Page 37 of Head Under Water

I can still feel the heat of his grip on my skin, the scorch of his gaze on mine. That touch, that look…it felt different from ever before. For once, there was no hint of teasing behind those familiar blue eyes. No competition.

It was…strange and warm and…good.

I don’t like it one bit.

“Yeah, you too.” I move away, far away, over to the women’s huddle, giving them my full attention. “We did it, you guys!”

They burst into a screaming rendition of “We Are the Champions,” and I keep my mind laser-focused, refusing to let my gaze drift for even a second to see whether those deep seas of stormy blue are still following me.

Back at the hotel, Will and I walk slowly to our rooms.

“You were right. That was fun,” I tell him.

The silence between us feels swollen now, thick. Full of things I’m afraid to put names to. Every time our arms brush, it sparks like a live wire.

But maybe I’m imagining it.

Maybe it’s just me. Or maybe not.

I can still feel the outline of his palms on my skin.

He keeps looking over at me like he plans to say something, but he never does.

“I’m glad you had a nice time.” He sounds so serious it throws me off. Will is never serious. “Big day tomorrow? What time are your sessions?”

“Um. I have one at nine and one at two,” I say.

“Mine are similar. I think eleven and two.” He pauses. “Hey.” His hand brushes my arm, grips it gently. I freeze, and so does he. He stares at me for a second, then turns and continues walking.

What the⁠—

He rushes back in two quick steps. “I, uh, was thinking…” He stops, then he starts again, “I was thinking we could go out again, if you want. Just us. If you want.”

The question hangs in the air between us. It feels dangerous after tonight. But then again, nothing happened, right? It was just a weird, intense moment.

“Uh, sure. Yeah. Maybe.”

He gives a small nod, then we’re moving again. Our steps fall almost in sync, brushing along the carpet like a heartbeat.

Moments later, we round the corner, and our doors are in sight. As we reach them, we stop, accidentally crowding each other’s space. We’re so close I can see the place where his pulse jumps in his neck.

“Opal, I…” He opens his mouth.

Closes it again.

Opens it.

“Everything…okay?” I ask, my ears burning, throat tight.

“Yeah.” The word is an exhalation. Like he’s actually saying, right? “Yeah, I just⁠—”

He stops, along with time. His fingers twitch where they hang near mine, brushing skin against skin, but he doesn’t reach. Doesn’t grab.

I wait—patient, but not patient at all.

“I…” His eyes search mine. So slowly it hurts.

Then something shifts.