Kiss Crush Collide by Christina Meredith

Author:Christina Meredith [Meredith, Christina]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Romance, Erotic, Adult
ISBN: 9780062062246
Google: E5QjKQEACAAJ
Amazon: 0062062247
Barnesnoble: 0062062247
Goodreads: 11593615
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2011-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

Valerie is officially the color of my mother’s morning coffee. Yes, in six weeks she has become a light, cancery brown, the human approximation of a double nonfat mocha with extra foam and two pink packets of sweetener.

I admit, I had my doubts that tanning was even possible for her when she walked into the pool that first day all frail and pasty and white, then walked out later all pink and broiled, but today, as I watch her through the squeaky clean glass of the office window, the cool metallic honeycomb of the pool fence and gray sky as her backdrop, she definitely looks a little less sickly. Who knows? By the end of the summer she could resemble a real person. Maybe.

I grab a pen and quickly scribble my initials onto the wrinkled, water-spotted staff sign-in sheet. It says KEEP IT SAFE OUT THERE! Someone has turned the dot of the exclamation point into the head of a swimmer, drowning in a sea of ballpoint blue waves. A black marker shark swims in to bite his ankles.

I scoop up my rolled towel and whistle and stop to check myself in the mirror hanging next to the peeling door frame. Ignoring the gawking freshman boys watching my every move and Margo with the man voice, I stride across the deck, my suit riding higher with each long, hip-swinging step.

Valerie does an about-face, stalls, and then matches her pace to mine so that we are walking along together. She is wearing white knee socks and those exercise sandal things with a wide-striped halter suit. Ouch. And she wonders why she can’t get a date. Actually, I don’t know if she wonders that, since we never talk about that kind of stuff. But please, there’s her answer. She looks like a broasted chicken with shoes on. Slip clonk, slip clonk, her socks and sandals are an evil combo as she tries to keep up with me.

“Shane was looking for you,” she says, completely out of breath.

I pretend I don’t care and simultaneously wonder if I really even do as I remember in delicious detail the car, the kissing, and the store-bought cinnamon coffee cake that was this morning.

“I told him I didn’t know where you were,” she says.

Catching her breath, she holds her hand out and takes my towel from me. I pull myself up onto the first rung of the red lifeguard chair. Reaching down, I take my towel back and ask, “Yeah, what did he say?”

“He asked me who I was.”

I smile, and she slip clonks away.

Troy blows his whistle long and loud, and the pool splits open with a spectacular cannonball. It’s always a cannonball. A ring of sharp waves marks the point of impact as the first kid in finally bobs to the surface, his smile and splash greeted by the whoops and cheers of a clump of skinny-legged third-grade boys. They high-five each other and line up to take turns at cannonballing themselves. One right after the other, knobby knees hugged to bony chests, pa-wump, pa-wump, pa-wump.

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