always does.
Every dazzling second of fractured, flickering blue-hued shadows projected onto the pool’s floor. The whoosh of the water between strokes as I lift my head above the surface for quick gasps of air. The smell of chlorine, and the sensation of my feet pushing against tile as I roll forward into my next lap.
I repeatedly keep telling myself this will help while exhaustively becoming more and more tense.
I’ve been pent-up since last night. After tossing and turning for hours, I decided the only solution was to spend an early morning at the pool, exerting some of this tension as best I can. Pushing my body to its limits in cathartic release.
While I’ve always felt most at peace inside a natural body of water, swimming anywhere can bring me relief.
But not today, it seems.
This is lap seventeen. I’ve yet to determine how many it’ll take to feel like myself again, but the number keeps increasing with every turn. I’ll be swimming until I forget the very loud memory of my conversation with Bo last night. The mortification of living down the hall from someone who knows you touched yourself thinking about them and has heard you doing it.
And, simultaneously, I’ll be here until I muster the considerable amount of self-control I need to hear that Bo enjoyed hearing me and still not make the reckless, short-sighted decision to sleep with him again.
I lift my left arm up and over my body, carving a stream into the water ahead of me at full speed, then switch to my right.
Left, right.
I haven’t had sex since Halloween. But… has he?
Left, right.
He’s not actually going to bring another girl home, right?
Left, right.
What if he calls my bluff?
Left, right.
When I reach the edge of the pool, I pull myself up and over and catch my breath as I tug off my goggles, bringing two palms to cover my eyes. Fuck. This is definitely not working.
All I can see is Bo’s face, his arm leisurely draped across the top of the archway, his frame towering over me. His lips repeating keeping myself away from your bedroom was nearly impossible over and over and over until I want to scream, so why did you?
I could ask Sarah to spend the night at hers… Give myself a day or two to cool off. But am I seriously going to have to do that every time I find Bo attractive? I’m an adult, for fuck’s sake. We’ve slept together. It’s not exactly surprising that those urges didn’t go away the moment the complications multiplied.
But something has to give.
And I’m increasingly aware that it might be my self-restraint.
“Win?” a deep, friendly voice calls out, echoing around the pool.
I twist to look behind me, looking up to the lifeguard tower to find a familiar face. “Cam?” I call up to him, smiling broadly.
I trained Cam three years ago at Westcliff Point, and he’s been back every summer since as a lifeguard. I’ve only ever bumped into my summer people outside of summer months a handful of times, and it always throws me off a bit. But Cam is a sweetheart. Though the timing of running into him could be better.
“I thought that was you,” he says, his dimples appearing as he flicks his copper hair away from his face.
“Hi!” I say, lifting my legs to rotate and stand. I look down at my swimsuit, wondering if he’ll be able to notice my little baby bump. It’s a toss-up, considering how tight the one-piece suit is, but even if he suspects, I doubt he’ll ask. “How’ve you been?” I ask.
“Good, good, keeping busy. Lifeguarding here and teaching private swim. How about you?”
“Pretty good,” I answer as he starts to descend the ladder. “At the café. Still.”
Cam stops a few feet shy of me, tugging on the lanyard around his neck. “It’s so funny I bumped into you… I was just thinking about you the other day.”
Okay… maybe I should tell him I’m knocked up.
“I just started teaching this kid, Henry. He has a hand just like yours. I was telling him all about my friend who’s the best swimmer I know, and he nearly lost his mind with excitement.”
I pout, and an adoring whine escapes from my chest. “Really?” I ask, elongating the word.
“Yeah. He’s so sweet. A really fun kid to teach. I was chatting with his parents after his first lesson, and they mentioned they’re trying to find a summer camp for him. I immediately thought of you and that idea you told Casey and me about at last year’s bonfire. Your camp?” He brushes his hair away from his face again and adjusts the whistle on his neck as his eyes glaze over in thought. “What did you call it? Camp…”
Camp Cando. A bit on the nose, sure, but it is for kids. “It was just an idea…” I shrug one shoulder while simultaneously wrapping my arm across my stomach, holding on to my elbow. “I don’t even remember. I think I’d just drunk too much.” Six beers. But I do remember. It felt incredible to talk about it again. That was the only time I’ve talked about my camp in the past few years, other than when I told Bo.
“That’s a shame. These parents would love something like that.”
I smile despite the ache in my chest nagging to be heard. “How’s he doing? With the swimming?”
“Fine. But, actually, while I have you here, can I pick your brain?”
I nod eagerly.
“He’s got most of the technique down, but he really overcompensates with his right hand—the bigger one—and it steers him a little off course. I’ve tried the usual stuff, but he seems to still get off balance. What would you suggest?”
“What position?”
“Nearly all of them, but it’s worse with breaststroke.”
“It’s hard to say without seeing him swim. When’s he here?”
“Tuesday evenings.”
“I’m off on Tuesday next week. I could come by if you’d like.”
“Seriously?” Cam asks, bending his knees, crouching down so our faces line up—his totally bursting with joy. I nod, caught off guard, as he picks me up and spins me around in the air. “That’d be amazing.” He drops me, one hand stuck on my shoulder, and steadies me as I regain my balance.
“Any time?” I laugh out.
“Can I text you the details? I don’t think I have your phone number.”
“Oh, sure.” I wait as he pulls out his phone, then I put my number into it. Saving myself as Winnie the One-Handed Wonder—because it just felt right.
And suddenly, I’m not in such a bad mood.
“He’s going to be so excited to meet you. And,” he smiles down at my contact information on his phone, tapping the screen, “the name suits you. I did talk about you as if you were a superhero.”
“Well, let’s hope Henry isn’t disappointed.”
“Aw, well, who could be?” He winks before glancing around the pool. “Shit, I am very lucky no one decided to drown just now. I, uh, should probably get back up there.” He points a thumb over his shoulder.
“Right, yeah, I’m going to try a few more laps. Clear my head.”
“You should really think about that camp, Win.” Cam says, sauntering backward slowly. “I think it could be a very cool thing!”
And I do think about it.
I think about it so much that I’m no longer thinking about last night or what could have been. In fact, by the time I’m showered, dressed, and on the bus ride home—I can’t think about anything else. My thoughts, ideas, and questions pile on top of one another. And suddenly, I have an entirely new conversation I’d like to have with Bo.
Finance Bo, that is.
Not to be mistaken with a Finance Bro.
God, no.
When I get home, Bo’s on a client call at his desk, swivelling in his chair as he taps the end of a pencil to the far corner of his eyebrow. His long limbs are all spread out as he leans back, nearly capsizing.
I approach his desk, buzzing with energy, dropping my things onto the couch on my way toward him.
He tilts his head curiously at me, agreeing to whatever the other person on the phone is saying with a series of murmured mm-hmms. “What?” he mouths silently, his giddy smile matching my own.
“I have an idea,” I whisper, hovering above him. “But… I need your help.”
He checks his watch and nods at me, holding out one finger.
When I linger for what feels like too long, I begin biting at my thumb nail anxiously. Bo checks his watch again, apologising with an eye roll directed at the phone and a wrap it up motion with a finger pointed at the sky.
The immediate realisation that I’m standing over the guy while he’s working strikes and fills me with embarrassment. I’m acting as if I’m entitled to his time. I’m very much not entitled to his time. Especially when his time pays the vast majority of my bills.
“Sorry, never mind. It can wait,” I say, waving my hands and stepping back onto my heel.
He stops me with a firm grasp around my forearm, dropping the pencil onto the floor as he does.
I had only just gotten those thoughts out of my head…
“Hey, Odette? I’m so sorry to interrupt, but my colleague, Fred, just reminded me of a meeting that’s already started without me. So I’ll have to let you go.” He nods, his eyes stuck on his computer screen and his hand still clasped around me.
I take a second to appreciate the veins in his hands. The sheer size of them causes envy on the best of days, but the strength and definition of them isn’t lost on me either. I know it’s ironic, to have some sort of hand fetish. But in my defence, I never even considered hands as anything other than limbs prior to Bo.
And I could shrug free of his hold, but I don’t.
“Yep. Yes, of course. I’ll check in then. Best of luck with the move. Okay, yes, bye-bye.” Bo drops his phone on the desk with a careless thud and turns to me, eager-eyed and excitable, before he releases my arm. “What’s happening? What’s this idea?”
I grab a folding chair still left out from the DND game last night and drag it over to his desk. “I want you to help me with money.”
“Seriously?” He grips the arms of the chair as he kicks a leg out. “Hell yeah!”
I laugh, a little offended. “I’m not that bad with money, am I?”
“No. Sorry, just—I’m glad you’d come to me for help. I like that.”
Do not blush. “I want to figure out how to get a business loan. How to make a savings plan and how to really get the ball rolling on my camp. I don’t care if it’ll take me ten years or even more—I just want to start the process now. Tell me what I need to do.”
His smile is warm and slow and thoughtful, creasing lines next to his eyes and eyebrows rising up his forehead. His tongue darts out to lick his lips as he nods. “Fuck yeah. Let’s do some math.”
I check in with him at the first hour mark, ensuring that he doesn’t have actual clients or responsibilities he should be tending to instead. Then, when his phone rings for the second time as I fetch us snacks from the kitchen, I make sure he doesn’t have to answer it. Both times, he dismisses me politely, focusing intently on the spreadsheet he’s crafting.
Three and a half hours later, I have a file labelled WinniFRED McNulty on his desktop, a new monthly budget, a pile of sticky notes with things I need to do before contacting banks, and two different timelines for loan applications—depending on how aggressively I’m willing to save.
It’s a start.
It’s a very good start.
“This is exciting, Win.” Bo shuts his laptop, making his monitor turn off as well.
“I seriously cannot thank you enough,” I say. “This feels like the first time anyone’s taken this idea seriously.”
“Don’t thank me. You deserve better than that. Not only is this a phenomenal idea, but it’s also an excellent business plan—whoever decides to invest will be better off for it.”
“So, in your professional opinion, does it feel… doable?” I ask, my hesitant optimism obvious.
“Yes, absolutely. But don’t you mean Camp Can-doable?” Bo laughs from the back of his throat, standing from his chair and stretching. He seems to always wear a knitted sweater and dark jeans or trousers when he’s working. He’s always dressed sharply, even though I’ve never seen him pick up a video call. I have the urge to press my face against each of the sweaters that he seems to have stock in and test them for their softness.
“Really?” I sigh out, huffing out a weak laugh as I follow him toward the kitchen.
“Hey, I have a god-given right to make dad jokes now,” he says, his head in the fridge.
“Why do I have the feeling you always have?”
He shuts the fridge, his lips pushed out to the side as he looks at me, an idea sparked behind his curious, hazel eyes. “Do you have lunch plans today? With Sarah?”
“Nope,” I pop the p. “Why?”
“There’s nothing in here I want. Want to grab lunch with me?”
“Ooh, can we get burgers? I’ve been really craving ketchup.”
“Just the ketchup?” Bo asks over his shoulder, walking down the hall toward his bedroom.
“Yes. In a cup, preferably,” I answer as he comes back into view holding a small box of cards.
“Bringing these, since we skipped last night.” He stops still. “Did you say in a cup?”
“Hey!” I say defensively, clasping two protective hands over my tummy. “They’ll hear you! Don’t mock them.”
Bo bends at the waist, a lopsided grin in full effect. “Kid, tell your mom you want ice cream or pineapple juice, or hell, pickles. Ketchup is a weird choice.” He stands straight and brushes past me, heading toward the front of the house. I follow, playing up my offence, my mouth open and a hand clasped over my chest.
“How rude!” I exclaim, tugging on my winter boots. Bo holds up my jacket for me, and I slip my arms inside. “The first time you talk to them, and you decide to food-shame them?”
“It’s not the first time,” Bo says, grabbing his keys from the wall and throwing open the front door.
It’s not until I buckle myself into his passenger seat that he’s near enough for me to respond. “What do you mean? When else have you talked to them?”
“When you fell asleep watching Lord of the Rings. I had to tell all my fun facts and trivia to someone. Plus, once the movie ended, I needed to explain to them why they might feel a little… jostled.”
I stare at him absently.
“How do you think you got to your bed?” he asks, his eyes narrowed.
“I assumed I just half sleepwalked.”
“No, you were out cold,” Bo says, turning the car on.
“You carried me to bed?” I ask.
“Yeah,” he says, putting his arm behind my headrest to look over his shoulder as he backs out of the driveway. “Sorry, is that weird? I did try to wake you.”
“No.” I swallow, admiring the sharp line of his jaw as he keeps his eyes locked on the street behind us. “That’s fine.”
A few minutes pass as we drive in silence, other than the radio commercials. We both sing along to one jingle in sequence, starting and stopping at the same time without acknowledging each other.
“We’ve passed like every burger chain,” I point out ten minutes into our drive.
“Please. You think I’d take the mother of my child to a McDonald’s for a celebratory lunch?” He tuts. “C’mon, have more faith in me than that.”
“Celebratory?” I ask. “What are we celebrating?”
“Your new plan. The kid you’re growing. You, in general.”
I blush immediately.
Bo notices, then glances away, his jaw working as his eyes narrow on the road ahead.
At the exact moment I ask, “Should we talk about last night?” Bo says, “I’m sorry for last night.”
“It’s all good,” I say with full confidence. “Tensions are going to run a little high, given the circumstances. I think we’re doing a great job and should probably expect there to be some… awkwardness. We’ll keep focusing on getting to know one another as friends.”
“Still, I should have never said—”
“I think I’d feel better if we just pretended you… didn’t.”
“Okay,” he says, nodding, his hands tightening around the wheel. “Is it cool if I just apologise one more time?” He winces, turning toward me briefly with a sweet shyness in his eyes.
“One last time,” I say.
“I’m sorry,” he says compulsively, as if he’s been holding it back for far longer than a few seconds. “From now on, we will pretend the baby was an immaculate conception, and you’ll be my sexless pal Fred, if that’s what you want.”
I hear a high pitch ringing in my ear. The sound of my libido screaming for mercy, if I’m not mistaken. “That’s probably for the best.” Bo changes gears between us, and the back of his knuckles brush the side of my thigh accidentally. Still, I can’t help but grind my teeth as I look out the window.
“Want to bust out a question before we get to the restaurant?” he asks, reaching into the inside lining of his jacket and pulling the deck of cards out of the inner pocket. He holds them out to me, his eyes flicking between the road ahead and my face.
“Sure,” I say, taking the cards.
