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“Washing machine!” the little girl with freckles squeals.
Ryen picks her up, cradles her in her arms, and twirls in the pool, whipping left and then whipping right as the kid squeezes her eyes shut and laughs.
“Shoo, shoo, shoo, shoo,” Ryen says, mimicking a washing machine sound.
I shift and draw in a breath, realizing I’d forgotten to breathe for a moment.
“Me, me!” the next kid waves his hand in the air and shouts, “Cannonball!”
Ryen picks him up. This kid she vaults into the air, and he flies a couple feet above the water and then plunges below the surface, making a big splash.
I tear my eyes away, reminding myself that I don’t care. I stand with Dane and wait for her to finish all the kids, and as soon as she dismisses them to their parents, I walk over to the bench where she’s drying herself off.
“And here I thought you ate children,” I muse, handing her the notebook.
She throws her towel down and takes the book, immediately opening it and scanning the inside. “Well, I do like to play with my food a bit before I eat it.”
She fans the diary, probably looking to see if anything is missing.
“I didn’t tear out any pages,” I assure her.
“How do I know you didn’t make copies?”
“Because I don’t play with my food before I eat it.”
Dane clears his throat at my side, speaking low. “I’m going to go wait in the parking lot. Take you
r time.”
He follows the parents and their kids out of the gym through the side door. Ryen stuffs the diary in her bag and picks up the towel, continuing to dry off her legs. Her black bikini bottom, unlike her rash guard, is not as conservative as I would like. Her toned legs look tight and smooth, and the droplets of water on her thighs have my heart skipping a beat.
She realizes I’m still here and scowls. “Well?” she snaps. “You can leave now.”
I slide my hands into my pocket. “And why would I do that, Rocks? When it’s so warm in your presence.”
“Why do you keep calling me Rocks?”
I ignore the question, keeping my eyes locked on hers. But then I notice her shiver, and without thinking, I glance down, seeing that her nipples are harder than ever. She’s obviously cold, and visions of her in a hot shower invade my head. Naked, steam, heat…
Wait…
Shower. I glance behind me at the men’s locker room door. Her friend and that fuckwad could still be in there. What if she hears something? Or sees them come out together?
I turn back to her. So what? She should find out what goddamn sleazes those people are whose opinions she cares so much about. She should find out exactly what a bad investment that was. She has this coming.
But, for some reason, I don’t want her to confront that. Not unprepared. If she sees her prom date and best friend together, no one will take her side when the fallout happens.
No one will probably be surprised by Lyla’s behavior, and Trey will be the man.
Ryen will just be the stupid girl who was duped.
And I’m not sure why I care.
“Come on,” I say, “It’s dark out. I’ll walk you out.”
“Piss off.”
She pulls on some shorts, tying the little string, and then slaps on a baseball cap, not even sparing me a glance.
