Page 80 of The Parent Trap

“Thai?” Her voice is a small, quavering whisper.

“Hmm?”

“When I came, the first time…” smaller voice yet, embarrassed. “Something…um. Came…out…of me.”

I grin against her hair. “Yeah, babe. You came so hard you squirted.”

Nuzzles harder against me, as if to disappear against me, as if it’ll nullify her embarrassment. “I thought that was a myth.”

“Guess not.”

Silence.

“I’m cold,” she murmurs.

“Me too.” I cling to her, arms tight around her, one arm barred around her shoulders, the other low on her opposite hip. “Deep breath, Dee.”

“Wha—” She has no time to complete the question.

I’m already throwing us backward, and she barely manages to suck in a breath and hold it, and then we’re under the surface and I kick backward, away from shore, keeping her on top, and then I plant my feet and stand up.

We’re in up to my chest, now, and she’s in my arms, kicking to stay afloat. Instinctively, her legs go around my waist.

God, this feels good—her, wrapped around me, wet skin clammy and soft and cold, yet somehow warm at the same time.

I walk shoreward, supporting her with my hands under her buttocks.

She wiggles when the water is lapping around my calves. “Put me down, I can walk.”

I just hike her higher. “I want to carry you. I like holding you like this.”

She clings to me, as if scared of dropping. “Put medown, I’m too heavy.”

“Oh my god,” I snort. “That’s such horseshit.”

“I am!”

I grin. “If you were too heavy, could I do this?” I squat to parallel, and then stand up. “Or this?” And then again, but this time leap upward. Not far, but I manage a jump.

She squeals. “Holy shit stop jumping!”

I laugh and walk toward my friend’s house. “You arenottoo heavy.”

“You can’t carry me all the way there.” The beach is deep, at least fifty feet from shore to the steps up to the deck.

“Can too. Watch me.”

“What are you trying to prove?” she demands, even as she stops squirming and tightens the vise-grip of her thighs around my waist, and the cling of her arms around my neck and shoulders.

“What am I trying to prove?” I ask, as I reach the stairs and ascend them. “That you have a false sense of your own size.”

She breathes deep against my throat. “Oh.” It’s quiet, barely a whisper. “You’re not going to collapse, are you?”

I laugh. “No, now hold on.”

There’s a touchscreen keypad at the back door, so you can lock the house while you’re swimming without having to bring keys or go around front to the keypad there. I input the code, hear the lock disengage, and tug the door open.

There’s a full bathroom steps from the back door, for showering off the sand and salt; the house is open plan, with a kitchen, den, and dining room, all high ceilings and modern lines. It’s all I really notice, though. I carry Delia into the bathroom and set her on the counter of the vanity. Reach over into the shower stall and twist on the water all the way hot—the spray stutters and hits full volume.