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Abby shrugs and turns about-face, her nose buried in her phone before she wraps herself in a towel and heads inside.
I move to pack up the net, meeting Jen at the edge of the pool as I start to unscrew the clamp.
“Hi,” she whispers.
“Hi,” I echo back, suddenly feeling shy. Nervous even.
“Water’s pretty cold now,” she observes, and I nod. Trying to focus on unhooking the net, but it gets tangled.
“You always suck at volleyball?” Jen asks, making me chuckle.
I can see where Abby gets her extra helping of sass if she’s ever short of it.
“Yeah,” I admit. Kind of bending the truth.
I’ve always been an ace in and out of the water.
I was off my game today because of Jen, and I think she knows it.
Once the net between us comes down, she moves forward to help me with it, but it slips from my wet hands.
She’s taken a big step into deeper water, and her hands reach out in front of her. Resting flat on my chest, my hands cupping her elbows. I feel her tense up for a second but then shiver.
Her little gasp turns into a soft mew as my fingers slide up her arms a little.
My instinct is to pull her close. Just grab her and let her feel for herself what she does to me.
But trying to keep it light, I go for humor instead.
“Do you always suck at packing up the net?” I ask, smiling, meaning it as a joke.
But Jen frowns, her brow creasing.
She tenses up again and moves back from me.
“I mean… I….”
Shit.
Too Late. Nice going, fuckhead.
“I’m just kidding, Jen,” I explain quickly. “I think you’re…I think you’re amazing.” I rasp, stifling a groan.
Realizing just how much I suck at telling people how I feel.
She moves closer to me again, and my hands gravitate to her body, brushing her chest, and making her shiver a breath.
I make a low sound, and once her hands are on my bare chest again, moving down further as she moves closer, I feel like I’m about to burst.
I feel my body shiver, too, both of our hearts pounding. I watch her face moving closer to mine.
Her smooth hand, finding the tip of my helm that’s flat against my belly, makes her whimper.
“Jen,” I whisper, knowing I can’t stop it now. This couldn’t mean anything else.
But I have to ask her.
I have to know. And for more than just my own curiosity.
