Free The Innocence Game by Michael Harvey

I’d follow Sarah Gold all the way to Canada if she had a mind. Or die trying, with a big smile on my face. We paddled past the line of surf. The water wasn’t as rough out here, and we bobbed up and down, treading water as the rollers swept past.
    “I used to lifeguard every summer,” Sarah said, her voice lonely in the lake at night.
    “Where?”
    She nodded in the general direction of Michigan. “Harbor Springs.”
    I knew about Harbor Springs. Or at least had seen the pictures. Clear blue water, deep, sandy beaches, and carpets of thick grass rolled up to gabled homes with long sweeping porches and wicker furniture. Men with white teeth and heavy gold watches. Women with flawless complexions and wide-brimmed hats. Everyone tanned, living forever, and drinking gin and tonics.
    “Heard it’s nice,” I said.
    “It’s where I’m from.”
    “What does that mean?”
    “Nothing. It’s just that everyone’s from somewhere, and you wear it like a second skin. Anyway, it’s a long way from Chicago.”
    “Yes, it is.”
    We treaded water for a while longer. The sky was black and deep, impossibly huge, with a handful of pale stars tossed across it. A breeze kicked up around us, and I felt my body spasm in the cold. Sarah seemed immune to it.
    “I’m not the greatest swimmer,” I said.
    “You’re doing fine.”
    A wave caught me on the chin, and I spit out a little water. “Yeah, well, it’s fucking cold.”
    She laughed. “Come here. I’ll warm you up.”
    Sarah moved close and wrapped her legs around mine. I could feel the strength in her thighs as she gripped me.
    “In lifeguard training they taught us how to share body heat.” She spit a small bit of water from her mouth.
    “Oh, yeah?” I could hear the strain and catch in my voice.
    “Yeah.” Sarah moved closer, rubbing her entire body against mine. The water temperature might have been sixty degrees, but things were happening. And Sarah couldn’t help but feel it. “It’s critical that we stay warm,” she said. Her face was inches from mine, both arms draped around my shoulders.
    “You think so?”
    We bobbed up and down on a wave as she nodded. I felt myself falling toward her. This kiss was the real thing, long, deep, and wet. I could feel her breasts against my chest, her nipples hard through the fabric. We pulled apart but kept our bodies touching. Her eyes were closed, face upturned and edged in moonlight. “That was nice.” Sarah opened her eyes and splashed me. “Race you back.” Then she was gone again, ducking under the water and knifing away.
    I followed her back in, the waves pushing us home. She streamed up and out of the water. I struggled in the surf, which, truth be told, wasn’t the worst thing in the world. I needed a little time for Mother Nature to settle before stepping onto the beach. So I wallowed and watched. Sarah walked without a trace of self-consciousness. Body, tanned and cut. Legs, lean muscle, perfectly proportioned. She was beautiful. As beautiful as she’d ever be. And I suddenly felt sad because of it.
    Sarah picked up her clothes, found a rock to sit on, and got dressed. When it was safe, I came out of the water. She was waiting up the beach.
    “That was fun.” She handed me the vodka, but I wasn’t as interested. “Fun” wasn’t the word I was looking for, although I certainly would have accepted it an hour ago. Had the stakes shifted? Sarah Gold and Ian Joyce? A couple? I chuckled and changed my mind about the bottle.
    “What are you laughing at?” she said.
    “ ‘A man’s reach should never exceed his grasp.’ ”
    “Robert Browning. And that’s not what he said. Or meant. In fact, quite the opposite.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “The quote is: ‘A man’s reach should exceed his grasp, or what’s a heaven for?’ I was an English lit major, with a concentration in English poetry.”
    “I stand corrected.”
    She gave me a playful push. We started walking, hands linked loosely. Not