“confrontational” to the list of faults
that the mean girls had obviously compiled about her.
Sucking in a deep breath, Adele launched into another ten
laps, allowing the chilly water and the exertion of powering through it to burn
away her irritation. Because that was all it was—irritation. She wasn’t angry.
Anger was too powerful an emotion, and one that would be totally wasted on
those ignorant women. She almost felt sorry for them, actually. If they had
nothing better to do than to stare at her and slag her off all the time, then
they clearly had very dull lives.
The thought cheered her considerably and when she completed
her twentieth lap, she lay her forearms on the edge of the pool and hoiked
herself up. Her back was pressed against the side, and from there she had a
perfect view of the rest of the pool. Tugging her goggles down so they hung
around her neck, she had a damn good look at everyone else. The small children
and their guardians in the kids’ pool right at the other end of the enormous
hall, the old people who swam so slowly as they chatted that she was surprised
they stayed afloat, the relentless movement of the man in the medium-speed lane
and, of course, the mean girls who were in the same sort of position she was
but at the side of the pool rather than the end. The side that faced the
lifeguard station.
Adele narrowed her eyes and watched them—the two waif-like
blondes and a brunette—as they chatted and giggled, and it seemed for a change,
not about her. They’d clearly changed the subject since their previous spouting
of vitriol. Their focus was very firmly on Oliver as he sat on his lofty perch,
surveying the pools before him, ready to jump in should anyone get into
trouble. She often toyed with the idea of faking a problem just to get him into
the pool and his strong arms around her. However, she knew that although he’d
undoubtedly do his duty and help her, he’d never believe such a strong swimmer
would need his assistance. Then he’d lose all respect for her and probably stop
hiding his disdain for her so effectively. And the polite nods and smiles she
got from him were the only thing—aside from the center’s top-notch
facilities—that made the place bearable. She was sure that if the three
witches—a nickname she’d secretly come up with for the women—had their way,
there would be a sign on the main doors to the building saying, “No Fat People
Allowed.”
Well, fuck them. She had as much right to be there as they
did and there was no way they were going to drive her out.
She continued to watch as the three of them gazed at Oliver,
batting their eyelashes and flicking their hair around. No wonder none of them
wore goggles or swim hats—they’d be covering up their best flirting tools that
way.
Now, though, it was Adele’s turn to snigger—albeit almost
inaudibly—as she noticed the reaction they were getting from Oliver. None.
Nothing at all. Nada . She had no idea whether he knew what they were
doing and he was just ignoring them or whether their antics had simply not
registered with him at all. Either way, they were not very happy about it, and
redoubled their efforts as his gaze focused on the deep end—the end Adele was
currently in.
His attention lingered in her direction, so she decided to
take advantage of it and gave him a little wave and a smile. Her gestures were
returned with enthusiasm, which set off a whole new wave of craziness from the
three witches and a bunch of furious whispers. Adele didn’t care. In fact she
was incredibly amused by the fact that Oliver was ignoring three attractive,
toned women in order to pay attention to her. Now if only he meant it in a
more-than-friendly way, her day would be made. But although she frequently
daydreamed about him returning her affections, she wasn’t kidding herself. If
by some miracle the divine Oliver Shaw was single, then he certainly wouldn’t
be looking to date a size twenty, nearly
that the mean girls had obviously compiled about her.
Sucking in a deep breath, Adele launched into another ten
laps, allowing the chilly water and the exertion of powering through it to burn
away her irritation. Because that was all it was—irritation. She wasn’t angry.
Anger was too powerful an emotion, and one that would be totally wasted on
those ignorant women. She almost felt sorry for them, actually. If they had
nothing better to do than to stare at her and slag her off all the time, then
they clearly had very dull lives.
The thought cheered her considerably and when she completed
her twentieth lap, she lay her forearms on the edge of the pool and hoiked
herself up. Her back was pressed against the side, and from there she had a
perfect view of the rest of the pool. Tugging her goggles down so they hung
around her neck, she had a damn good look at everyone else. The small children
and their guardians in the kids’ pool right at the other end of the enormous
hall, the old people who swam so slowly as they chatted that she was surprised
they stayed afloat, the relentless movement of the man in the medium-speed lane
and, of course, the mean girls who were in the same sort of position she was
but at the side of the pool rather than the end. The side that faced the
lifeguard station.
Adele narrowed her eyes and watched them—the two waif-like
blondes and a brunette—as they chatted and giggled, and it seemed for a change,
not about her. They’d clearly changed the subject since their previous spouting
of vitriol. Their focus was very firmly on Oliver as he sat on his lofty perch,
surveying the pools before him, ready to jump in should anyone get into
trouble. She often toyed with the idea of faking a problem just to get him into
the pool and his strong arms around her. However, she knew that although he’d
undoubtedly do his duty and help her, he’d never believe such a strong swimmer
would need his assistance. Then he’d lose all respect for her and probably stop
hiding his disdain for her so effectively. And the polite nods and smiles she
got from him were the only thing—aside from the center’s top-notch
facilities—that made the place bearable. She was sure that if the three
witches—a nickname she’d secretly come up with for the women—had their way,
there would be a sign on the main doors to the building saying, “No Fat People
Allowed.”
Well, fuck them. She had as much right to be there as they
did and there was no way they were going to drive her out.
She continued to watch as the three of them gazed at Oliver,
batting their eyelashes and flicking their hair around. No wonder none of them
wore goggles or swim hats—they’d be covering up their best flirting tools that
way.
Now, though, it was Adele’s turn to snigger—albeit almost
inaudibly—as she noticed the reaction they were getting from Oliver. None.
Nothing at all. Nada . She had no idea whether he knew what they were
doing and he was just ignoring them or whether their antics had simply not
registered with him at all. Either way, they were not very happy about it, and
redoubled their efforts as his gaze focused on the deep end—the end Adele was
currently in.
His attention lingered in her direction, so she decided to
take advantage of it and gave him a little wave and a smile. Her gestures were
returned with enthusiasm, which set off a whole new wave of craziness from the
three witches and a bunch of furious whispers. Adele didn’t care. In fact she
was incredibly amused by the fact that Oliver was ignoring three attractive,
toned women in order to pay attention to her. Now if only he meant it in a
more-than-friendly way, her day would be made. But although she frequently
daydreamed about him returning her affections, she wasn’t kidding herself. If
by some miracle the divine Oliver Shaw was single, then he certainly wouldn’t
be looking to date a size twenty, nearly
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