I roll my shoulders and then circle my arms to loosen them up. What the hell am I doing? It’s not like I’ve kept up with swimming. Sam pushes off from the dock, turns the boat with the oars so the bow is facing the far shore, and waits for me to dive in. I stand at the edge of the dock watching him, his bare feet propped on the bench in front of him. I look at the water in front of me, then back at him. I’m not sure if it’s déjà vu that hits me or the weight of standing in this very spot while Sam drifts in that very boat, but my hands are shaking.
“How old are we?” I call out. It takes him a moment to respond.
“Fifteen?”
I study the rocky beach at the other side of the lake. Adrenaline surges under my skin. I take a deep breath through my nose, then dive in. A sob vibrates through me as I swim under the cool water. If I’m crying when I surface, I have no idea, and I start swimming slowly.
I can see the edge of the boat when I tilt my head for air, and I try to concentrate on how Sam is back beside me and not all the years he wasn’t. It doesn’t take long before my shoulders are tight with knots and my legs begin to burn, but I keep kicking and slicing my arms through the water.
I’m in a mindless rhythm when a cramp seizes my big toe. I slow down and try curling it up to ease the muscle, but an agonizing pain shoots up my calf. I try to keep kicking but the spasm gets worse, and I have to stop swimming. I grit my teeth trying to tread water and yelp when the cramp doesn’t release. I can barely hear Sam shouting until I see the side of the boat right next to me.
“Are you okay?” He looks panicked. I shake my head, and then I feel his hands under my armpits, hauling me out of the water. My stomach scrapes on the side of the boat as he pulls me in, hands at my waist and then under my butt. I fall on top of him in a sopping pile of limbs.
I’m lying with my head on his bare chest, trying to catch my breath. The pain subsides if I stay still, but when I wiggle my toe, it shoots through my leg again, and I hiss.
Only then am I aware of Sam’s hands, which tighten on my hips. I’m fully pressed to him, my forehead, my nose, my chest, my stomach—all I want to do is run my tongue across his warm chest and roll my hips against his jeans to relieve what’s happening between my thighs. It’s totally inappropriate, considering the amount of pain I’m in.
“You okay, Percy?” His voice is strained.
“Cramp,” I breathe into his chest. “In my toe and calf. Hurts to move.”
“Which leg?”
“Left.” I feel Sam’s hand move down my thigh to my calf to the muscle. Goose bumps radiate from under his fingers, and a shudder runs through me. He pauses for a second, and I lift my head to look at him. His eyes are dark and unblinking.
“Sorry,” I whisper. He shakes his head so slightly it’s almost imperceptible.
“It helps to relax the muscle,” he says and wraps his whole hand over my calf, applying pressure, then moving in slow circles, kneading gently. My heart is beating so fiercely I wonder if he can feel it, too. I shut my eyes and involuntarily squeeze my thighs together. He must feel the movement because his left hand increases its grip on my hip. I can feel his breath on my forehead.
“Better?” The question comes out in a rasp. I shift my leg slightly, and it does feel better.
“Yeah.” I push myself up, but now I’m straddling him awkwardly on the floor of the boat. His chest is slick with the water. I start brushing it off, but he puts his hand around my wrist. He’s looking up at me, eyelids heavy.
“You’re trouble,” he says, echoing my words from earlier. The air between us pulls tight like a rubber band. I take a deep breath, and Sam’s gaze follows the rise of my chest, and yep, my nipples are obscene under my top. To be fair, I’m cold and wet.
Sam swallows and meets my eyes again. I’ve seen this look from him before, stormy and focused and completely consuming, like I could fall into his eyes and never get out. His fingers move slightly at the back of my hip, just under the edge of my bathing suit. His other hand runs up and down the back of my thigh. What is happening?
Taylor, I think. Sam has Taylor. Sam’s hand leaves my thigh and he rubs his thumb over the creases between my eyes, smoothing out the frown lines, then runs it down over my cheek, cupping my face.
“You’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known,” he says, and it sounds like coarse sandpaper. I blink at him. His words are confusing and wonderful, and I feel a little high and a lot turned on. But I know we shouldn’t be doing this. I shouldn’t want this. He traces my lips with his thumb, and the fingers of his other hand dig more deeply into the flesh at the back of my hip.