Not Yet (4 page)

My favorite part of the job as a lifeguard had always
been teaching swimming lessons. I spent an entire summer when I was
nine years old teaching my sister, Evie, to swim. She was twelve at
the time, and we went to the tiny concrete pool in our apartment
complex every afternoon that summer. It took me about two hours a
day, every day, for over a month, but she finally did it. She could
swim a lap and tread water. She was so proud of herself when she
passed the swim test and was able to use the diving board. She
never seemed to resent her younger sister being the one to teach
her. She was merely happy to feel safe and comfortable in the
water—just like the other kids. Since then, I’d taught swim lessons
to people of all ages.

I was working with a group of four year olds in the
shallow end of the pool while Landon guarded in a nearby chair. We
practiced kicking, blowing bubbles, floating on our backs, and
jumping in—all the basics. They were so scared, so excited, and so
unbelievably cute.

I couldn’t help but feel their joy as I laughed along
with them and experienced the first time learning to swim through
their eyes. I hugged each one after the lesson and took time to
tell their parents what they had excelled in that day. The look of
pride on those tiny faces warmed my otherwise tepid heart.

After the lesson, Landon tapped me on the shoulder
before switching guard chairs with me. “Hey—I loved watching you
with them. You should laugh more. It’s really a beautiful thing,
Em.”

I nodded and looked away. I didn’t want him to see
how much I liked it that he noticed something about me—that he
noticed me at all. I physically tried not to smile and laugh in
public. If I felt a smile coming on, because maybe a baby cooed at
me, or something ridiculously cute like that, I would remind myself
to not react. Not to show emotion—especially positive ones. I knew
that was crazy, possibly bordering on psychotic, but I never wanted
to open up to anyone. No one could know how vulnerable I really was
inside.

And if I acted like a bitch, everyone would stay away
from me. People let me down more often than not, so it wasn’t worth
the time or effort. Just ask
Bitter
.

I hated to admit it, but I also loved that he called
me ‘Em’. It sounded irresistible coming from him and I had never
had a nickname before. No one had ever really cared, or knew me
well enough, to make one. Maybe there was more to him than I
thought?

Or maybe not. From my spot in the guard chair later
that day, I saw the bleached blond girls dressed in tiny sundresses
approach Landon from the parking lot. Technically, he was on break,
but those girls weren’t members. They giggled, throwing their arms
around him to kiss his cheeks and hug him.

He was an inveterate flirt. He whispered in their
ears, rubbed their backs, and laughed along with them, paying just
enough attention to each girl to make her think she was the one in
the group that had his eye. I forced my attention back to the
water, hating that I was bothered by his flirtations. Landon was an
arrogant jerk—why did I care what or who, to be more accurate, he
did in his free time?

When my rotation in the chair was over, I caught
Landon’s eye and motioned him to come over. Landon waved goodbye to
his girlfriends and approached me with a cocky grin. “Emma? What
can I do for you?”

Exhaling loudly, I looked to the heavens above,
begging for patience. “Well, Landon, you could start by not
allowing your non-member girlfriends to come to your place of work.
How about that? All I need is the club’s General Manager on my ass
because the parking lot has become the Landon Washington groupie
meeting place.” I whipped around, storming toward the pump room,
which was attached to the back of the guard house. I needed to
check on the system, but, really, I needed a minute to gather
myself.

Once again, I found my self-control slipping around
Landon. Letting him know I was irritated watching him flirt with
those girls was going to be a problem. I had to get my shit
straight.

Landon followed me into the pump room and shut the
door behind us. I turned and found him leaning against the wall,
baseball cap turned backwards, bare-chested, and smelling of
sunscreen. Why did he have to be so… Tall? Built? Handsome?
Naturally yummy smelling?
Ugh
. I was painfully aware of how
close these quarters were.

“What do you want?” I turned back to the pump to log
the water flow numbers.

He took a step closer. Still behind me, but he placed
his hands against the wall on either side of my body. I was caged
in, without being touched at all. My eyes closed involuntarily, and
I relished the feeling of his body heat. I inhaled loudly through
my nose. The goal was to sound annoyed. Really I was breathing him
in and loving every single second of it.

“I get it. I know I’m out of your league.” My eyes
popped open. Out of MY league? WTF? Although he may have been, or
okay absolutely was, the hottest guy I had ever been this close to,
I was just as sure he was also one of the biggest jackasses. I saw
how he acted around girls. He was not one of the good guys.

“So, I don’t hold out any hope you will go out with
me. But flirting really is harmless, darlin’. It seems to make you
angry when I flirt with you or anyone else. I don’t know what guy
has hurt you this badly, but don’t punish the rest of us.”

Landon took a stray piece of my hair and carefully
tucked it behind my ear as he spoke. I held my breath. Just that
small amount of contact had my mind spinning. What would happen if
I turned around and shifted so our lips were closer together? Would
he kiss me? Would I like it? I sighed. It was hard to be so close
to him.

“Flirting isn’t the end of the world. It’s not
serious. Let go a little.” As he said the last words, he leaned
even closer to my back. I tensed as he kissed my cheek lightly.
Then he turned around and left without another word.

Taking a deep breath, I realized I was shaking. All
over. Whether it was from his perfect analysis of my issues,
without knowing me at all, or my wanting him to press harder
against me in the small hot room, I wasn’t sure. I only knew that
none of that was going to happen. I wouldn’t let it.

***

A FEW DAYS later, I walked into the club gym to
find Landon running on the treadmill. He was listening to music on
his iPod and his sweat-soaked shirt clung to his chest as he ran at
a fast clip. I gave a half-wave, and he nodded back, focused on his
workout.

Hopping on the elliptical, I placed my buds in my
ears as I started to move. Soon, I was out of breath, with sweat
pouring down my neck and chest. Landon shut down his treadmill,
peeled off his shirt, and dried himself with a towel. He settled
down on a mat to begin abdominal crunches, and I decided to join
him.

I stepped off my machine, chugging water from my
bottle, before sitting on the mat next to his. “What’s the
twenty-five stand for?” I looked over at his chest and began
crunching as well.

He tapped at the number and winked at me with
amusement. “Football number from high school. I was the wide
receiver on our team. It’s not really a wide receiver’s number, but
it was my Dad’s when he played, so it’s kinda tradition. Anyway, we
went to State’s every year. I play for IU now. Not starting or
anything, but hopefully one day….”

My eyes glazed over in boredom as he droned on. Why
exactly was football so important to guys?

Landon chuckled at my ambivalence about the
all-American pastime. “You don’t like football?”

“Well, we don’t watch it at my house and I guess I
just don’t get what the big deal is?” I began to mirror his
abdominal exercises, now working on side crunches.

“Football’s tough, Emma. You have to be in incredible
shape and have a quick mind to be successful. It’s a big
commitment, physically and emotionally, and I’m proud of the work I
put into it. Playing for IU has been a lifelong dream for me. I
spent a lot of time training for that opportunity.” I looked away
from him, feeling embarrassed. I sounded rude, but his response was
level and confident. He defended his sport, but he wasn’t angry at
me like I would have expected.

“Do you work out here most mornings?” I asked, hoping
to change the subject, while watching Landon move on to another
exercise. He adjusted my legs to help me maintain proper form as we
reached for our raised feet.

“Yeah, I like to get an early morning workout. We’re
required to train all summer to stay in shape. I’d love a training
partner, if you’re up for it. It’s much more fun when you’re not
alone. Whaddya say, short stuff?”

“Really? I guess I could do that... I’ve always been
more of a swimmer, so I’m not sure I even know how to use some of
this equipment… But I’d like to learn.” His offer was sweet and not
at all what I would expect from a college jock. If he had asked me
last week, I would have never considered it. But what he said to me
in the pump room hit me hard. I needed to stop pushing everyone
away. I
wanted
to stop pushing everyone away. I had finally
reached the point of surrender with my life.
Bitter
was
waving a white flag this time. I was tired of always feeling
angry.

“I would love to teach you. Seriously, it’ll be fun.”
Landon stretched out on his mat and grinned again.

“Okay. Sounds good.” We both flipped over into plank
position as we continued talking.

“Meet me here this time tomorrow? It gives us just
enough time to grab a shower before the pool opens.” Landon held
out his hand to help me up and I wondered what exactly I was
getting myself into.

We met the next morning to work out. Landon knew a
lot about muscle training and development. I learned the best ways
to work my biceps, shoulders, triceps, and the dreaded obliques. He
was right; it was more fun having someone to talk to when working
out.

After that, we decided to meet each morning before
work. As the week went on, it shocked me how relaxed I felt around
him. I was having fun for the first time in months. Maybe even in
years. Ashley would have been impressed.

He was growing on me, and he was an encouraging and
patient teacher. I enjoyed learning from him and watching his focus
when working out. The hardest part was keeping the drool from
running out of my mouth when he did his chest presses or ran on the
treadmill.

And I wasn’t the only one appreciating him. Each day
I watched the teenage country club girls continue to flirt with him
mercilessly. He was often given phone numbers, and on his break, he
was constantly texting, or more likely, sexting.

I wasn’t sure why it got to me, but it did. One
little teeny bopper in particular would follow him around all day,
every day. She tried to come with us into the guard house and,
finally, I had enough.