Playing Hurt - By Holly Schindler Page 0,23
I let out is a pitiful “Ee—.” His chest is strong, and—oh, God—he smells so good. Like clean summer shirts just brought in from the clothesline.
“Thanks,” I manage to mumble.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “I’m lifeguard certified. I’ll rescue you from the lake if you fall. Actually, I’d be glad to jump in on a hot morning like this.”
Actually, I might just jump in on purpose if you’re coming after me. The thought explodes into my brain from nowhere, rattling me like an earthquake. How could these thoughts be coming to me when I’m already in love with someone else? I can feel my cheeks turning strawberry pink. I finally squirm out of his grasp and hurry to take a seat next to Brandon, one of the twenty or so seats that surround the railing along the back of the boat (or is that the bow? The helm?). That’s good, Chelse. Distract yourself from the way you feel with a list of vocab words.
“What’s the deal?” Brandon whispers, seeing right through me. “Why are you acting so weird? You’d think you’d never seen a guy in your entire life.” He raises his camera and takes a picture, recording my sheer mortification.
“Knock it off,” I snap.
The truth is, I feel exactly like I did when I’d insisted on riding the Tilt-A-Whirl ten times straight on my tenth birthday—dizzy and weak. My mouth is dry. My hands are even trembling a little. While I’m still trying to get myself under control, Clint suddenly appears and wraps his hand around my biceps, hauling me to my feet. Lightning flows through me at his touch. So help me God, lightning.
“I need a model,” he says, leading me gently toward the center of the boat. We turn to face the passengers.
“We call these things Mae Wests,” he says, holding up a life jacket by the shoulders. I turn and slip my arms through the holes.
Clint works me like a top, spinning me around. His face—his beautiful face—is right in front of mine. I can feel his breath on my cheek. My mind reels. I need something to say. Something to distract me from the fact that his hands are reaching toward the ribbons on the life jacket—ribbons lying right over my chest.
“So—so why’s it called a Mae West?” I manage.
“Oh, I bet I’m the only one here old enough to know who Mae West was,” a gray-haired woman shouts as she laces up her own jacket. “That lady’s boobs could fill up an entire movie screen! The only way I’ll ever get ’em that big is to wear one of these things.”
I look at Clint, horrified. He nods. “Yep,” he says. “You ever fall in the water, all you’ve got to do is pull this cord down here, and poof! ” He holds his arms out like he’s illustrating ample bosoms. “You’ll be an instant Mae West.”
I’m sure my entire face is now maroon as I scramble back into my seat. Brandon’s ready to swallow his tongue he’s laughing so hard. “This is too great,” he tells me. “I’m so glad we came. I don’t think your face will return to its normal color ever again.”
I glare as he snaps another picture.
Clint quickly steers the boat toward the middle of the lake, then slows the engine. As we putter along, he calls out, “Get your lines in the water! We’re going to troll.”
Instantly my mind fills with images of elves—wrinkly and short, in pointy hats and shoes. There’s no way that’s what the guy’s talking about.
“Hey, Chelsea, you want me to help you get that line in the water?” Clint offers. He stands right behind me, his arms around my shoulders. I bite my lip.
“Here, let your line out. Just let it drag beside the boat.”
A whoop steals Clint’s attention away from me.
“I got one! I got a bite!” the old woman who made that awful Mae West crack shouts. “Get your net, Clint! It’s a big one!”
Clint rushes to help her. I breathe a very grateful, yet (do I even admit it to myself?) slightly disappointed sigh of relief.
“It’s a beaut, Gladys,” Clint shouts as he pulls the fish into the boat. He holds it up for everyone to see. “Nice largemouth bass,” he says. “Good eating size. Chef Charlie at the lodge will love to get his hands on this guy. Gladys will have a fine dinner tonight.” He places the fish on a stringer in his ice chest while everyone onboard congratulates her.
“Chelsea!”