Chapter 30 (1/2)

“Are you afraid?” His tone is calm but serious.

“No . . . I don’t know. Sort of,” I admit and he walks through the water toward me.

“Sit on the edge and I’ll help you in.”

I sit down and close my legs tightly so he doesn’t see my panties. Noticing this, he grins as he reaches me. His hands grip my thighs and once again I am on fire. Why does my body have to respond to him this way? I’m trying to make us friends, so I need to ignore the fire. He moves his hands to my waist and asks, “Ready?”

As soon as I nod yes, he is lifting me and pulling me into the water, water that’s warm and feels amazing against my hot skin. Hardin lets me go too soon and I stand up in the water. We are closer to the bank so it only reaches just below my chest.

“Don’t just stand there,” he says mockingly, and I ignore him but do walk out a little. The T-shirt bubbles up from the water going under it and I yelp and pull it down. Once it’s positioned, it promises to stay put for the most part.

“You could just take it off,” he says with a smirk and I splash at him. “Did you just splash me?” He laughs and I nod, splashing at him again. He shakes his wet head and lunges for me under the water. His long arms hook around my waist and pull me under. My hand flies up to plug my nose; I haven’t mastered swimming without my nose plugged. When we emerge, Hardin is cracking up, and I can’t help but laugh with him. I am actually having fun, real fun, not that average watching-a-good-movie fun.

“I can’t decide which is more amusing: the fact that you are actually having a good time or the fact that you have to plug your nose underwater,” he says through his laughter.

I get a jolt of bravery and move toward him, ignoring the way the T-shirt floats up again, and I try to push his head underwater. Of course, he is too strong for me and doesn’t budge, so he only laughs harder, showing all of his beautiful white teeth. Why can’t he be like this all the time?

“I believe you owe me an answer to a question,” I remind him.

He looks off toward the bank. “Sure, but only one.”

I’m not sure which one to ask, I have so many. Before I can decide, though, I hear my voice making the decision for me: “Who do you love the most in the world?”

Why would I ask him that? I want to know more specific things, like why is he a jerk? Why is he in America?

He looks at me suspiciously, as if he is confused by my question.

“Myself,” he answers, and goes back underwater for a few seconds.

He pops back up and I shake my head. “That can’t be true,” I say in challenge. I know he is arrogant but he has to love someone . . . anyone? “What about your parents?” I ask and immediately regret it.