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Doc’s eyes twinkled as he met my smirk. “Nope, but I’ve heard there are several down in Nevada.”
Addy frowned. “That’s too far away. Oh, well, do you want to play Marco Polo with us?”
“Only if your mom’s playing.”
“You’re playing, right, Mom?” She frowned at my hesitation. “Please play.”
Cornered, I sighed. “Sure.”
After a half hour of treading water and yelling “Marco” more times than “Polo,” I hoisted my shivering limbs out onto the smooth, concrete ledge and declared that I quit. As I dangled my feet in the pool, I perused the other patrons, chewing on my lip.
Doc splashed out beside me and laid back on the ledge, his torso stretched out next to me, a visual buffet of olive-tinted male flesh. “You’re a good sport, Violet.”
“Thanks.”
His long legs swished in the water next to mine. I noticed a faint vertical scar running up the outside of his calf. My fingers twitched, eager to touch, explore.
“But you could use some swim lessons.”
I met his gaze with a raised brow. “You offering?”
“Sure. I’ll take any opportunity to get close to a pretty girl in a bathing suit.”
Doc had my core temperature fluctuating between hot and steamy again, melting away the last of my shivers. I closed my eyelids, disgusted with my inability to remain cool, calm, and in control. “Stop flirting with me.”
His low chuckle right next to my ear made me quiver. “You make it so much fun.”
I opened my lids to find him sitting up now, his shoulder almost brushing mine, his dark eyes inches away. Something simmered in their depths. The tips of my fingernails smoldered.
“Fun for you.” He had his libido tightly reined. Mine kept bucking me off. “Some of us are a bit rusty at this game.”
“Rusty? I don’t think so, Violet. Not with the way you look at me.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Busted, I feigned innocence.
“Liar.” He blinked and the heat was gone—except for the molten ball still in my gut.
I dragged my gaze away, my cheeks baked to a nice shade of embarrassment. Hot, horny, and humiliated in front of a good-looking guy—a flashback to my high school years when braces and padded bras made life awkward. Now two kids and a sagging body supplied the fuel.
“You should get Addy on the swim team here,” Doc said. “She’s a good swimmer.”
I jumped on his change of subject. “Do they have tryouts?”
“I don’t know. There’s a sign-up sheet out in the lobby.”
That reminded me of something Kelly had told Addy when they first met. Something Addy had repeated to me after our trip to the Dinosaur park about Kelly and Emma Cranson, the girl missing since last August, hanging out at the Rec Center all of the time.
I hopped to my feet.
“Where are you going?” Doc asked.
“I’ll be right back.”
In the lobby, the clerk was talking on her pink cell phone. She glanced up at me as I crossed to the wall covered with colored pictures, but kept talking.
I followed the dated trail of pictures until I came to last summer, which required a step stool to read the names at the bottom of the page. From my tip toes, I could see Kelly standing in the front row, third from the left. Her hair was longer now.
Three girls to the right was Emma, her oval, Addy-like face framed by her cropped blonde locks. My heart thumped in my ears. I squinted at the photo and tried to read the names of the other girls.
