Crash

Sink or Swim

The pool itself was pretty unremarkable. A long rectangle of water with turtle tiles on the bottom, lined with rows of deckchairs and umbrellas along the poolside. It reminded Penelope of when her abuela used to take her swimming as a kid, before the fame and the cameras and the fans. 

Slowly, Charles helped her down so that they were both sat over the pool edge, their legs dangling in the cool water. The sound of the water lapping against the side was soothing, the moonlight providing the perfect romantic backdrop. The juxtaposition of her dress and clothes, Charles's Gucci suit jacket and her Louis Vuitton shoes, with the run down swimming pool and rusting deckchairs. It felt like something out of a TV show or a simulation, but here she was, feet in the water, on the run from a dinner party they were both very much needed at. 

"It's not much," he admitted, "but I like it."

"It's not what I expected."

The ripples of the water reflected in her eyes as he smiled, nudging her with his elbow. "What did you expect, hm?" 

"Oh, I don't know. A boat, maybe. Or an expensive dinner at some fancy restaurant that only serves deconstructed food."

"Wow. The guys you date sound like fun."

Penelope laughed, properly, pushing his shoulder just enough for him to almost topple into the pool. At the last minute, he grabbed her waist, pulling her so close to him that she could smell the mint on his breath. "Hey!" she gasped, her smile still wide. "Not my fault that all men are dicks."

"Hey," he said slowly, dragging out the word in a way that made her stomach flutter. "Maybe you're just dating the wrong type of guy."

She was suddenly hyper aware of the presence of his hands on her waist, the way that his eyes stared into hers. Her senses felt heightened, like every touch between them was electric. It filled her with a sense of confidence, making her bold, daring. 

"Well," she said, equally as slow. "Prove it."

Charles didn't object. His hand moved up to her face as he leaned in closer, lips just millimetres from hers. Then he pulled away. 

"Where are you going?" she complained, watching him as he began to unbutton his shirt. "And, uh, what are you...what are you doing?"

"Going for a swim," he grinned. "Join me...unless you're too chicken."

"No way you're going in there," she said as Charles undid the buckle on his belt. "It's freezing!"

With a splash, Charles disappeared into the sheen of the water. A few moments later, he popped back up, his hair wet, water droplets balancing on his lashes as he blinked the water from his eyes. "I guess you're chicken then!"

"I'll get pneumonia! It's like 5 degrees in there!"

Charles splashed water with her as she squealed, kicking her feet to get him back. "Chicken!" he taunted. 

"You are such a dick!" she said through fits of giggles, getting to her feet so that she was out of range for his antics. "Lucky that I like you, Leclerc."

Another day, she would have gotten up and left, kept her dignity and image. But there was something about tonight that made responsibility seem inconsequential. She wasn't sure how it happened, but suddenly she was dropping the straps on her dress, letting it fall around her feet, leaving her in just a bra and panties. 

Just as she'd expected, the water was freezing. Her skin shivered as it dripped from her hair and down her back, ice cold droplets stinging like tiny needles. Charles held his arms out and she swam into them, his hands wrapping around her back as she shook from the temperature. Her lags wrapped around him, the warmth of his body making her heart beat faster than before. 

"Who's chicken now?" she joked, running her hand through his soaking wet hair. 

He smiled at her, tugging her closer. "Still you. Though you are the prettiest chicken I've ever seen."

"Shut up," she giggled again, flicking water at him as he squirmed. When the water settled, it was just the two of them, like the rest of the world didn't exist. The pool was silent, the air still. Charles tucked a strand of her wet hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering against her cheek. She hoped he couldn't see her blushing.

"You really are beautiful, mon amour," he murmured.

Penelope brought her hands up to his face, running her thumb along his cheek bone. He watched her, eyes never leaving hers, caring and soft. She felt so vulnerable with him, like all the walls she'd put up to protect herself had been slowly worn away. She was safe with him, secured in their little haven, away from the outside world.

Leaning in, she spoke so softly that her voice was barely a whisper. "Kiss me."

Charles didn't wait for her to ask again. His lips were gentle as they pressed against hers, the kiss long and hot, her hands in his hair and his at her waist. He tasted like mint with a hint of grape, like a summer's day.

When he pulled away, he took her face in his hands again, studying her like she was an art piece from the Louvre. "I've never met anyone like you," he mused, planting another soft kiss along her collarbone, making her shiver.

Penelope gave him a coy smile. "You don't even know me."

He looked up to meet her eyes again. "I'd like to."

The butterflies swarmed once again, dancing pirouettes in her stomach. "I'd like that."

"Me too."

"I do have one request, though."

Charles nodded. "Anything for you."

"Can we get out of this pool? I can't feel my fingers. Or my toes. Or much of anything, actually."

"Okay, okay. Come on, give me your hand. I have blankets in the back of my car."

****************