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I let my eyes fall to her breasts, seeing the hard points of her nipples
straining against her long-sleeved, black rash guard. A pretty impressive
feat, considering the wet material is clinging to her skin, and I can see that
she’s also wearing a bikini top under the shirt, adding extra padding.
Which I’m grateful for. I look up at the bleachers, seeing a few dads
gazing down, and while they’re probably looking at their kids, I don’t like
that they might be looking at her. She doesn’t need to give them a show.
I drop my eyes back to her, watching her smile at the kids.
“Great job, everyone!” She walks down the line, giving them high fives
before standing in front of the last one, asking, “Washing machine or
cannonball?”
“Washing machine!” the little girl with freckles squeals.
Ryen picks her up, cradles her in her arms, and twirls in the pool,
whipping left and then whipping right as the kid squeezes her eyes shut and
laughs.
“Shoo, shoo, shoo, shoo,” Ryen says, mimicking a washing machine
sound.
I shift and draw in a breath, realizing I’d forgotten to breathe for a
moment.
“Me, me!” the next kid waves his hand in the air and shouts,
“Cannonball!”
Ryen picks him up. This kid she vaults into the air, and he flies a couple
feet above the water and then plunges below the surface, making a big
splash.
I tear my eyes away, reminding myself that I don’t care. I stand with
Dane and wait for her to finish all the kids, and as soon as she dismisses
them to their parents, I walk over to the bench where she’s drying herself
off.