The Easy Part of Impossible - Sarah Tomp Page 0,75
those filthy clothes.”
She eyed Benny, waiting for the punch line. He’d always been fussy and fastidious. He insisted the team wear matching uniforms from suits to warm-ups at meets. Their bags at the pool had to be neatly lined up against the fence. He liked everything orderly and clean. But.
“I mean it. You’re not getting whatever is all over you in this car. You can either take them off or walk back to town.”
Benny had seen her body in her tight, practically skin, swimsuits an infinite number of times. Minutes multiplied by hours by days, weeks, months, years. He’d watched her grow from skinny little kid to awkward preteen, on to where she filled out a bikini in all the right spots. The shape of her body had always been irrelevant. It was the thing that took her from the board into the air and water. But that was before. Her body wasn’t only a tool for diving anymore.
And it was hers.
She headed inside the bar again, straight for the bathroom. She took off her shirt and pants, turning them inside out. The mud, some of it dried and some still damp, rubbed against her skin as she returned to the parking lot.
Without acknowledging the smirk on his face, she went around to the passenger door and got in. She looked back at Cotton, whose cheeks had turned pink. She wondered what they’d talked about.
“Funny place to start getting modest.” Benny eyed her, looking amused, then turned the key and pulled out of the parking lot, thumping over the curb.
“He means because we were in a strip club,” said Cotton.
“A what?” She looked back and forth between them. Benny busted up laughing.
She frowned, mostly to hide the fact she’d missed his laugh and wanted to hear it again.
“It looks like a merry-go-round in there, with all these animals. You mean those poles are for . . .” She trailed off, trying to imagine it. “That guy said I could work there.”
She’d called Benny because she knew his phone number. And she knew, even after everything else, she could count on him to show up. She hadn’t thought about the ride home, what that might look like. She never would have guessed she’d feel like the odd man out.
At the Talley home, Cotton opened the door and got out without saying goodbye. She stepped outside, keeping one hand on the door. “Sorry about this hassle. I’ll talk to you later.”
“You’re staying with him?” His hand tapped his leg and he looked like he’d eaten something sour.
“I need to get home. I have to figure out how to get my car.”
He stared at her, not smiling, not heading toward his house.
“You knew it was a strip club, Cotton? And you didn’t tell me?”
“Benny told me. It felt inappropriate to discuss further.”
“Yeah,” she agreed. Then, because she knew he was still unhappy, she added, “I’ll be fine,” then got back inside before he could change her mind.
Benny pulled onto the road. “Good to see you finally ditched the pretty-boy lifeguard. I guess I had your type wrong. I didn’t know you’d go for . . .”
“Don’t.” She’d never forgive him for saying anything bad about Cotton.
“I was about to say your taste has improved. That boy is not a pushover. He has spirit. Like you.”
She stared out the window so he wouldn’t see her smile.
“I owe you an apology, Ria. I didn’t know you could do it.”
“Do what?” she asked, feeling wary, knowing she was caught in a balancing act where she wasn’t sure which way was down.
“Quit. I never thought you could actually do it.”
There was nothing to say. Not when he was still talking.
“I didn’t think you were the type to choose mud wrestling and strip clubs over traveling the world doing something most people don’t even know how to dream about.
“I’ve been thinking it was such a waste,” he said, taking a turn too fast. “A waste of talent, of your parents’ money. Of my time. But I guess you were doing us all a favor, cutting it off when you did. Because the truth of the matter is, if you can quit, you should.”
She scooted against the door, wondered what she’d hurt if she jumped out.
It used to be: she screwed up, he got angry, she apologized, they got back to work. And for a while, there would be a respite. The storm of his frustration would lead to a truce. She wasn’t sure which stage they were at.