Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98412 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 492(@200wpm)___ 394(@250wpm)___ 328(@300wpm)
“No you don’t,” I said without thinking as she passed me. Jesus, what was wrong with me?
The back of my neck heated as she snorted in response.
“Pool’s this way.” I pointed and tried to pretend that I hadn’t just low-key hit on her without conscious thought. Thankfully, Morgan was the type to let things go and followed me with nothing but a nod.
“You want to go swimming?” she asked Etta as we walked inside the humid pool room. The place was pretty deserted since it was the middle of the day midweek. I’d seen families leaving on the shuttle that stopped in front of the hotel that morning, and I guessed most of them were probably out at the theme parks around the city doing their thing.
I stripped off my shirt and stepped out of my sandals as Morgan got Etta ready to swim. Both of them were wearing one-piece suits, but that was pretty much the only resemblance between the two pieces of clothing. Morgan’s suit had cutouts in very strategic places and I had to clench my jaw to keep it from dropping. The woman had some gorgeous tattoos, or maybe it was just one tattoo but it was huge. It spread from the top of her thigh, up her side, and ended on her shoulder, leaving her arm bare. I could see only parts of it, but it looked like bright, vibrant flowers connected by tangled vines. I would have given up a year of my life to see the parts hidden by her suit.
Etta’s skin was the opposite—so flawless and pale that I was thankful for the indoor pool. I wasn’t sure how even sunblock could keep that delicate skin from burning. Her little suit was black with tiny red flowers and looked like a replica of a 1940s pinup’s swimsuit. It was freaking adorable, and it reminded me of something Ani would put on my niece Arielle.
“Me swimmin’,” Etta told me, toddling over to where I was standing. “Me swimmin’ suit.” She pointed to her chest. “Me swimmin’ pannies.” She pointed to her hip.
“Don’t be telling people about your swimming panties,” Morgan scolded jokingly, laughing as she swooped down and lifted Etta into the air.
“Memaids,” Etta informed me with a nod, pointing to her hip again.
Morgan met my gaze and rolled her eyes, laughing. “Mermaids,” she clarified. “We’re still working on acceptable conversation topics.”
“Mine are just boring black swimming panties,” I told Etta, grimacing as I realized how creepy the word sounded coming out of my mouth. I quickly pointed to the waistband of my boxers that were peeking out the top of my shorts in an effort to move the conversation along. “Boooring.”
“Bowing,” Etta said, pursing her lips in commiseration.
Morgan laughed as she carried Etta to the steps of the pool and set her down so they could walk into it together.
“Crap,” she mumbled. “Hold on, babycakes. I forgot your floaties.”
“I can grab them,” I assured her, holding my hand up as Etta started to fuss about getting pulled back out of the pool.
“They’re right in the top of the bag,” Morgan replied, giving me permission to touch her stuff.
“Cool floaties,” I called to Etta when I found them under a couple of beach towels. It was really more of a life-jacket-type thing than the floaties we’d used as kids. I handed it to Morgan and watched as she threaded Etta’s arms through the little armholes so that the poofy life-jacket part was across her chest, then buckled the entire contraption at her back.
“They work really well,” Morgan told me as I slid into the pool. “Go ahead, baby,” she said to Etta. “Get your swim on.”
My heart practically stopped as Etta jumped off the stair she was on and disappeared under the water, just to pop back up again with a squeal. The water wasn’t deep, maybe about three feet, but there was no way she could touch the bottom.
“I keep a close eye on her,” Morgan told me in reassurance as she sat down on the pool stairs. “But she likes to swim around on her own.”
“She’s got no fear,” I said, swallowing hard as Etta arched her back until she was floating, her face pointed toward the ceiling. Her head kept dipping farther into the water as she tried to lift her feet higher. My hands were fidgeting with the need to go spot her.
“Nah, why should she?” Morgan asked, cool as a cucumber. “She knows I’m right here.”
“Good mama,” I murmured, still watching Etta closely as she rolled over and started to doggie-paddle across the pool. That was better. She seemed a bit more steady when she was moving.
“Eh,” Morgan said easily. “I try.”
It took me a second to know what she was talking about, I’d been so focused on Etta. “I know a lot of kids older than her who freak out in the water,” I said, finally turning my head to look at her as I leaned against the edge of the pool.