I should have been worried about the twenty-somethings. They were thinner than me, prettier than me, younger than me, their bathing suits were a lot dinkier than mine and they were making it obvious that Tate could have one, the other, or both of them at the same time if he just crooked a finger.
Instead, I was wiped from boot camp and as much fun as it was to watch a wet Tate in cutoff jeans shorts horse around with his son in Ned and Betty’s pool, I decided I was going to take a nap. I decided this firstly because I was pretty certain Tate was into me. Secondly, because Tyler’s program that day had nearly killed me and if one, the other or both of them made a play, I didn’t have it in me to fight for my man (or do anything with him for that matter).
I readjusted the back of my lounge, flipped to my belly and closed my eyes.
I was deep in a boot-camp-hot-sun induced snooze when I was torn from my catnap by a multitude of fat, cold water droplets raining on my back.
I lifted and twisted to see Jonas standing beside me shaking the wet in his hair on me.
“Stop, Jonas, you rat!” I girlie screeched.
He stopped and grinned at me. “Quit bein’ lazy, Laurie, and come into the pool with us,” he demanded.
“I am not being lazy. I spent an hour sweating and wheezing and panting, running around a hot gym. I’m giving my body the break it needs,” I returned.
“You’re bein’ lazy,” Jonas retorted.
“Am not!” I shot back.
Then, in a sneak attack coming from the other side, I was suddenly rolled to my back, curled into Tate’s arms and lifted.
“Tate!” I shrieked. “Put me down!”
He didn’t put me down. He walked to the edge of the pool.
“Don’t you dare,” I warned and then let out a shrill screech when I found myself flying through the air. I had the chance to close my eyes and pinch my nose with my fingers before I hit.
I surfaced gasping, the water freezing cold against my heated skin.
“You jerk!” I yelled and saw both father and son were standing side by side, staring at me and grinning identical grins. “And you are a rascal!” I said to Jonas.
Tate’s knees bent and then he propelled himself off the side, his body in dive position knifing into the water. Jonas followed him much less gracefully by doing a cannonball.
Stupidly, I kept treading water and glaring at their forms under it instead of making my escape. Tate’s hand wrapped around my ankle, yanked and I went under. I kicked at him under the water and he let me go but came up, grasping me at the waist and we both surfaced together, face to face.
“You dunked me,” I accused but that was all I got out. I had a hand on the top of my head and one on my shoulder, Tate let go of my waist and I was down again, Jonas dunking me this time.
Thus it started. I was able to get Jonas under the water, not Tate, and the horseplay lasted awhile before Tate wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled my back to his front, taking me with him as he did an underwater back flip. We surfaced, Tate still holding me close.
“Do me! Do me!” Jonas shouted, Tate let me go and then he flipped with Jonas.
He let Jonas go and as both of them shook the water from their hair, I wrapped one of my arms around Jonas’s middle.
“We’re going front this time,” I said in his ear and then I tucked us into a ball and propelled us forward in a front flip. When we surfaced, I let him go and he drifted away.
“See, it’s better in the water,” he told me on a big know-it-all smile.
I agreed by challenging, “Bet I could beat you by doing the longest handstand.”
“No way!” Jonas shouted, already striking out for the shallow end.
“So way,” I replied following him.
We got on our hands and I poked him in the ribs underwater. He poked me in the belly. I could have stayed down longer but I let him win. I did this five times.
“Told you no way,” Jonas stated after his fifth win.
“Whatever,” I mumbled with fake disgruntlement and that bought me another smile.
Jonas turned to his Dad and declared, “Bet I could beat you too.”
“Yeah?” Tate, who was now sitting on the edge of the pool, his feet in the water, his eyes on us, asked.
“Definitely,” Jonas declared.
Tate used his hands to shove himself into the water and I drifted away, alternately treading water, crawling and floating, sometimes watching, sometimes trying not to gloat in front of the twenty-something girls. Tate let Jonas win twice and beat him the third go.
They surfaced and Tate was done with handstands. I knew this because he ordered, “Get the ball, Bub.”
“Cool!” Jonas shouted and headed to the steps that led out of the pool.