Float

Original Edition: Chapter Twelve

Shit.

He saw me.

Abort mission.

Abort life.

Or, you know, I could play it cool. That always worked on television shows when the main character got caught in the middle of some shenanigans.

"H-hey, um... Blake," I said, tentatively placing one hand on my hip and trying to look casual. My other hand tightened in a death grip around my baggy T-shirt and shorts, which I now desperately wished were on my body rather than at my side. Was it just me, or had I started sweating like crazy?

Yeah. I was practically the definition of playing it cool.

"Hi Waverly," Blake said, cocking an eyebrow at me as if he wasn't sure whether I was hiding something from him or just being my weird self. "You ready?" 

He leaned down to snatch up the red Styrofoam board from beside his feet. I couldn't help but notice the way the muscles in his arms flexed. He looked so strong. Then again, weren't lifeguards supposed to be strong?

I realized I was staring and quickly averted my eyes from Blake's beautiful arms. Unfortunately, I decided to look up at his face. Our gazes locked, and I felt like my entire face had just been engulfed in flames. I was blushing like crazy. Then, so quickly I almost missed it, Blake's eyes dropped to my bikini.

And now my entire body felt like it was on fire. Thanks, Hamilton.

"You bought a new swimsuit."

It sounded more like a statement than a question, but I couldn't be sure.

"Um, yeah. How'd you know?"

The corner of Blake's mouth curled up.

"Because," he said, taking several steps towards me.

I swallowed hard, feeling as though my mouth had suddenly gone dry, and blinked up at him. He was so close that I could see the little scar above his left eyebrow again. I hadn't been close enough to see it since he first rescued me from an imaginary riptide at the beach. What was he doing?

Why was he so close?

Before I could comprehend what was happening, Blake's hand reached out for my waist.

My breath caught in my throat.

"You forgot to take the tag off."

And then, in one swift swipe, Blake snagged the small plastic tag that was still hanging from the string of my bikini top. It came off in his hand with a little pop.

"Oh," I said.

I felt relief wash over me. At least, I thought it was relief—but the way my stomach twisted, it almost felt like disappointment.

"Thanks," I said, my eyes dropping to the tag that Blake held in his outstretched hand, "I didn't even notice that was still on there!" I was talking way too quickly. Everything came out in one whoosh of breath.

"No problem," Blake said.

"I just bought this bikini an hour or two ago. Lena and I got bored talking about Jesse. Did you know he dyed her pants purple? Oh, wait. She told you. And you saw them, of course. I almost forgot about that. Wasn't that a terrible thing for Jesse to do? He should know not to mess with a woman's pants. I just hope he watches out. Lena's going to murder him in his sleep one of these days. Or, you know, hit him over the head with a baguette. She's still an advocate for number fifty-one, and—"

I stopped abruptly when I realized how stupid I sounded.

Oh my God. Why did I always do this around Blake?