His eyebrows shoot behind his hair. “I can’t?”
“You. Can’t.”
Oz stoops and before I can ask what he’s doing, his shoulder connects with my stomach and then I’m off the ground. A squeal leaves my mouth and my hair dangles over my face. I kick and Oz wraps both of his arms over my legs and locks them to him.
“Put me down!” I yell.
Oz’s response is to walk off the dock onto the grass, and he stalks around the edge of the lake toward the rope.
“I mean it! Put me down!”
He moves swiftly. Stealthily. As if my weight was nothing more than a helium balloon.
“You’ll have to put me down in order for me to grab on to the rope and I won’t do it! This is stupid.”
“You won’t have to,” Oz says. Some of the pressure releases from my legs and I wiggle for escape, but he still has a firm grip on me. “Because I’ll hold it for you.”
In less than a second, I slip down. My chest sliding against his until I’m face-to-face, nose-to-nose, lips near lips with Oz. His arm snakes around my waist and his strong hold squeezes us closer together until there’s no space left. I become aware. Very aware, and this awareness creates a warm tingle in my lower belly.
“Let me go,” I whisper, but there’s absolutely no conviction in my voice.
“I wish I could,” he mumbles. “But for some reason I can’t.”
Both of our chests rise and fall and my fingers curl into the hair near the base of his neck. My mouth dries out and I swear my blood vibrates with the beat of my heart.
The thick twined rope is by my head and Oz fists the cord in his hand. “If you don’t want to do this, tell me and I’ll let you go. I’m an asshole, but I’m not that bad of a person.”
“Will we leave after?” My eyes frantically search his face. “As soon as we jump into the water can we leave?”
Oz’s forehead wrinkles. “You’re not scared of the rope, are you?”
I shake my head and try to swallow the large lump forming in my throat.
“What are you scared of?” Oz glides his thumb across the bare skin of my back. The same type of caress he gave me weeks ago when he was trying to comfort me at the motel. Goose bumps spread rapidly along my arms and it’s a pleasurable sensation.
You. “Tell me what to do.”
“Emily—”
“Tell me what to do!”
“Hold on to me and when I tell you, you let go.”
I nod while wrapping my arms around his neck. I’ve accomplished this feat before—jumping from a rope swing—but I’ve never done it with another person. I could inform Oz of this. I could tell him I’m brave enough to do this on my own, but I like how my body presses to his. I like too much how his arm holds me tight.
Oz nuzzles my hair and his warm breath tickles the skin behind my ear. My knees weaken and I lean completely into him.
With a push off the ground, wind blows through my hair as the two of us defy gravity. My stomach performs summersaults as we coast up into the air, dip down and then swing high over the grass. We repeat the loop, three times. Each swing causing us to go higher in the air.
“On this one,” Oz says. “When we’re over the water—jump.”
The trees blur into green as we race past, then there is sparkling blue.
“Jump!” Oz shouts.
I do. Releasing Oz. Falling backward. Letting my arms and legs stretch. The sun blinds me, the air warm on my back and then cold. A splash and the muffling sound of my ears filling with water. Pain slams into my leg and a cry leaves my throat.
My body convulses with the intake of water into my mouth, my nose. My hair spreads around me, strangling me, and my lungs burn for oxygen. My feet immediately kick for the surface. Fast. But not fast enough. I need air. Need air. I break through the water and my gasp is audible. The coughs rack my body.
“Emily!”
My head snaps to the right and with perfect form, Oz swims to me. I wipe the water from my eyes as I choke. Oz sweeps an arm around my waist and draws me into him. “Are you okay?”
I cough repeatedly, the spasms rocking my body. My arms go for Oz’s neck, but he ducks and turns me, supporting my back with his chest. His fingers splay over my stomach and he tips me so that my body is floating and my head rests on his shoulder.
The coughs keep coming and Oz is talking. Low. Softly. Words that I cling to like a life preserver about how everything is okay. I suck in my first real breath and the clean intake of air feels good. A few more breaths and I flinch with the throb on my shin. I lift my leg out of the water and a stream of blood flows like an oil slick.
Oz shifts so that he’s facing me. His eyes are wide. Wild even. “Shit. How bad is it?”
I blink, several times. “I don’t know.”
“Can you swim?”
“Yes.” But I don’t move. Instead, I sort of lock up as Oz treads water for both of us.