Page 21

Chapter

Twenty-One

Grace

Grace woke to an empty bed. How she didn’t hear André get up and get ready was beyond her—she’d slept like a rock. I like to watch you sleep.

She shivered and threw her legs over the side of the bed, the night before flooding her head like she’d just reached out and turned on the tap. Cool air hit her legs, and she looked down, her eyes widening. Hadn’t she worn pants to bed? She scanned the floor—nothing—then threw back the sheets to find them wadded up near the bottom of the mattress. Had she kicked them off while she slept? Had André noticed?

Grace pressed her palms to her cheeks. She felt normal. Better than normal. Well-rested. Relaxed. That wouldn’t be possible if he’d slipped something in her food, right?

She tapped her phone and blinked. Nine thirty? How had she slept until nine thirty? Shit. She stalked to the bathroom. She was supposed to be down at the restaurant at ten, which did not leave time for more than a quick rinse. Though, it wasn’t like she was going to wash her hair before going to a water park anyway. Not that she planned to get it wet.

Rides weren’t exactly her thing. She’d read enough stories of people losing limbs or being decapitated on water slides, she hadn’t gone on one since she was sixteen.

The bathroom smelled like steam and citrus shampoo. Apparently André had showered before leaving for practice. Where he was only going to get sweaty. Why would he need to do that?

Her stomach tightened as she stripped off her underwear, tank top, and bra. She hated sleeping in her bra, but she wasn’t going to free-boob it in the same bed as André. Especially not after what happened last night.

The heat of him, his breath on her neck. The way his thigh pressed between hers, the weight of him as he shifted above her.

He’d been hard. Fully.

She hadn’t moved until he did. She hadn’t dared to. Because his percentage estimate had been way off. Last night it had been closer to ninety-ten.

Grace hopped in the shower. None of this made any sense. She should have shut down last night. From the first moment she met André, she’d known he was trouble, but why was her body not locking up around him anymore?

She chewed on that as she rinsed. Troy made her feel like she’d been living with the lights dimmed her whole life, but his behaviour hadn’t lined up with his words. He touted commitment and loyalty, but then he’d close down investments before his contract was up or find loopholes to shut down the purchase of an investment property after signing.

André’s actions didn’t line up with his words either, but in an opposite way. He played the part of a Troy Bowen, but then he picked his friends up and drove them to Edmonton, started charity games for his brother, and brought people tacos.

Why? For Troy the game was obvious. He wanted everyone to see him as a kind, compassionate man, hiding away his borderline narcissism. Why would André want people to make negative assumptions?

Grace finished washing, that image of André in black and white wearing Calvin Klein’s flickering through her memory with annoying regularity. Not helped by the fact that she’d kept the window open on her phone.

She towelled off, applied lotion, and tugged open her makeup bag, fingers darting on autopilot. Concealer. Brow pencil. Blush. Lip tint. Waterproof mascara. A natural look that wouldn’t make her look ridiculous if she did end up getting wet at the pool.

She quickly applied her makeup, then walked into the bedroom in her towel and grabbed her swimsuit from her suitcase. Black, two-piece, high-cut, mid-rise. Flattering but safe. She’d picked it because it was simple. Comfortable. Something that said she wasn’t there to impress anyone.

Lies.

She swallowed. She was thirty-six years old. Her abs weren’t what they used to be. The skin on her thighs made her think of her grandmother’s underarms.

She wasn’t kidding herself, she knew she looked good. Especially for her age. But knowing that André would notice her made her wish she could’ve stood in front of him ten years ago.

Hadn’t he already seen her half naked? If you do that here, I’m not going to be able to stop myself from watching.

She pursed her lips and slipped into the swimsuit, then pulled on her wide-leg pants and a breezy button-down. Easy enough to peel off later but nice enough to work for breakfast.

Grace rolled her bra and a pair of underwear into a towel, then shoved the fabric burrito into her purse. She brushed her teeth, grabbed her room key, and exited into the hall.

André and the other Snowballs players didn’t make it right at ten, but they were close. They filed in and piled their plates high at the buffet. Everyone was there–the whole Snowballs team with their significant others, even some friends who Grace hadn’t met yet. Emma brought two of her coworkers, and Jenna’s friends Rhonda, Anne, and Tina brought a few extras.

André and Mike sat at their table. A brunette wearing a neon-pink bikini top under an off-the-shoulder sweater seemed to particularly appreciate whatever André was talking about. Not that Grace was paying particular attention.

It didn’t take long for their group to eat, and then they were on their way to the water park. After walking what felt like ten miles, they arrived at the floor-to-ceiling glass windows.

“Please tell me Hope’s going on rides,” Curtis teased, slinging an arm around his wife’s shoulders. Their four kids ran ahead, riding the escalator up and down while they waited for their parents to catch up.

“Baby slide only.” Jenna gave Country a warning look. Hope kicked gleefully in her baby carrier, strapped snug against Jenna’s chest. Her little feet were bare, her fists balled at her cheeks, and every time she made a sound—a gurgle, a squeal, a determined raspberry—the entire group swooned.

“She’s smiling!” Rhonda cooed.

“No, she’s about to poop,” Suraj deadpanned from two steps back.

“Still adorable,” Emma chimed, glancing over her shoulder. “Honestly, she could throw up on me and I’d thank her for the honour.”

“She already has.” Country grinned. “You’re just immune to it now.”

Grace laughed along with the others, her fingers tightening on the strap of her tote bag. She couldn’t shake her nerves. Nobody here was looking at her with judgement, she knew that, but every time they gushed about Hope, it was another knife to her ribs. She didn’t know what the outcome of this case was going to be, and no matter how many people told her this wasn’t her fault, she still dragged that responsibility around like a sack of rocks. They might not blame her, but she would absolutely blame herself.

They stepped off the escalator and regrouped by the admissions desk. André, Sean, Tyler, Curtis, Country, Brett and the others stood in a loose pack near the entrance. André wore a charcoal-grey tank that clung to his chest and swim trunks that looked like they belonged in an Instagram ad. Grace wanted to latch onto that idea, but viewing André as vain or self-absorbed had been much easier two weeks ago.

He said something to Sean and they both laughed. It seemed to spur an entire conversation, but his eyes kept flicking over to her. Not overt. Just enough to make her stomach somersault. Grace pretended not to notice.

They paid, one by one, snapped their wristbands into place, then funneled through the changing room corridor. Grace stuck close to the women, losing herself in the chatter as the fluorescent lights gave way to the humid natural glow of the indoor waterpark.

The moment they stepped out of the changing rooms, a wave of warmth hit her. The buzz of the crowd, the squeals of children, the steady roar of water, and the smell of chlorine—all of it crashed around her like a sensory tidal wave.

Emma waved them toward a row of open lounge chairs near the tiki bar, just far enough from the splash zone. “Here’s home base,” she announced, already kicking off her sandals and unrolling her towel.

Grace slipped her bag off her shoulder and lay claim to a seat near the edge.

“Okay,” Rhonda pulled off her cover-up to reveal a cherry-red bikini. “Who’s doing margaritas with me?”

Kelty raised her hand without looking up from Hope, who was now kicking wildly in her little wrap, utterly delighted by the bright colors and sounds around them.

The guys didn’t even hesitate long enough to choose a lounge chair. One by one, they dropped their towels, kicked off flip-flops, and sprinted toward the wave pool like a pack of unsupervised teenagers. Curtis shouted something indecipherable, dragging his kids with him into the waves, and Tyler launched in after him. Brett and André jogged in, earning a whistle from the lifeguard.

André held up a hand in apology, but didn’t slow in the least. Grace caught herself smiling and clenching a hand to her chest at the same time. Was it pride she was feeling? Envy? There was a looseness to them, a weightlessness. They didn’t seem to give a shit about whether their bodies looked right or whether their hair got wet. They were having fun. Playing. She didn’t remember what that felt like.

Maybe she’d never truly experienced it. Even when she had the excuse to play, she’d been the kid hanging back. Just watching . Too worried about being slow playing tag on the playground, too worried about not knowing the rules, too aware of every inch of exposed skin. Even now, with a cut of suit she actually liked and legs that could run circles around her twenty-year-old self, that discomfort lingered in her ribs like a tight seam.

A low horn sounded, and Jenna tugged on her hand. “Come on. Let’s dip in. Pretty sure Hope’s going to be a wave junkie.”

Grace pulled off her outer layer and followed to the zero-entry slope, the concrete warm under her feet until the first hint of water kissed her toes. They found a spot just past the edge, away from the stream of kids tearing toward the water, and sat. The rhythmic pulse of the waves brushed against their thighs as they planted themselves in the shallow water.

Jenna propped Hope up between her legs, steadying her tiny frame as the baby squealed and reached gleefully toward the shimmering surface. Her chubby legs kicked, her hands splashed, and every so often, she turned and beamed up at her mom like she had invented joy itself.

Her mom. This was her mom.

Grace’s eyes burned, and she looked away until she could get a hold of herself. She sniffed and turned back with a smile. “She’s fearless.”

Jenna laughed. “She’s going to scare the crap out of us. She already tries to launch herself out of her little tub at home.”

Shouts lifted ahead of them. Country and Sean were double-teaming Tyler, trying to dunk him under the next incoming wave. André had joined Brett and Mike who were attempting to body surf, which mostly involved flailing limbs and juvenile howling.

“They’re like big puppies,” Jenna mused.

Grace nodded. “How are they not exhausted? All the time?”

Jenna laughed, then flinched as Hope sent water straight into her face. When Grace looked up again, André had peeled away from the group. He waded through the shallows toward them with water beading down his chest, his hair a little darker from the soak.

Grace stiffened. He stopped just short of them, towering above where they sat like some cocky sea god. He adjusted the waistband of his trunks knowing full well that his crotch was directly at her eye level.

“You look comfortable,” he said.

“I was. Before you just did that.”

He grinned. “Excellent. That’s the spirit.” Hope let out a delighted chirp, splashing both Grace and Jenna in the chest. André planted his hands on his hips. “Too bad. I was hoping I’d be the one to get you wet.”

Jenna sent a wall of water his direction. “Dude! We talked about this!”

André laughed and dodged the wave of water. “You going on a slide?” His eyes locked on Grace’s.

Grace’s eyes narrowed. “You tell me, André. Do I seem like the kind of person who’d enjoy a waterslide?”

“Come on.” He nudged her foot with his. “Live a little.”

“I am living. It’s delightful. Relaxing.”

André looked up at the slides behind them. “Do they scare you?”

Grace’s jaw tightened. “Don’t even pull that out. It’s your only play, and it’s getting old.”

André’s grin widened. “Not my only play.”

Jenna looked between the two of them, raising an eyebrow. Fantastic. Grace had successfully avoided questions about their shared-room situation at breakfast, but now an interrogation was definitely coming. Might as well nip it in the bud.

Grace waved the comment off. “MILF island doesn’t count.”

Jenna laughed out loud. “You watch that?”

André scoffed. “It was Grace’s suggestion.” Her mouth dropped open, but before she could give a rebuttal, he pointed at a white slide looping above their heads. “Dare you.”

Grace stared up at him, the curve of his shoulder, the water dripping from his jawline, that maddening glint in his eyes. “I think I’m good.”

He shrugged, kicking the top of the water with his foot. “Jenna, do you know if Megan likes slides?”

Grace stiffened. Megan?

Jenna looked over her shoulder at the brunette from breakfast. Her name was Megan? “Not sure, but probably. I think she plays water polo, actually.”

André grinned and took a step past them, at which point a demon entered Grace’s body and forced her to blurt, “Which slide is it?”

He slowed and turned back. “Does it matter? You said you aren’t interested.”

“I didn’t say I wasn’t interested, I just wasn’t planning on doing rides right this second. But if you can’t wait?—”

“I can wait.” He fought a smile. “How long do you need?”

She glanced down at Hope. “I don’t know. A few minutes?”

He nodded. “Come get me when you’re ready.”

Grace turned back to the waves, her eyes wide. She did not just commit to going down a water slide.

“That was . . . something.” Jenna gave her a sidelong glance.

“Mm. Yep. He’s a character.” Grace frowned, pretending to be worried about a kid who was trying to strap on a life vest.

“Did you?—”

“Nothing happened between us,” Grace snapped. “We watched four episodes of MILF Island and went to bed.” Her gut twinged. They didn’t go to bed right away , and why did it feel like something had most definitely happened? They hadn’t kissed. Yet she couldn’t get the thought of him pressed against her, his weight pressing her into the bed, out of her head. She was thinking more about not having sex with André than she’d thought about having sex with anyone else her entire life.

“Well, I’m sorry he’s being weird. And about the room situation.” Jenna readjusted Hope, who was leaning dangerously left, reaching for a piece of plastic floating on top of the water.

“No, it’s fine. This isn’t about me. This is about you and Country and Hope. I’m just glad to be here.”

Jenna beamed at her. “I’m so glad you came.”

Grace waited a few more moments, then when the waiting became theoretically more unbearable than the sliding, she hopped up and walked over to the chairs. Megan was perched at the edge of a lounge chair beside Rhonda, talking to André on the next chair over. Grace’s ribs transformed into medieval torture devices, pinching her lungs.

“Ready!” she wheezed.

André looked up. He set down his drink and stood, not even waiting to hear the end of Megan’s sentence. Heat swelled through Grace’s chest as he walked toward her. Damn it. She wanted him to look at her like that. Like she was the only one in this whole water park. Like he wanted to press her up against the tiki pole and?—

Grace jumped as André leaned over and his hand grazed her thigh. “Sorry.” He straightened. “Don’t think this is yours.” He held up a sopping Band-Aid. Grace nearly dry-heaved, and André laughed out loud before dropping it in the bin. “C’mon.”

He led her to the stairs, and by the time they reached the second platform, her calves were burning and the air felt ten degrees thinner.

"You okay back there?" André called over his shoulder, not even winded.

"I'm fantastic," she panted. “Really enjoying the ambiance. Love the scent of chlorine and urine in the morning.”

He grinned over his shoulder. “That’s better.”

“What’s better?”

“You were being all quiet earlier. You’re better when you’re pissy.”

Grace’s cheeks flushed and she made more of a concerted effort to not stare directly at his ass in case he turned around again. They turned a corner, and she could see the top of the structure now—a curved platform with a translucent tube coiled around it like a trap. She paused, her chest tightening.

No. Not just a tube. A loop. Like a rollercoaster except with no seatbelts. Just wet skin and gravity and what was clearly a lawsuit waiting to happen. She squinted at the sign posted at the top.

Cyclone Surge: This ride contains a near-vertical drop and full loop. Participants must weigh between 45-115 kgs and be free from the following conditions: high blood pressure, heart problems, pregnancy, spinal injuries, recent surgeries, vertigo, or general fear of death.

“Pretty sure three of those apply after climbing the stairway to heaven.” Grace leaned on the railing, then thought about how many prepubescent hands had touched it and straightened.

André turned to face her. “Don’t tell me you’re chickening out.”

Her brain scrambled for an exit strategy, but surrounded by twelve year olds who looked completely nonplussed, she struggled to land on something. “Not chickening out.”

The line crept forward.

“Perfect.” André shifted the waistband of his trunks.

“Can you—?” Grace turned toward the rail, looking out over the wave pool that was now just a normal swimming hole.

“Can I, what?”

Grace gave him a look. He waited. Finally, she pointed and lowered her voice, “Just stop messing with those?”

André looked down. “My shorts?”

“Yes. Your shorts.” He frowned, and Grace moved closer so the entire queue couldn’t hear her. “They’re fine. You don’t need to move them every two seconds.”

André’s mouth quirked. “Grace.”

“What?”

He lowered his head. “If you can’t stop looking at my shorts, that’s a you problem.”

“I’m not looking! I’m just right here and when your hand goes there, I can’t help but?—”

“When it goes where? Here?” André looped his thumb between his stomach and the waistband. He tugged, making a gap between his skin and the fabric.

Heat flashed up her neck, and she stepped back, nearly stumbling over the lip of the top step behind her. André’s arm shot out, steadying her. She straightened and pulled away.

André turned and walked forward to keep their place in line, then turned back. “It’s okay to be curious, you don’t have to be embarrassed.”

She shook her head. “I’m not.”

“Curious? Or embarrassed?”

“Both. Neither.”

André reached out, brushing a thumb over her cheek. “Then with that colour, you’re extremely out of shape.” Grace slapped his hand away, and he laughed. She was about to launch a rebuttal when she noticed there were only three people in front of them.

Panic set in. Her breathing quickened, her palms started to sweat. “I don’t do things like this.”

“What, I’m a ‘thing’ now?”

“Not joking,” she squeaked, and his expression sobered. “I think I should go back?—”

“It’s safe. Look at all these kids going down.” André pointed down to the bottom. “We weigh more than they do, so there’s no chance of us getting stuck.”

“You can get stuck?”

He pulled her against his chest. “No. Adults don’t get stuck?—”

“My sister got stuck—” a kid behind them started, but André held up a hand.

“Not helping right now, bud.” He turned his gaze back to her. “We’re not going to get stuck, and just because this feels scary doesn’t mean it’s not worth doing.”

“You can say that because this is fun for you. Since when do you do anything hard?”

He gave her a look. “You think I don’t do anything that’s scary or hard?”

She shook her head. “Everything is so easy for you! You don’t give a shit!”

“I give a shit.”

“No shits. None.”

André gave an apologetic look to the mom with her son on the steps behind them. “Give me something you think is hard. I’ll do it when we get down.”

Grace shook her head. “It can’t be hard for me, it has to be hard for you.”

“Got it. Uh . . . I could do a hundred push-ups.”

Grace rolled her eyes. “You’d love that.”

“Yeah. Fair.”

“It has to be something you hate, like you need to order straight vegetables for lunch or—” Grace sucked in a breath. “Quit smoking.” André blinked, and she slapped a hand against his chest. “Quit smoking. That’s it. If I go down this slide, you have to quit?—”

André laughed “For how long? This slide takes less than ten seconds.”

“Nope, the time isn’t the point. I don’t want to get anywhere near this death trap, and you don’t want to quit. Same, same.”

“Is this how you make your arguments in court because?—”

He didn’t finish that sentence because a teenager with a blue shirt and whistle approached. “Sir? It’s your turn.”

André shook his head. “Nope. She’s next.” He planted his hands on Grace’s shoulders and edged her forward.

She squinted at him and hissed, “What kind of sick bastard tricks a woman into a vertical drop with a loop?”

“I pointed at the slide!”

“I didn’t see the loop ! I don’t trust centrifugal force this much!”

He leaned in slightly, his grin devilish. “It’s called living , Grace. Also, there’s a camera mid-loop. Not as good as the mirror, but it will have to do.”

Her eyes widened.

“Miss?” The teenager exhaled, motioning to the death canister.

Her palms were sweating. “I’m going to die.”

André tilted his head. “I’ll make sure your things get home safe. Except that black bra. I’m keeping that.”

“Can you shut the hell up?” She clenched her hands into fists, her heels digging into the grippy rubber mat. The lifeguard opened the door and gave her a politely blank expression. Grace turned back. “Do we have a deal?”

André smirked. “Absolutely.”

Grace’s lips parted. Absolutely? She was expecting at least a little push back. Definitely some balking. Something she could latch onto and use as an excuse to wait another couple of people and hopefully work her way back down the stairs. “You’re going to quit?”

André nodded. “Yep. As soon as you make it to the bottom.”

The employee gave another sigh. “Miss, if you’re not going to?—”

She stepped inside the tube, the trapdoor glinting beneath her feet.

No, no, no! Her mind screamed, but she couldn’t force her legs to move in the opposite direction. If she didn’t go on this damn slide, Megan would, and while she wasn’t into comparison typically, the idea of André standing with her on the stairs and giving her a peek of his pubic bone made her want to stab someone with a fork.

“Arms crossed, ankles crossed.” The employee pointed at an illustrated sign.

She got into position, her heart slamming against her ribs. What the hell was she doing? The door was shut. She was standing over a moving floor! Her head started to spin, and she searched for André through the scratched plastic.

He gave her two thumbs-up, and a robotic voice started counting.