Free Night Swimming by Laura Moore Page A

in his stool and studied Sean’s closed expression. “That’s it.” His grin spread slowly. “You got a thing for the beautiful scientist.”
    “Yeah.” Sean’s shrug downplayed Dave’s discovery. “But like I said, Lily’s detested me forever. I doubt her attitude has changed much.” And after the way he’d behaved toward her earlier, at the reef meeting, it was practically guaranteed Lily wouldn’t be entertaining any warm, fuzzy feelings about him. Probably thought he was a bigger jerk than ever.
    “So how long have you been suffering the effects of unrequited, uh, you know . . .”
    Sean tilted his head, his look measuring. “Would you believe eighth grade?” He smiled and waited.
    “You’re kidding!”
    Sean solemnly shook his head. “I kid you not.”
    “Eighth grade,” Dave mused aloud. “What’d she do?”
    “Took off her sweater in Ms. Geller’s English class,” Sean replied with a sorry laugh.
    “She took off her sweater?” Dave echoed, his expression mystified. Understanding dawned as he recalled what he’d been like at age thirteen, a hormone-crazed adolescent. “Oh, yeah, right.” He nodded sagely as he brought his beer to his lips.
    “I was a goner from that day on,” Sean said. “Didn’t matter where I was. One look at Lily, and my mind and body went haywire. The worst of it was, I never quite figured out how to shake the Lily Effect. The next four years in high school were absolute torture.”
    “Oh, man,” Dave said with an appalled laugh as he clapped a hand to Sean’s shoulder in a show of fraternal commiseration. “I’m sorry. That’s a hell of a tough break.”
    They leaned back in their stools while Charlie set new drinks before them.
    “Thanks, Charlie,” Sean said, going for his wallet.
    Dave stopped him with a wave of his hand. “No, let me. When I have a story this sad, you buy the rounds.”
    “Thanks.” Sean managed a rueful smile. His hand reached back to knead the kinks in his neck. “Yeah, it’s a mess,” he conceded. “On top of being Lily’s public enemy number one, I’ve got Ferrucci trying to shove these development people down my throat—when he isn’t attacking me on community TV.”
    “Don’t waste your time worrying about Ferrucci’s machinations, Sean. It’s Lily Banyon you should be devoting your, uh, energies to. You’re not a lust-struck teenager anymore. Why don’t you spend some time with her, let her get to know the real you?” Dave ignored Sean’s decidedly unenthusiastic grunt. “Hey! I’ve got it! You can tag along on the research boat as an observer.”
    “A monumentally bad idea, Dave,” Sean said flatly.
    “Why not? It’s perfect. You ran on an environmental platform; this shows how committed you are to monitoring the reef’s health. You don’t need to go often— otherwise our friend Ferrucci will cry foul—just enough to dazzle her with that McDermott charm. So, how about it?”
    Sean shook his head. “No dice, not in a million years. I don’t want to be anywhere near her.”
    Dave wasn’t cruel enough to tell Sean he was lying like a rug.
    A brief silence ensued as they nursed their drinks, absorbed in thought. At the corner of the bar, a conversation rose in decibel, becoming animated.
    “Yo, Frank, take a look at what just walked in! Is it Christmas already? ’Cause that sure is a pretty package.”
    “You got that right. . . . Wouldn’t mind unwrapping her bows.”
    Instinctively, Sean cast a glance over his shoulder and groaned in despair. The scene from Casablanca played in his mind . . . Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, she had to walk into mine.
    This could not be happening. This was his turf, his town, his bar. She had no right to trespass.
    Okay, so this wasn’t Casablanca . This wasn’t Rick’s Café. Sam’s fingers weren’t summoning the haunting melody, “As Time Goes By,” from the ivories of an old, upright piano. There weren’t any ceiling fans with