“What the hell? Oh, you are so dead!” she shouts, brushing her drenched locks from her eyes and mouth. Once she can see, she tries to wade over to catch me, and I quickly move away, still laughing hysterically. We’re in a slow motion ballet, running in liquid quicksand, trying to predict the other’s plan of attack. Animated eyes lit with delight, Ally goes right just as I jump out of her path. She jukes left, and I catch her around the waist in a spin move, placing my front to her back. Then my fingers are sliding over her ribs sheathed only by thin, wet cotton.
So many opportunities. So many alternatives. But I go with Option A. The only option that I truly deserve to have.
I tickle her.
I tickle Ally until she begs for mercy, until tears sprout at her eyes and her throat grows hoarse. I tickle her just to hear the sound of her laughter and the endearing little snorting sounds she makes between gulps of air.
I tickle her just have her in my arms.
“No fair! You’re a much better swimmer than me! Off me, Ryan Lochte! Or I’ll pull down your banana hammock!”
“Do you surrender?” I ask, going for the ticklish spot under her arms. She screams and thrashes like a beautiful, wounded animal.
“Never!”
“Fine by me.” I really let her have it, and she throws her head back on my shoulder in hysteric exhaustion. “Give it up, Ally. I win! Just admit defeat, and I’ll stop!”
“No! I’ll just pee down your leg!”
I shake my head at her crudeness and move down to tickle her stomach. I’m a sick puppy. The prospect of this girl pissing on me from laughing so hard isn’t totally revolting. It’s funny as hell.
“Ok, ok! Not there! I give up! Uncle!” she screeches. We’re both out of breath and panting. A sheen of sweat covers my forehead.
“Ah, so you’re the most ticklish on your stomach. That’s your kryptonite.”
“Don’t you dare tell anyone. Or use it against me!”
I’ve stopped tickling her, but I haven’t let her go. She looks down, and I know what she sees: my arms wrapped tightly around her torso. I release her and take a step back.
“You’re scary when you’re mad.” She turns around and a soft, thoughtful smile kisses her lips. “Well, when you’re pretending to be mad.”
I run a hand through my wet hair, sending droplets flying. “Yeah. My mom made me take drama one semester in high school. She always wanted me to be a movie star. Said I had the look.”
“Well…she’s on to something.”
There she goes again. Subtly complimenting me and making me blush like a prepubescent fangirl. I hate it. I love it. I don’t know what to make of it. I’m embarrassed by my reaction to her. Hell, I’m embarrassed by my mental ramblings.
I look away towards the edge of the pool, just to give my brain something else to focus on. “Well, we should probably get out and dry off. I was serious before. I don’t want you getting sick.”
“Fine, fine,” she sighs. “You’re lucky I’m too cold to feel my toes. I was about to kick your ass.”
We climb out of the pool, and the cold night air instantly covers us like a frozen Snuggi. Ally shivers, and her teeth chatter violently. I jog over to the lounge chairs where I left her sweater, and drape it over her shoulders. But somehow, as I smooth the fabric over her freezing, wet skin, she curls into my chest and under my arm, burying her face just a breath away from my nipple. I awkwardly freeze where I stand, arm still jutted out to the side to avoid holding her close. To avoid what instinct and emotion are begging me to do. f*ck
.
“Oh…God…so…cold.” Trembles wrack her small frame, and I reluctantly let my arm surround her to keep her upright. She’s cold, yet something about her is inexplicably warm.
“Come on. Let’s get in the house.”
Now, a rational, thinking man would’ve ushered her into the main house. It’s closer, and that’s where all her dry clothes are. She’s cold, and warmth and comfort are only a few feet away. But the rational, thinking part of me was deprived of precious oxygen and blood-flow the moment I felt her soft, porcelain skin against mine, and her warm breath tickling my chest.
That’s why I took the extra steps to my house, away from prying eyes and the prospect of saying goodnight. I wasn’t done with her yet. I couldn’t have her, yet I still wasn’t done.
“Here, let me get you some towels.” I release her from my arms and power walk to the linen closet to get fresh towels. I even grab a soft, flannel throw. When I return, Ally is standing in the kitchen, still shivering. I wrap her with two giant, oversized towels and put the throw around her, winding it around her body and creating the cutest, sexiest burrito.
Lame.
I wipe the water from my body with my own towel, then put on a kettle for tea. Then I excuse myself to change. As I’m slipping on my sweatpants, I spy some old sweats that have grown too small, stuffed in the back of my closet. What the hell…what else do I have to lose?
“I brought you some dry clothes,” I say reentering the kitchen. Ally’s managed to unravel herself enough to sit on a stool at the breakfast bar. “Just some old, ratty sweats I can’t fit in. You don’t have to wear them if you don’t-”
“Thanks!” she says, jumping down off her stool and snatching the clothes. “Your bathroom…?”