The first thing I do before my afternoon class is shop for a decent swimsuit. I try on a selection, settling on a plain black one-piece that is so boring even Noah won't be enthused. I grab the same style in a deep azure blue before heading to checkout.

As the woman behind the counter folds up my items, it feels like I'm finally in control. After my accident, the story of my downfall spread to the news, and life, as I knew it, spiraled. In the space of a week, I lost my swim team, future, and the respect of everyone in Maybury. Even Peter, who had checked on me regularly in the aftermath of the accident, succumbed to the pressure; I was utterly powerless. 

The end result was that I spent my senior year as a hermit, throwing myself into studying and volunteering, but no matter how hard I tried to forget, my town wouldn't let me; now, I have a chance to start over.

My steps feel lighter as I flounce out of the shop. I have class in thirty minutes, so I walk the few blocks back to campus, put away my swimsuits, and grab myself a mocha before heading to Business Management.

I feel my heart flutter as I head up the lecture hall's steps. I still don't trust Noah, but if my nightmare taught me anything, it's that I can't keep ignoring the issue anymore. I can't keep hiding. I have the chance to return to the water again, and I refuse to let my distrust of him jeopardize that. Today, I'm going to be pleasant.

I slip into one of the seats near the back and pull out my Ipad, placing it on my desk before glancing at the clock. It's almost two, and Mr. Walter is already at the podium, testing his microphone, but there's no sign of Noah. I face the front, ignoring the knot of disappointment in my stomach, and focus on Mr. Walter.

He's halfway through his passionate spiel about financially savvy branding when the doors to the hall fly open. Noah stands like a towering giant in the archway, his gym bag slung casually across one shoulder and his hair slightly damp from practice.

Even though Mr. Walter is waiting, Noah takes a moment to scan the lecture hall, looking for someone in particular. His eyes find mine in the crowd of impatient faces. With an apologetic wave to Mr. Walter, he slips into the empty seat beside me, dropping his gym bag by his feet.

"Hey, Blue."

I force myself to look over. "Hey."

Even after a morning of practice, he still manages to look effortless. There are none of the side effects of too much chlorine, like red eyes or dry skin. Every inch of him is smooth and envy-inducing. Whenever I'd have practice, I'd head back to class looking like a half-drowned rat.

I turn to the front, thinking maybe that's it for conversation, but without a word, he slips his phone in front of me. I frown and glance at the screen to find the sign up sheet for the local swim team tryouts. 

"Figured it might help you to have a goal to work toward," Noah says. "Given how anal you are."

I ignore his emphasis on anal and pass him his phone back without telling him I'd already seen it. The tryouts are in less than a month, so I'll doubt I'll be ready, but maybe he's right; having something to work toward is exactly what I need. "What makes you think I'm anal? You hardly know me."

He leans closer, letting our shoulders brush. I breathe in his aftershave, its light, crisp scent intertwined with the slightest hint of chlorine. Casually, as if fully aware of what his proximity does to me, he reaches over and points to my Ipad.

"You color code your points by importance," he says. "You're constantly annotating your schedule. If the highlights you draw aren't perfect, you spend half the class redoing them."

I straighten my shoulders, unnerved by how much attention he's paying. "If you spent as much time paying attention to Mr. Walter as you do me, you'd probably have better notes."

He laughs a little, a low, deep sound that prickles my skin. "Maybe," he says, "but you're far more interesting."

My throat tightens. I refuse to look at him, but I can feel his mouth somewhere near the groove in my ear, making me hot. This is not good. I return to my notes, intent on pretending he doesn't exist, but I can practically feel the heat radiating from his skin.

Focus, Ever, or you'll end up as confused about this class as he is.

As luck would have it, Noah spends the rest of class on his best behavior. I focus on my notes, but every so often, my thoughts drift back to the idea of tryouts and how much practice I'll need if I want to be ready.

Biting the bullet, I lower my voice and say, "I was thinking about using your pool tonight if that's okay." I can feel him watching me, but even though his staring at my profile makes me nauseous, I don't turn to look at him.

"Does seven work?" he asks.

I nod briefly, my shoulders easing as Mr. Walter wraps up his PowerPoint. As much as I enjoy my Business Management class, sitting near Noah makes things difficult. With a deep breath, I turn to Noah, who's already packing away his things.

"Send me your email over Instagram, and I'll send you my notes," I say.

He pulls out his phone, offering a glimpse of his screen's notifications, showing dozens of women's messages. I get to my feet, swiftly packing away my Ipad. Of course Noah has a conveyor belt of girls waiting on him – I wouldn't expect anything less. 

Together, we head across the campus lawn, stopping when we near the sports complex. Noah half-turns, giving me a look that could probably melt butter, and throws his bag across his shoulder. "See you tonight, Blue," he says with a wink and walks off.

I spend the rest of the afternoon in the library before returning to my dorm. Addy, as usual, is nowhere to be seen, so I grab my phone and send her a message to let her know I won't be home.

How to Plot a Murder later?? I'll be home around nine.

Two seconds later, she responds with: Yessssss, same.

I tuck my phone away before heading to the kitchen. After throwing together some chicken and rice, I return to my room, pull on the blue swimsuit I'd bought this morning, and throw on some clothes before heading to Noah's.

I shift and fidget the whole ride there. Not because of Noah, although he doesn't help, but because I'm worried I'll put in all this time, this effort, and it still won't make a difference; I'll be just as terrified.

The Uber pulls up, and I gather my things and pass through the concierge, where the man from before looks up from his computer. His eyebrows deepen upon recognizing me, but I can't tell if it's in a bad way.

"Good evening," he says.

"Good evening." My smile feels shameful as if I'm doing something wrong. I lift my swim bag higher and add, "I don't know if you remember, but I'm just here to use the pool."

He politely nods as I head for the elevator. He probably thinks I'm some oversharing nutcase, but god forbid he thinks I'm one of Noah's regulars.

With a deep breath, I head toward his apartment and knock on the door. It opens seconds later, and Noah stands in the doorframe in shorts and without a shirt. My eyes travel down his hard, solid abs, which I've seen now more times than I can count, but they somehow still manage to elicit this feeling of excitement in me.

"Like what you see, Blue?"

I take in the arrogant glint in his eye and curse myself for being reckless. "Are you ready?"

"In a second. I need to grab my trunks." He steps aside to invite me in, but I don't move.

"I'll just wait here," I say.

"Relax, Blue. I'm not going to seduce you." He winks and adds, "Not unless you want me to."

"Never in a million years."

He laughs a little like I've said something funny and heads into the bedroom. I sit on the sofa, surprised by how much bigger the place looks now that it's not filled with gyrating bodies. Everything is shades of white, from the cloud-like sofas and expensive frayed rugs to the kitchen's solid marble countertops. The only splash of color is the acrylic painting above the dining table of two figures doing the tango.

It's as I'm skimming the rest of the room for strewn underwear or condoms that the door unlocks. Panicked, I dash behind the sofa and drop to the floor, stomach first, terrified of being caught with Noah.

"You wanted to talk, so talk."

The voice belongs to Addy, which makes this ten times worse. I peer around the sofa, spotting her with her arms tightly folded as she glares back at Jesse. He towers over her, eyes just as dark as his mouth twists into an unbecoming frown.

"That's what I thought," Addy says and starts to turn around, but he grabs her and kisses her.

I duck behind the sofa again and squeeze shut my eyes, trying to block out the noises. Please, Noah, for the love of god, come and save me from enduring a porno. After a few minutes, things fall silent, and I risk looking back, thinking maybe they've headed into the bedroom, but I'm wrong. Dead wrong. There they still stand, only Addy has unbuttoned Jesse's pants, and I see everything.

I want to throw up. Or throw myself out the nearest window – I haven't decided. Luckily, Noah's voice cuts through before I can choose. "Could you do that in the bedroom?"

"I thought you were out," Jesse says.

What sounds like shuffling fills the silence. There's a zipping noise, and I peek from behind the sofa as Jesse grabs Addy's hand, leading her into the bedroom.

As soon as they're gone, I jump from my hiding space, face no doubt like a tomato, and walk toward a laughing Noah. I don't look at him as I open the door, I can't, but I feel his eyes on me as we head to the elevator.

"You look traumatized," he says.

"I don't want to talk about it."

He laughs again, clearly basking in my misery. "I've never seen you so red, Blue. Wait." I make the mistake of meeting his eye in the mirror's reflection. His eyes are wide, and his expression is pure filth. "Have you ever–"

Before he can finish, I'm out of the elevator like the thing is on fire and hurrying toward the gazebo. Clearly, Noah has decided to be on his worst behavior tonight, which means the sooner we get this over with, the better.

A/N

Wooo, it's Monday, and I stuck to my update schedule. 🙏 Comment a heart if you enjoyed! ❤️