2. Delilah

Chapter 2

Delilah

" D -Delilah," I hear myself croak out, throat incredibly dry and voice all sorts of scratchy.

"Delilah," Grey repeats after me. "And do you know where you are, Delilah?"

"At the… pool."

"Good." He nods enthusiastically, giving me the impression of an overtly friendly golden retriever… either that or the sudden waves of light-headedness I keep feeling are screwing with my mind. "Can you tell me the date?"

I rattle off the date, my hands coming up to push back the sodden strands of hair uncomfortably stuck to my temples. "Can I have some water? My throat…"

"It's dry," Grey finishes for me. "Can you sit up?"

Dipping my chin down in agreement, I press myself up into a seating position, hissing through my teeth at the sudden burning sensation coursing up and down the length of my body.

"Good, good, slowly… that's it." Grey's hands flutter somewhere around the space of my upper back, light as a feather. "Take a breath for me."

I do as he asks, quizzically peering down at the graze on my hip as I do so, my toes curling automatically at the pink razored flesh I find there.

"Can you tell me if there's any pain anywhere, Delilah?"

God, it's stinging like a motherf—

"Delilah?"

I blink up at him sluggishly. "Hm?"

"Are you in any pain?" Grey repeats patiently, eyes kind and soft around the edges with the beginnings of fine lines… not that the starting of fine lines take away from his attractiveness. And my God , is he attractive.

With pretty green eyes framed by enviable long lashes, a strong nose and a prominent Cupid's bow, leading down to a plush looking set of lips, lifeguard Grey could easily pass as a model. His hair matches the same chocolate shade of mine, minus the caramel highlights, all floppy and soft looking, with a slight cow's lick, giving his fringe a life of its own—

"–she's in shock."

I register the gentle, but firm hands wrap themselves around my ribcage, just beneath my breasts, before they're pulling upwards, urging me to stand.

My legs wobble beneath me as I attempt to get my footing. I lean more into Grey's hold than I'd like, but it's the only thing that stops my tendons from screaming quite so loudly.

"I'm okay, I'm okay," I mutter, more to myself than anyone else, desperately trying to focus on the sensation of the solid floor.

"Lean on me," Grey prompts. "That's it. Can you walk? One foot in front of the other, Delilah."

Easier said than done when I've got sea legs and a jolt of sharp pain shoots through my hip each time my left foot makes contact with the floor.

"My–my flip flops," I babble anxiously. "My towel…"

The corded arm around me flexes causing the veins to stand out. Grey slows his own gait to match mine, coming to a complete stop beside my bright pink flip flops.

"Can you slide them on?" he asks, eyes searching my face. "Slowly… slowly…"

Feeling as if I'm moving through molasses, I manage to slide my right foot along the foam surface of my flip flop until the plastic strap settles in between my first and second toe. It aches to move my left foot, but at least the graze has changed to a dull put, put, put.

Grey takes his hand away from my side to sling my towel over his shoulder, before resuming his firm hold. "Do you think you can make it to the medical room? Or is it hurting too much to walk—"

"I can make it," I breathe, using the solidness of Grey's body just a touch behind me, and my own grit and determination, to push forward a step. Then another, and another.

He directs me past the communal showering area – just my luck it's full of people. I duck my head so as to not make eye contact. But still, I feel the heat of their inquisitive stares following me as I limp along with the lifeguard holding onto me… there's no way they don't know Grey's the lifeguard. The polished silver whistle hanging around his neck and the bright yellow shirt he's wearing, with the bold words LIFEGUARD splashed in block, white letters across the front, really don't make it possible for him to blend in.

Instead of turning into the tunnel towards the changing rooms, Grey directs me down the corridor towards the, thankfully, empty front desk.

A chill, which I'm guessing to be the mixture of shock and lack of dry clothes covering my body, settles over me as Grey yanks open an unassuming wooden door and ushers me inside.

It feels extremely weird to be half dressed, with only a one piece keeping me covered, while standing in an unfamiliar medical room, the strong June sunlight from outside pouring in through the window. Weirder still, standing there, dripping all over the floor, while an attractive stranger quickly let's go of me to unravel some hygienic blue paper towel and drapes it over the medical table.

Grey taps the seat with two fingers. "Come and take a seat, Delilah."

"I'm f-fine, really."

Grey doesn't look so convinced. "Your teeth are chattering."

"It's the c-cold—"

"And the shock. Here." Unsnapping the towel from his shoulder, lifeguard Grey holds it out for me to take. "Place it around your shoulders and sit down before you fall down, please."

He's polite in his request, but there's something no-nonsense in his tone too.

The paper crinkles under me as I gingerly take a seat, instantly feeling the paper disintegrate into nothingness as it becomes wet.

Tightly gripping the edges of my towel with my fingertips once I manage to drape it behind myself like a cape, I bring the fluffy cotton up to my nose, sniffing the familiar fabric softener I use at home to feel even the tiniest hint of normality.

Especially seeing as how my current situation is anything but.

"Here you go, Delilah."

Peering through spiky, sodden lashes, I find Grey towering above me, a miniature paper cup in his hand.

Swallowing roughly, I shakily take the cup from his hand, relishing in the split second of humane warmth as my fingers skim his.

"Sip slowly," Grey recommends, pinching the tops of his red board shorts to gather the waterproof fabric and sit down in the chair opposite the medical bed, his eyes trained on me. "We don't want you being sick again."

Nodding, I place the edge of the cup to my lips, grimacing at the feel of the paper sticking to my extremely dry bottom lip. The water, at least, tastes heavenly – just the perfect amount of cold, and smooth as it travels down my throat – but I force myself to sip carefully, stopping after four sips to make sure the liquid won't be coming back up.

"Okay?" Grey asks.

"Better," I agree, catching the edges of my towel before it can slide from my shoulders.

Leaning forward, Grey rests his forearms on the tops of his thighs. "Are you in pain anywhere, Delilah?"

"Um… my—"

"Wait! I'm supposed to ask if you're comfortable enough for me to perform this medical exam, or would you prefer somebody else, a woman or…"

"Um…" I find myself floundering. Again. Something I'm really not familiar with.

God, today is turning into a right clusterf—

"No, it's fine," I continue, untacking my tongue from the roof of my mouth. "You're fine… W-what's in this medical exam?"

"Nothing scary, I promise." Lifeguard Grey breaks out in a toothy grin, twin dimples popping in his cheeks. "I just need to catalogue any potential injuries, patch them up if I can," he looks pointedly at my thigh graze but doesn't linger, "and check your nerves and pupil dilation in case of concussion. Did you hit your head?"

"I-I'm not sure."

"That's okay." Grey smiles, in what I hope is supposed to be a comforting manner. "Lemme me have a quick look."

With cool fingertips, he gently pushes back my hair to touch the pulsating spot on my temple.

"The area is little red, but there's no blood. I think you'll probably just have a small bump for a couple of days. Do you feel any pain anywhere else?"

I swallow down my tiny mouthful of water. "Just on my hip."

"May I take a look?"

I bob my head in a silent agreement, taking another drink in order to strategically hide my suddenly burning cheeks. This is embarrassment turned up to the max – having an attractive man who can't be much older than me peer at the cut on my upper thigh with nothing but the priority of first aid written all the way across his face.

Bringing his face a tad bit closer to my hip, I fight against the urge to shift restlessly on the bed, holding my breath as Grey tilts his head one way and then the other.

Only when he pushes himself up to a standing position, do I breathe out again, relaxing my grip on the paper cup I've almost crushed.

"I think it's just a graze," Grey explains, giving me a view of his back as he opens the door to a cupboard and begins rifling through. "I can't see anything in it and you're not bleeding massively, the skin's just a little bit cut up. So…"

I try to concentrate on the rustling sound of cardboard boxes and plastic packaging as Grey searches for whatever he's looking for. But my mind… well, it has other ideas.

Taking a quick glance while he has his back to me, I allow my eyes to travel down the entirety of Grey's body; from his brown hair, shaved neatly above his neck, to the way his shoulders cut a broad line even beneath the cotton material of his polo shirt. His waist and hips are trim and defined, I notice, with a hum.

Probably from working out so much.

As are the lean muscles of his calves, flexing and moving as he shifts from foot to foot…

"Found it!" Grey exclaims, giving me half a split second to rip my gaze away and pretend I'd never been staring at him in the first place, before he turns back around.

He brandishes a tube of… something in his hand. Taking a seat, I watch as he uncaps the tube, squeezing a pea size amount onto the purple gloves he's snapped on, and comes towards me.

He stops still, his pointer finger inches away from my grazed skin, and peers up at me. "You're not allergic to latex, are you?"

God, he looks adorable. "No."

Delilah! What the actual—

"What about—"

"I'm not allergic to anything," I say. "Except sometimes for pollen in the summer."

"Okay, good." Grey smiles again. "So, this," he wags his finger, "is just some good old-fashioned antiseptic. There doesn't seem to be anything left in your cut, and the pool water is full of chlorine to kill any germs, so I'm sure it's pretty clean already, but just to be on the safe side…"

I silently stretch my leg as far as it will go, not very long considering my average five foot four and a half frame, offering the curve of my thigh for Grey to apply the antiseptic.

"It's probably going to sting a little bit so—"

"Just do it, Grey. Please," I add as an afterthought, turning my face away so I won't be caught staring at the top of his head.

My toes curl in my flip flops as the cold texture of the ointment makes contact with my broken skin, followed by a slight zing of pain as the antiseptic works its way into the flesh wound.

Grey's fingers are firm as they move in small circles, efficiently getting the job done, before he rolls away again on the small wheels of his chair to unsnap the gloves, depositing them in the waste bin beneath the desk.

"I'm not going to cover it," he says, reaching across the desk for a slim, pen-like tool to fidget with, sliding it between finger and thumb with practised ease. "Because I think it best to let oxygen get to it, but if you want, you can apply just a standard plaster on the wound when you get home. It's up to you."

"I'll just leave it alone, then."

"Just keep an eye on it, okay? Right, now I just need to take your pulse and measure your blood pressure and—"

I turn my wrist to the ceiling before he can even finish his sentence, offering it to Grey. "Count away."

The bare pads of his pointer and middle finger slide over the thin patch of skin covering my blue veins without hesitation. Twisting to glance at his watch, I can't bring myself this time around, to draw my eyes away from Grey's side profile. His brows furrow as he looks down, counting the seconds, his plush lips squished together in concentration.

With the medical room silent, I can even hear the ticking of Grey's watch. My breath, the inhale and the exhale through my nose, sounds louder than usual, as does the blood roaring through my ears.

God, this minute feels like it's lasting a life—

"All done!" The pads of Grey's fingers slip from my skin. "Heart rate is a little bit higher than average, but that's to be expected after the shock. I'm pretty sure your blood pressure will be higher too, but I still have to check for the records, so is it alright to bring out the pressure cuff?"

I've barely gotten the ‘yes' rolled from my tongue, before he's standing up, grabbing the familiar looking piece of equipment and gently pushing back my towel to get to my upper arm.

Once it's fitted around my arm and tightening each more by the second, Grey whips out the pen-like tool again, clicking the end with the pad of his thumb, until the other side lights up.

"I'll check your pupil dilation while I'm at it, okay? So, just look straight ahead for me, Delilah. Now look left… right… and up…"

My eyes sting with the movement. I've got no doubt they're probably very bloodshot with the amount of chemical chlorine that had washed over my retinas, but Grey's quick and thorough about it, placing one finger under my chin to help move my face and eyes better into the bright, white light.

"Everything looks good," Grey notes softly, drawing the pen further away and then closer again, until I swear I can actually feel my pupils dilating. "Anddd… yep, blood pressure is a tiny bit high too, but that's to be expected."

As Grey busies himself with removing the cuff, I try desperately to ignore the deliciously fresh mint aftershave wafting from him.

How unfair is it that I probably appear completely bedraggled – hair so wet I just know it sits heavy on my head in a misshapen lump, with snake like strands clinging to my neck, edges of my swimming costume digging into the thick flesh of my thighs as I sit down, towel uncomfortably wet around my aching shoulders and stinking of chlorine – but lifeguard Grey looks edible.

Ugh.

"I'm really happy with the way everything looks." Grey retakes his seat, fiddling with the mouse of the old school computer on the desk until it lights up and he can key in a code. "I mean, I'm not happy with you almost drowning, that's a stupid thing to say, but—"

I have the peculiar urge to laugh, unable to stop it from pouring out. "I know what you mean, Grey."

He glances over his shoulder at me, showcasing another beaming smile and matching dimples, and then turns back to the computer.

"I'll just get this complaints form printed out for you to sign and then—"

"I-I don't want a complaint form, really, it's fine." I'm babbling again. "It was my own stupid fault; I don't need to sign—"

"I'll cross out the complaints side of it, then," Grey speaks over the loud shuffling coming from the printer. "But it's our policy for us to report any and all accidents. If you don't sign, Delilah, I can't let you go. Health and safety and all…"

"Fine," I concede, slurping back the rest of my free water.

Grey rounds the desk to reach the printer, leaning his hip against the desk as he waits for the ink to dry. "You're not suddenly feeling dizzy or anything? Like you're going to vomit? No black spots in your vision?"

"Nope." I pop the ‘p', forcing myself to stand, emitting a wet, squeaky, almost suction-y, squelch as my bathing costume pulls away from the plastic chair. A red hot wave of embarrassment threatens to spill over me, but when Grey doesn't even bat an eyelid, I force myself not to draw attention to it.

"Okay, well…" he pinches the freshly printed paper between his fingers. "If you do start to feel any of those symptoms, you need to ring 111 immediately and tell them it could potentially be a concussion. I also highly recommend, if you live alone, you get somebody to stay with you overnight. That way they can keep an eye out for any warning signs too. Do you have somebody you can call?"

I meet his worried gaze. "Yes, I'll get my younger sister to come round."

He nods, scribbling something on the complaints form, before handing it, and a pen, over to me. "And if anything worsens; you feel like you can't breathe, you're falling unconscious, vomiting blood, etcetera, your sister must ring 999, okay? Promise me."

Taking the pen, I sign my name shakily with a flourish besides Grey's, adding the date too and my contact number lest they need to contact me.

"I promise."

Seemingly happy with my answer, Grey folds up the policy, pushes back the lock of his fringe which has fallen into his eyes and opens the door. "I've got to take this," he flaps the policy paper, "to the front desk and dock it in, so I'll walk you to the changing rooms."

As we pass the front desk, I can see a group of women have congregated at the front desk now, each wearing gym gear and carrying a rolled-up foam mat on their backs. They stop their conversation to watch as Grey rounds the front desk, eyes lasered on my every wet footstep.

"I won't be a minute," I hear him tell the tittering group, while I continue to keep my feet moving forward, not letting my head drop, but not looking anyone in the eye either. I want to say thank you to Grey for essentially saving my life, but he's busy at work and—

"Delilah," he all but whispers, before I can disappear down the corridor to the changing rooms. "The leisure centre offers swimming lessons on Wednesdays, 6-8pm, if you'd like to learn how to swim in a safer environment with a proper instructor."

He slides a white pamphlet across the side of the desk, flashing me a borderline cheeky grin, as I gawk at the leaflet and then back up at him.

"Just think about it, Delilah."

And with that, Grey turns his attention back to the group of yoga goers, leaving me more speechless than I've been in years.