40-Love - Olivia Dade Page 0,37

But the feeling was familiar. The anticipation. The nerves. The determination.

If he wanted a chance with her, he needed to concentrate, make his stand, and devote his time and wholehearted effort to that singular goal, now and for the rest of her visit. It was the sort of gut-level commitment he hadn’t made in over a year. Something he hadn’t pictured himself doing again in any context, professional or personal.

But right now, he was fighting for the promise of Tess Dunn.

And yeah, he was ready to admit it: For that, he’d do almost anything.

Eleven

Lucas took another moment to study the silent woman at his side.

Shoulders visibly bunched and raised high with tension. Tight jaw. Hands no longer slicing through the current in relaxed arcs, but instead fisted underwater in the sand by her hips.

Seeing Tess in that state because of him hurt worse than his post-match ice baths. And on a purely pragmatic level—Tess’s preferred level—people under stress had trouble listening and taking in new information, much less coming to mutually agreeable decisions. As often as possible, his coach had waited for him to calm before discussing lost matches, and she’d told him that was why. He’d believed her. Still did.

Immediately tackling the fraught subjects from their last disastrous encounter wouldn’t serve his purposes, then. Morning lessons or not, this conversation would require patience.

He’d ease into this conversation the same way he’d eased into those ice baths. Gingerly. Expecting discomfort. Hoping, in the end, the pain would help him move forward.

And speaking of pain… “This spot is a pretty long walk from the hotel. Is your knee feeling better?”

“Flat ground isn’t a problem.” One round shoulder lifted. “Ibuprofen helps too.”

Which wasn’t really an answer. “What does your doctor say about it?”

She was not responding well to his initial, get-Tess-more-relaxed topic. If anything, she’d become more tense beside him, her arms now crossed in front of her ample, glorious chest. “I’m at school before her office opens and working until after it’s closed again. There’s no time for non-emergency appointments.”

A very practical reason not to go. But based on their argument two nights ago, he suspected practicality wasn’t the only reason she’d been avoiding her doctor.

In fact, he was beginning to suspect practicality wasn’t why Tess did much of anything.

He gave a noncommittal hum. “So you haven’t told her.”

“No.”

Her chin had turned pugnacious again, and he waited. Let the silence spin out.

Finally, she swung on him. “I know what she’s going to say, and I don’t want to hear it.”

“Okay,” he said mildly.

“When you’re fat, doctors propose weight loss as a solution to everything. Joint pain, strep throat, broken arms, spider bites, the bubonic plague, whatever.” With a near-silent sigh, she dropped her arms back to her sides. “Since I have no intention of dieting, there’s no point.”

He looked down. Took a moment to think.

From what he could tell, she hadn’t used the word fat as a pejorative. There had been no venom in the adjective, no bitterness or sadness, no implicit plea for his denial. It had served only as a descriptor, rather than a sign of self-loathing. Matter of fact. Value-neutral.

And he wasn’t going to protest that she wasn’t fat. They both knew better. Contradicting that would be patronizing as hell, insulting in its own way. More importantly, protesting might imply that being fat was somehow bad. Somehow the worst thing she could be, rather than merely one aspect of a complex, fascinating woman.

A wise man would probably change the topic. Immediately. Then again, if she’d wanted to chat with a wise man, she shouldn’t have let Lucas sit next to her instead.

He’d spent years defined by his body, but not in the same way she had. He wanted to understand.

He met her eyes again. “Is that what your doctor usually does? She asks you to lose weight, no matter what the problem is?”

Another long silence.

“Not usually,” she finally muttered. “If she did that, I’d have found another doctor.”

Point made, he tugged lightly on the elbow-length sleeve of her garment and changed the subject. “This blue…” It was both bright and deep, like a jewel against the pale velvet of her skin. “It’s pretty on you.”

There. A less-fraught topic of conversation, served up nice and easy for her.

“Thanks.” The hem was swirling around her thighs in the water, beneath the surface, and she pulled the fabric over her bent knees. “You’re probably wondering why I’m wearing a cover-up in the water.”

Honestly, he’d first thought maybe she was wearing it