Page 87 of I Think He Knows
I click off my phone screen and look at myself in the mirror again, suck in a breath. Has Carter ever seen me in a bathing suit?
Doubt it. For one, swimsuits are not my favorite.
It’s not that I’m embarrassed of my body. If anything, I’m proud of it. Proud of every mark and scar that indicates that I brought Allegra into this world. But even still, it’s hard not to feel exposed with so much flesh on show.
It’s Carter, I remind myself. Carter, who never judges me. Carter, who’s done nothing but make me feel beautiful and desirable and…sexy… since the moment I admitted to him that I didn’t always feel this way with men.
I take a deep breath, change into my swimsuit—a nondescript black one-piece—and wrap a robe around my body.
And then, I go downstairs. Red face, frizzy hair, and all.
* * *
He’s already in the water, swimming laps, when I get out to the garden. In the dark, the pool glows, and I stand on the patio for a moment. His broad upper back tenses, the corded muscles in his arms rippling as he glides through the water with long, clean strokes. Effortless.
When he turns to start a new lap, he sees me and swims for the edge of the pool instead. He pulls himself out in one graceful motion (so basically, the opposite of how I look when I get out of a pool, which is more on the beached seal end of the spectrum). He walks towards me, eyes focused on me.
Ho-ly.That torso in all its tanned, muscled, water-slicked glory is a beautiful, beautiful thing. It’s almost surreal.
Thisissurreal, I remind myself. Not my regular, real life. Or his, for that matter.
But it’s still happening.
“Hi,” he says, coming to a stop in front of me. In the moonlight, his eyes are like deep blue velvet.
“Hi,” I squeak back, looking everywhere but at the perfectly fitted hunter green swim shorts he’s wearing.
He takes another step forward—he’s close, oh so close. I suck in a breath as he leans towards me…
And reaches for the bottle of wine and two glasses on the table behind me.
“Refreshments.” He smirks as he takes in my wide-eyed gaze.
“Of course!”
“Come on.” Carter reaches for my hand with his free one, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His fingers twine through mine and he squeezes them gently—his wordless signal that everything’s okay. We’re okay.
We sit at the edge of the pool and I dip my legs in, swirling them around in the cool, refreshing water, relishing the way it slides over my skin. Carter pops the cork on what I now realize is champagne like a pro. He pours the fizz into two glasses and extends one to me.
I accept mine with a smile. “What’s the occasion?”
“We’re celebrating.”
“Your decision to be British over text?”
“Almost as good as that.” He grins. “We’re celebrating a big relationship milestone.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Didn’t you hear? My fiancée moved in with me today.”
“Thatisbig news. Think I heard something about her wanting to hire a chef as soon as possible. Isn’t Gordon Ramsay himself in the running?”
“No way. Not my fault that my Thai food was too hot for her to handle.”
“Honestly, I think the thing that was too hot for her to handle was the library room upstairs.” I drum my fingers on my glass. “That’s, like, every reader’s wildest fantasy.”
I get treated to his lopsided smirk—my favorite of his smiles. “So you’re saying that I made your wildest fantasy come true?”