“I’m going to need you to face the other direction before I do that,” he called back, still shielding himself.
“And if I don’t?” I swam closer.
“C’mon, Percy. Do me a favor.” He looked truly pained, which served him right for subjecting me to his workout routine. But inside I was ecstatic. I paddled out to give him space while he jumped in. We were about six feet apart, treading water, and staring at each other.
“I’m sorry,” he said, moving a bit closer. “It’s just my body’s reaction.”
Body’s reaction?
“Got it,” I said, more than a little deflated. “Half-naked chick equals erection. Basic biology.”
After our swim, Sam turned away when I climbed onto the dock. I lay on my back, letting the sun dry me off, my hands forming a cushion behind my head. Sam spread out beside me in the same position, his shorts sopping wet.
I slanted my head toward him, and said, “I think I should keep a bathing suit here for next time.”
* * *
I LEFT ONE of my bikinis at the Floreks’， along with an extra towel, so I could jump into the lake as soon as we returned from the torture Sam called running. He swore I would grow to love it, but by the end of our second week, the only thing I had grown was a sprinkling of freckles across my nose and chest.
We had just got back from a sluggish 5K, and I had grabbed my suit off the line, waved to Sue, who was weeding the garden, and popped inside to the bathroom to change while Sam did the same in his room. I tugged off my sweaty gear and tied on the string bikini Mom had finally okayed, yellow with white daisies, then headed to the kitchen to wait for Sam. I was gulping down a glass of water at the sink when someone cleared their throat behind me.
“Good morning, sunshine!” Charlie was leaning against the doorway wearing sweatpants and no shirt, his standard uniform. Not that I minded. Charlie was ripped for a seventeen-year-old.
“It’s not even nine a.m.,” I panted, still out of breath. “What are you doing up?”
“Good question,” Sam said, coming into the kitchen. He took the glass from my hands and refilled it. While Sam drank, Charlie looked me up and down without shame, lingering on my chest. When his gaze reached my face again, his brows drew together over his green eyes.
“You look like a tomato, Pers,” he said, then turned to Sam. “Why do you keep forcing your cardio on her? Bad hearts run in our family, not hers.” Sam pushed his hair back.
“I’m not forcing her. Am I, Percy?” He looked at me for backup, and I cringed.
“No . . . technically, you’re not forcing me . . .” I drifted off when Sam’s expression crumpled.
“But you don’t like it,” Charlie finished, eyes narrowed at me.
“I like how it feels afterward, when it’s over,” I said, trying to find something positive to say. Charlie grabbed an apple from the fruit basket on the kitchen table and took a big bite.
“You should try swimming, Pers,” he said, his mouth full.
“We swim every day,” Sam said in the monotone he reserved for when his brother annoyed him.
“No, like real distance swimming. Across the lake,” Charlie clarified. Sam looked over at me, and I tried not to look too excited. I couldn’t count the number of times I’d stared at the far shore and wondered whether I could ever make it across. It sounded awesome.
“That sounds interesting,” I said.
“I can help you train if you want,” Charlie offered. But before I could respond, Sam cut in: “No, we’re good.”
Charlie looked me over again, slowly. “You’ll need a different bathing suit.”
* * *
TRAINING FOR SWIMMING was way more fun than running. It was also a lot harder than I thought it would be. Sam collected me from the cottage every morning after his run, and we’d walk back to his place together so he could change into his suit. We devised a warm-up routine, involving a series of stretches on the dock and laps to and from the raft. Sometimes Sam swam beside me, giving pointers on my form, but usually he bobbed on a pool noodle.
Charlie had been right about the bathing suit, too. During my first warm-up, I had to keep adjusting the top to keep everything from falling out. That afternoon, Sam drove us in the little boat to the town dock and we walked to Stedmans. It was half general store, half dollar store, and it had a little bit of everything, but there was no guarantee they’d have what you were looking for.
As luck would have it, there was a rack of women’s suits right at the front. Some had those old-lady skirts attached to them, but there was also a handful of plain one-pieces in cherry red. Practical, cheap, and cute enough: the perfect Stedmans find. Sam found a pair of swim goggles in the sporting section, and I paid for both with one of Dad’s fifties. We spent the change on ice creams at the Dairy Bar—Moose Tracks for Sam and cotton candy for me—and walked back to the dock, taking a seat on a bench by the water to finish the cones. We were looking over the lake quietly when Sam leaned over and circled his tongue around the top of my cone where it was melting in rivulets of pink and blue.