“No, Dad, I’m not doing that,” I said.
“Brooke, come on,” he begged, but I shook my head. I would not be responsible for his injury.
“Hi, Brooke,” Ms. Manning said, approaching us.
“Hi,” I replied, and giggled.
She ignored it, and Dad shot me a look. I shrugged. “You’ve got another set.”
Dad completed his curls as he talked to “Johanna.” She was “Johanna” now, and I wondered what she’d say or do if I called her by her first name. It was obvious Dad was trying to impress her, lifting his weights and contracting his biceps for all it was worth. I snickered.
Clearly, they were attracted to each other, and while their whole show of outward affection was embarrassing, I couldn’t help feeling a little proud. I talked up my dad incessantly to Ms. Manning, but I didn’t think she heard a word of it. Still, it wasn’t all me. Somehow, be it curiosity or craziness, Dad found the courage to go to her classroom and talk to her.
I spotted Kaylen hanging around the outskirts of the weight room and excused myself, making a beeline for her. I didn’t know Ryan’s family were members at the Y.
“Hey,” I said, and she grinned at me.
“I cannot believe you’re dating my brother!” she squealed. No “hello” back; just right into it.
“Why’s that?” I asked.
“Because he’s my brother! Totally gross.” Kaylen scrunched her nose at the idea.
I rolled my eyes. “Are you guys members here?”
“Yeah.”
“You came for Family Night?”
“Duh.”
I exhaled. “So your brother’s here?”
“Gross. And yes he is. He’s in the pool.”
“The pool?” I had to catch my breath.
“Yes, Brooke. The pool.”
“Thank you, Kaylen,” I said sweetly, and made my way to the opposite end of the building.
Ryan was in the far lane, and oh my God, he didn’t have a shirt on. Obviously. In all our make-out sessions, I had not once seen him shirtless. Yes, I ran my hands over his arms and chest from time to time, but there’s a big different between feeling and seeing.
He was in the middle of a swim stroke. I don’t know the name. He was bobbing in and out of the water, arms circling overhead. He stopped at the end of the lane on the far side of the pool and pulled himself up onto the ledge.
Dear God in heaven.
He was beautiful. I thought it was unfair how beautiful he was. Why does God do that? Make some people so beautiful that it almost hurts to look at them? Meanwhile the rest of us look like a bunch of frumps in comparison. I studied my workout clothes. I actually wore a cute outfit, and I thought I looked okay, but when I gazed at Ryan, watching the water stream, curving this way and that over his taut muscles, I instantly felt ugly. I wanted to leave, but I couldn’t take my eyes off his chest. I wanted to be crushed underneath of it. And I didn’t want him to dry off first before he crushed me.
My feet moved instinctively, and before I knew it, I was standing over him.
“Well, if I would have known you were coming, I’d have brought my bikini,” I said.
He looked up sharply, staring at me as though he’d been caught. And then his face relaxed.
“Hey, Brooke,” he said.
“Wow. Goggles and a cap and everything,” I said. “You’re hardcore.”
“I guess,” he replied, holding the swim accessories in his hand.
“So what was that last stroke you were doing?”
He stood up and walked over to a bench to grab his towel.
“The butterfly stroke,” he said.
“It looks hard,” I replied, watching him dry off his arms. Now I understood the arms. No wood chopping. Swimming instead.
“Not my favorite.” He wrapped the towel around his waist.
“Do you swim a lot?”
He nodded.
“How come you don’t swim for the school?” I asked. Not that I particularly wanted him to be a part of our swim team.
He smirked. “You’re full of questions, aren’t you?”
“Just curious, is all.”
“Well, you know what happened to the cat,” he teased.
“Lame,” I replied, rolling my eyes, and he laughed.
“I swim for fun. I don’t swim to compete. I just do it for me,” Ryan said.
“But you look so good at it,” I said. “I mean, not that I know the first thing about swimming, but you looked really good. Good enough to eat. I mean compete! Good enough to compete!” I stared at his chest.
“Oh, Brooklyn,” Ryan said, grinning and shaking his head. He knew what I wanted and decided to be generous. He wrapped me in his arms and held me close against his naked chest. It wasn’t Y appropriate, and I didn’t care. I refrained from kissing his pecs, however. I had some class.