a guest. Sit. Relax.”
Watching her practically run into the house, she suspected Mrs. Cooper was escaping, like everyone else probably wanted to.
Ray poured himself an after-dinner drink and settled into a patio chair.
Tasha stood and kicked off her sandals. “Pool?”
Caleb was already unbuttoning his cuffs like he’d been waiting for permission.
Vince glanced at her, brows raised.
“Aren’t we supposed to wait half an hour?” she hedged.
Ray chuckled. “Old wives’ tale. If you get a cramp, Vince will save you. When he wasn’t playing tight end, he was captain of the swim team in high school.”
“Is that so?” She looked at him, imagining him as a teen: tall, lanky, and competitive.
“What do you say?” he asked.
“Come on, Erica!” Tasha called.
“Maybe she can’t swim,” Margie said, returning with a tall glass of iced tea and taking a seat next to her husband.
They all looked at her expectantly.
“I grew up in Galveston,” she said, rising. “I learned to swim in the bay and practically lived in the water during the summers.”
She slipped the cover-up off her shoulders. The black one-piece was shirred through the middle, had wide straps, and a short, attached skirt that still showed most of her thighs. The only hint of sexiness was the dip in the sweetheart neckline.
Vince’s gaze traveled from her shoulders to her hips. “That’s your idea of a modest one-piece?”
She looked down at herself then up at him. “Yes. Notice the skirt?”
“I notice everything.”
Her cheeks warmed. She glanced over at his parents. Ray had absolutely heard and hid a grin behind his wineglass. Margie brushed imaginary lint off her shorts, pretending not to notice.
Erica ignored them all and walked down the steps into the pool. The water was warm from the day’s heat but cooler than the air, enough to be refreshing as it rose along her legs.
Vince followed with less reserve, jack-knifing into the deep end with a towering splash.
“Don’t get the old people wet!” Margie called.
“Who are you calling old?” Ray protested.
Tasha and Caleb dove after the rings at the bottom of the pool.
Vince paddled toward her. Before he reached her, she pushed off and swam. He trailed her, stopping when she did to tread water.
His hands settled lightly at her waist beneath the surface.
“You’re trouble,” she murmured.
“That’s my name. Vincent Big Trouble Cooper.”
Caleb and Tasha were racing; she beat him by half a body length, and when she turned to receive her congratulations or teasingly gloat, he had paddled over to Vince.
