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“I wasn’t. But close enough.” I was going to say went on to thrive and keep living.
“What happened?”
“Drunk driver ran a red light and struck the passenger side.” How was the pain so fresh after all this time? No, fresh wasn’t the right word. It was more like a bruise that had never gone away, but was obvious now that I was fucking with it.
She covered my hand with hers, where it sat on the concrete between us. “It’s not your fault,” she said. “He decided to drink that night.”
“And Sean decided being a manipulative and abusive douche was more important that appreciating the amazing person you are.”
“It’s not the same.”
It wasn’t, but it was. Why was it so easy to tell her she was right, when I couldn’t believe that about myself? “The mistake I made was being on the road that night, but I trusted that everyone else would follow the same rules I was. The mistake you made was being good and kind and genuine, and assuming everyone else would do the same.” My own words hit me hard. If I couldn’t blame her for wanting to see the good in people, how could I blame myself for someone else’s decision?
I didn’t know, but that didn’t make the gnawing ghost of guilt go away.
“I’ll accept it when you do,” Adrienne’s voice was so soft I barely heard it.
And now the silence was back. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but was heavy. Sad.
Adrienne kicked her feet in the water enough to make small splashes. “Is swimming pool sex real? And before you wonder or ask, yes, I want to talk about something else.”
The question caught me off-guard and the qualifier jabbed a hole in my blanket of grief. Thank God for the distraction. “As in, do some people do it?”
“Outside of porn.”
“Definitely,” I said. “But the thing no one ever talks about is that chlorinated water makes an even worse lubricant than spit.”
She looked at me with feigned surprise. “You can’t just spit on your hand and lube up your cock?”
An ache still lived in my chest, but this made it easier to smile and ignore the pain. “You can, or rather, I can, but that doesn’t mean I should.”
“That’s disappointing.” Adrienne jutted out her bottom lip. “So much for my wicked fantasies of swimming pool sex.”
“I didn’t say it can’t work.”
“You implied it. Are you really going to let us mask this moment with sex?” she asked.
Yes. We both knew what we were doing. Yes. I jumped in the water fully clothed, and sucked in a sharp breath at the shock. It was barely cooler than the ambient air, and I recovered in seconds.
“What are you doing?” Adrienne’s laugh lit up her eyes.
I grabbed her hand and tugged. “Seems like another lesson is in order.”
She didn’t resist when I pulled her in, and her squeal when she hit the water was intoxicating. Pressing closer, I pinned her to the edge of the pool, knotted my fingers in her hair, and held her captive while I captured her mouth. She tasted like chlorine and sugar and salvation.
The water made our clothes flow where they weren’t trapped and rough where the fabric was trapped between us. Each shift of her body against mine built delicious friction, but I wanted to feel her skin.
Adrienne tugged at my shirt, and I helped her yank it off and toss it on the concrete. She trailed her fingers over my body, heat flowing between us.
I pressed my mouth to her shoulder. Her neck. The tender spot behind her ear. “You’re turn.” I pulled up her shirt, stealing a kiss while she was captured and loving the sound of her laughter.
Her bra followed as well, her smile never fading. Pressing against her now was much more fun, as her curves molded to my body, and the water between us vanished.
“I can see how this isn’t the easiest thing,” Adrienne said between giggles and sighs.
“Do you want to give up?” I hated to even suggest it, but I also wasn’t worried about her response.
Her smile turned devilish. “I like challenge, and we’re wet now, so getting out of the pool isn’t going to make it any easier to take clothes off.”
