Page 101 of All of You

We roll onto the floor. I take both her hands in mine while skating backward and pulling her along. Her feet are spread wide, and her knees are weirdly bent making her look like she’s halfway between a crouch and sitting.

“Slow down,” she whines. But she’s still smiling. “He didn’t say anything. He didn’t do anything. Not everyone has to be friends,” she says.

I shake my head. “You waved. Said please and thank you and he didn’t reciprocate any of that politeness back. It was rude.”

She shrugs. “Maybe. But I didn’t—don’t—care. So, you shouldn’t either.”

I tug her until she collides with my chest. We bump into the rail and stop. “Not good enough. You deserve better than that.”

Delia leans forward and brushes her lips against mine. “I didn’t take you for the possessive, over-protective boyfriend.”

My hands slide down her sides and clamp onto her waist. I’m about to speak when the referee person or whatever they’re supposed to be, skates up to us. “Keep moving. If you wanna make out—take it off the rink.”

Delia blushes. A deep crimson tinges her cheeks, and she presses her lips together. I grab her hand, push off the rail tugging her with me. She squeals, one arm windmilling for balance and I can’t help but laugh. She pulls her hand from me as I look over my shoulder at her.

“Hey, you’re doing it!”

She beams at me, standing a little straighter. Delia stays near the handrail as we make our way around the rink. The music blasts and the black lights make our teeth and little spots of lint on our clothes glow. I can’t tear my eyes from her. She reaches out—I think for me—I reach my hand out and then the breath is knocked out of me and I’m on my ass onthe floor confused. She grabs the railing and yanks herself to a stop next to me. A little kid dusts off his knees while standing back up. He looks completely stunned and slightly embarrassed.

“Are you okay?” The kid nods to her and skates off.

“I tried to point that kid to you,” she says to me.

Her face is red, and her shoulders shake silently as I sit on the ground. And then she erupts in laughter.

“You should have seen that kid’s face. Oh my God, Langdon you basically folded over him while maintaining eye contact. You should have seen your face when you hit him.”

She’s heaving with giggles. It takes me a minute to fully comprehend that I’ve just thoroughly embarrassed myself, gone head over ass over a small child. I gather myself and stand before I let myself laugh too.

“I thought you were reaching out for me,” I laugh.

Her eyes widen before she cracks up even harder.

Fifty

Delia

Swim season is officially brutal. The team, the coach is way more hardcore than my last swim team and I’m feeling it in every ragged breath I heave while swimming, in every muscle in my body.

Wet ice splatters against the window as we drive. The evening is bright but wet. Flurries of wind send up splatters of slush from the pavement and the road. Besides this team being more competitive and better trained than I’m used to, there’s the diving team.

There’s freaking Langdon in an itty-bitty speedo at the deep end of the pool doing complicated dives, contorting his body into positions I didn’t think possible. He’s beautiful and glorious and God-like. Wet, basically naked, all sinewy muscles on display. He’s a serious distraction and Coachknows it.

“What do you do in the locker room that takes so long?” Langdon asks.

I look over at him as he drives me home. “Huh? What do you mean? I was super speedy today.”

“Practice was out at seven. You were out at seven-thirty,” he says. But not in a mean way. He’s being playful.

I blow out a breath. “Ugh, Coach made me do an extra hundred tonight.”

“What? Why?” he asks.

I bite my lower lip and stare out my window a beat. “Well, he said I was, uh, distracted and needed to focus.”

Langdon gapes at me. Mouth hanging open in disbelief. “That’s BS.”

It’s sweet that he automatically defends me. That he thinks of me as dedicated and hardworking.