4. Grey

Chapter 4

Grey

K icking off from the grooved wall, I tighten my core muscles to keep my body horizontal, lengthen out my legs behind me, my arms in front of me, and allow the cool water of the pool to slice over the top of my head.

I count the missing beats of my breath – three, four, five – before breaking the glacier like surface with an audible, but controlled, inhale, which ricochets off the walls of the otherwise private swimming pool hidden away in the basement of my apartment building.

Dipping my head back down, I vehemently try to ignore the wet feel of my hair plastering itself to my forehead – forgetting my swim cap back at home this morning hadn't been my brightest moment.

Positioning myself for the front crawl, my thumb slips beneath the watery surface first as I keep my hand at a tight forty-five-degree angle. As the rest of my arm makes contact, I rotate my shoulder to pull my hand behind me in line with my hip, cupping the water in my palm and then bending my elbow towards the ceiling as I switch arms.

I continue to count my breaths silently, as I swim forward, breaking the water again by turning my head to the side to breathe. I take a large bite out of the imaginary apple tucked between my neck and the ball of my shoulder to sputter the excess water from my mouth, exhaling sharply through the plastic nose plug digging into my cartilage, and dipping my head back under the water.

Thrice more, always controlled, one side of my head emerges from the water, as I take in a breath for the count of three, before alternating the movement of my head. Left ear and eye in the water, sip air from the corner of my mouth, back down again, count, right ear and eye in the water, sip air from the corner of my mouth, back down again, count…

Peering through my goggles under through the watery depths, I take stock of the distance between myself and the edge of the pool. A little longer yet.

Everything inside my head – every little thought, every little worry and doubt – disappears as I fall into a familiar rhythm. The focus on elongating my body, becoming horizontal in the water, keeping my hips and shoulders perfectly in line, taking over until my mind is perfectly blank. It's a skill I'd first picked up once competitive swimming became more than just a hobby.

Toes pointed, I feel the beginnings of a sweet burn run up and down my calf muscle. I relish in the throb, bubbles frothing up to the surface as a sigh escapes my lips, a move I know would dock points in a competitive setting, not that that matters now.

The biggest issue now is the movement brings with it a mouthful of water.

I splutter louder than I would like, mentally shaking myself.

Concentrate.

Straightening both my arms, one down by my side, glued to my hip, I stretch the other out in front of me, pulling the flat of my hand through the molecules of water, twisting my arm as I feel a gush of water pass by my bare torso and hip.

Good.

The shallow end of the pool draws closer now, a tiled blue dot on the wall, cemented just beneath the level of the water, showcasing my starting and ending spot.

Just another minute.

Another breath.

Another push forward.

Another second.

My head breaks the surface as I curl my fingers around the lip of the pool. Ripping the nose peg from my skin, I suck in a deep inhale, filling my burning lungs up to their brim as I glance up at the large clock to work out my time.

The numbers on the wall blur together as water marks pour down my goggles, but I can just make out the minute increments. Not too bad. Not my best record, but not my worst either.

Removing my goggles, suctioning gently from the thin skin around my eyes, I pull myself up onto the ledge, cords in my forearms straining as I balance the weight of my body on my palms. Water sluices down my length at a rapid rate, covering the floor beneath my feet as I stand, heading towards the showers.

Chlorinated water swirls down the drain at my feet as I get sprayed down, smiling tight lipped at another gentleman using the showers beside the pool, before I slip away, grabbing a complimentary towel from the stack beside the sauna and ducking inside.

Deliciously heated steam kisses my cheeks, frothing up in an invisible cloud around me. I throw another jugful of water onto the woodfired stove, tucking the towel around my waist before I sit down, scrubbing at the mixture of sweat and water coating my skin.

Now, without the dull thrum of the water, my brain switches back on.

I'm not due at work at the leisure centre until two this afternoon. But it's a Wednesday, so I'll be jammed packed with swimming lessons and—

Delilah Clark flashes across the back of my closed eyelids.

It's Wednesday . Her swim lesson day.

I feel my lips uptick at the corners at the thought of her… and then wince at the mental image of myself scrawling my mobile number across the bottom of the paper.

I don't know what I'd been thinking other than… than I'd had the ridiculous urge to offer her a helping hand.

That and obviously I couldn't pass up the opportunity to give someone as drop dead gorgeous as her my number. Heart shaped face, huge brown doe-like eyes, a tiny button nose and full lips – not that I looked for too long – curves with a nipped in waist, and a biteable arse. I'd have been stupid to not to take the chance – any chance – to see her again.

With the way she'd been trembling with nerves on the infirmary bed, I didn't have much faith I'd ever hear from Delilah.

Embarrassment had run hot through me at the idea I'd shot my shot… and lost it.

But then last Saturday rolled around and I found myself with her mobile number and a text staring back at me.

Delilah wanted swimming lessons. Not exactly a date but still, I'll take it to see her again.

" Y ou offer one-on-one services here, don't you?"

I resist the urge to scrub at the aching point between each of my eyebrows. If I've had this conversation once with this woman and her fingerful of twirling hair, I've had it a thousand times.Not only that, but she can swim! Not strongly, but still… she won't give up hope that I'll offer to teach her.

"Yes, we offer one-on-one swimming services here. You can request at the front desk and—"

"But every time I request, they tell me you're not available Mr Millen."

I stare back at her, unphased by the tiny bikini she wears. "I work with only a very select few. All of the other swim coaches here are fully first aid trained and extremely patient, so please go see the front desk and they can point you in the right direction."

"But… listen." The redhead in front of me tries for a different direction, sensing she's not getting very far.

She hasn't gotten very far in the past couple of weeks that she's actively tried to engage me in conversation.

"My name's Sienna and I really think—"

"You're needed, Millen."

Saved by my colleague. Thank fuck.

Peering over my shoulder, I give a nod of thanks to the lifeguard on duty, Monroe, for saving my arse. Behind him, I can see the wiggling line of children beginning to line up, not so patiently, beside the shallow baby pool railing.

I turn back around to the redheaded Sienna, dismissing her as politely as I can with one last sentence. "My next class is starting, so I've got to go, please see the front desk for any more help."

I don't watch to see if she goes, instead removing myself from the uncomfortable situation and heading towards my next class of pupils. For health and safety reasons we always have at least two swim teachers present in each class, so at least Miss Peters is already there to cover my back, seeing as how I was previously occupied – see: stuck – but I need to grab the children's small attention spans quickly before they wander off.

"Okay! Everybody look," I point to my own eyes, "and listen!" I tug at my earlobe, waiting patiently for the group to fall silent or as silent as twelve children, ranging from four to six years old, can be.

"Miss Peters is going to give each of you a colour. I need you all to listen!" Again, I tap the shell of my ear. "And to walk, remember, walk, to that coloured mat on the floor to find your team. One at a time. Okay?"

Just off to my left, Miss Peters, kitted out in her bright lifeguard attire, waves comically, grasping the children's attention. I see two of the smallest children glance nervously to the three different coloured spots on the floor and I make a mental note to keep an eye on both of them.

After the second child, the tallest boy in the class, has been given his colour and dutifully walks towards it, I nod, happy with the way the class is picking up today's instructions.

I glance down at the watch on my wrist, something, if I'm being completely honest with myself, I've been compulsively doing all day. Even more so than usual.

5:55 PM.

Delilah should be here any minute if she's still planning on turning up.

Delilah, the woman who I'm paid to teach how to swim. Delilah, the woman who I saved from almost drowning. Delilah, the woman who is seriously too attractive for her own good and someone I find myself wanting to—

Giving myself a mental shake, reminding myself where the hell I am, I leave the class of children in Miss Peters capable hands, unable to fight the urge to move, in a pitiful attempt to clear my mind. I tread past the empty viewing area, past the main swimming pool, which isn't too busy – two older gentlemen and a woman dot the space, each in their own lane, minding their own business – and head straight to the cupboard right at the back of the pool, where the floaties, pool noodles, and brightly coloured toys are typically kept.

The oversized clock above seems to mock me, ticking louder and louder until I finally just crane my neck to fucking look up at the thing.

5:58 PM.

Tucking three foam pool noodles under my arm, I leave a stack of floaters off to the side for later on, lock everything back up tight and begin to drag the net bag filled with rubber ducks and squawking chickens across the grooved floor back towards the excited sounding class—

From across the main swimming pool, I clock eyes on her.

Delilah.

She stands just as she had the first time I saw her over a week ago, clutching her starch white towel to her chest and torso, feet covered in those bright pink flip flops. Her hair is pinned up neater this time, and now I've seen those riotous curls sticking up from her bun, wet and floppy from the water, I wonder how on earth she manages to pile it all on top of her head so securely.

Delilah's eyes catch on mine, and I watch as a timid smile graces her lips.

But then her eyes move, quick as a dart, and I can see her staring at the small children waiting beside the pool. Even from across the other side of the airy space, I spot the way her mouth falls open, a red flush begins to crawl across her otherwise bare cheeks.

Delilah tears her gaze away to look at me, taking in the pool noodles beneath my arms and the bag of children's toys. She lifts her towel further up her body, and, hiding her gaze, turns on her heel to flee back up the tunnel.

I feel the pool noodles and toys slip from my grasp, landing wherever they may on the floor, while I run, ignoring every rule in my own book, and the safety book I'd practically learned by heart when training to become a lifeguard and swim teacher.

"Delilah!" I call, knowing if she reaches the women's changing room before I get to her, then I'll never get another chance to talk to her.

"Delilah! Wait!"

Maybe she stops because she's shocked I'm running after her, or maybe she stops because she can hear the urgency in my tone. But either way, I count my lucky stars when she halts in the corridor and peers back at me.

The quiet hum of the tunnel freaks me out a bit, reminding me of each time I'd briskly walked down one myself as a nervous swim competitor years ago, dressed in nothing but a tight pair of trunks, ready to await my fate. I repress a shiver at the memory.

"Delilah, what's wrong?" I say, unsure where I'm even going with this conversation, but at least she's still standing in front of me, waiting. I'm not breathless, but still, my heart pounds in my chest cavity.

"It's a children's class, Grey." Delilah speaks for the first time, much colder and distant than she had been back in the infirmary room, or over her text messages for that matter. She spits her words like I'll understand why a children's swimming class has made her turn on her heel and run away. "You said it was a swimming class, but—"

"It is a swimming class! It's—"

Delilah's features tighten further, her forefinger rubbing at her bottom lip. "I'm the only adult, Grey."

Her words are clear and over enunciated, as if that will make me see her point more.

"And?" I get the strangest impulse to smile, simply at the sight of her. I can feel my facial muscles twitching up into a real, genuine grin, but it's obvious something about the swimming lessons is bothering Delilah and I don't think it's exactly the right time to be smiling at her like an idiot.

"And?! And it's embarrassing! I didn't even want to be here in the first place, only to find… Do you know what?" She holds her palms up, towel slipping until it rests under her bust. "It doesn't matter. I'm leaving now and pretending none of this ever bloody happened!"

I'm opening my mouth before I can tell myself not to – impulsiveness, something I've always struggled with ever since I was a boy, and something I've still not quite got a grasp on. At least I stop myself from reaching out and catching one of her flailing hands, like my fingers itch to do.

"The swimming lessons here are offered to anyone, Delilah. It doesn't matter their age. We're here to teach anybody and everybody how to swim."

She still isn't convinced, I can see it, her eyes flicker back and forth across every inch of the tunnel, only just meeting my own.

"Please, Delilah," I say. "Why don't we just go take a seat in the viewing area and we can talk about why you're here?"

Delilah mutters something under her breath, but it's too quiet for me to hear and I'm not about to ask her to repeat it. Not when I can probably guess what she was muttering by the twist of her lips.

I carry on talking instead. "We don't have to get in the water today, there's seriously no pressure. We can gauge how you feel and—"

"All of those people will be looking."

"All of those people?" I repeat. "Delilah, it's mainly children, I don't think they really care if—"

"I didn't ask for the reminder, thank you very much."

God, she can cut a mean stare. I'm not a very big fan of being on the end of it, but there's a small part of me, the part that is causing my skin to grow a tad too warm, which perks up, interested. Intrigued.

"I just mean the kids won't be bothered and there's three people using the other pool facilities and I highly doubt they'll be bothered… but even if they are, what does it matter?" I shrug, all broad shoulders. "Everybody has to start somewhere."

Her chest rises as she inhales jaggedly, and then props her chin up to face me directly.Staring at me head on, unwilling to back down.

"I'm-I'm willing to sit down so we can… discuss how I'd like to proceed. Okay?"

"Okay," I agree, gesturing with my hand to the pool lying ahead of the tunnel. "After you."

With Delilah's back to me, I'm able to let free the grin I've been holding back and allow my eyes to rest on her bouncing backside.

This is unfamiliar territory for me. I see bodies day in, day out, even more so when I used to compete. I've always seen them as simply a vessel which keeps us alive and active and able to do the things we love, with the people we love.

Never have I before found myself crushing on somebody I'm teaching.

I've not crushed on anybody since I was in my late teens.

Yes, there've been pretty girls, who've made my heart race and my cock hard. I'd even thought I'd been in love once upon a time.

But this…

My teeth at the back ache to bite down on Delilah's soft flesh, but I can't. I know I can't.

But, God, do I want to.