Larry cursed between clenched teeth. The woman’s derriere was absolutely none of his business. He stretched into his own length, deciding three extra laps would do it.

He arrived at the far wall of the pool and was surprised to discover he hadn’t passed Crystal. Logic told him to stick to his own pace, but his ego urged him to swim a little harder. In a rare move, his brain let emotion override logic.

But at the end of the next lap, she was still ahead.

He pushed harder, determined to catch her.

Five more laps, and they were even at the turn.

She flashed him a smile that said she was onto him then pushed hard off the wall, obviously prepared to give it all she had. They moved neck and neck the entire length, both laughing when they reached the wall.

“How many’ve you got to go?” she gasped.

“Forty-five,” he responded.

“Might want to pace yourself,” she suggested.

“What about you?”

A competitive gleam grew in her green eyes. “Looks like we tied in the sprint. I’ll race you again for distance.”

“Forty-five laps?” he asked.

She nodded toward the scattered tables of the on-deck snack bar. “Loser buys fruit smoothies.”

“You’re on.”

Larry pushed off with determination.

At ten laps, he was surprised by her strength.

By twenty laps, he realized she must have done a whole lot of swimming in her life.

By thirty laps, he began to fear she might actually beat him.

But by forty laps, her speed began to slow.

He drew a deep breath of relief. He could have kept up the pace right to the end, but he might not have been able to walk afterward. He let himself slow down with her, and touched the final wall mere inches ahead of her.

She smoothed back her slick, dark hair, smiling brightly at him, looking like something out of a fantasy movie. “You’re very good,” she acknowledged.

“What about you? I take it you’ve done some swimming in your time?”