Chapter 2: Midnight Skin
The chlorine bit the air, sharp and clean over the damp concrete smell of the rooftop. The pool was a long, turquoise rectangle, its surface perfectly still, mirroring the violent orange and purple streaks of the Miami sunset. After the sterile, refrigerated air of the rink, the humid evening felt like a physical weight, a warm blanket draped over their shoulders.
Alison floated on her back, the water lukewarm against her skin, her blonde hair fanning out around her like a halo. The day’s soreness was beginning to seep into her muscles—a deep, satisfying ache in her shoulders from holding her stance, a tightness in her hips from pushing post-to-post. She closed her eyes, listening to the distant hum of traffic seven stories below.
A soft splash disrupted the silence. She tilted her head back, upside down, and saw Bailey slide into the water at the shallow end, her movement more a silent submersion than a dive. She surfaced, pushing her dark hair back from her face, her expression unreadable.
“Water’s better than ice,” Alison said, her voice echoing slightly off the surrounding glass balustrade.
“Different kind of cold,” Bailey replied, wading deeper until the water reached her chest. She didn’t float. She stood, anchored, her arms moving slowly just beneath the surface.“Less bite. More… soak.”
They lapsed into silence. It wasn’t awkward. It was the same quiet that had hung between them on the ice—a shared space that required no filling. The sky deepened from orange to a bruised violet. Pool lights clicked on beneath the water, casting shifting blue patterns on their skin.
“Bet you can’t hold your breath longer than me,” Bailey said suddenly, her voice cutting through the gentle lapping of water against the sides.
Alison righted herself, treading water. “What?”
“Speed skaters have lung capacity. Goalies have… patience.” A faint, challenging smile touched Bailey’s lips. “It’s a different kind of endurance. So. Who breaks first?”
It was ridiculous.Childish. After the precision of their shootout, this was a crude, physical contest. Alison found herself nodding.“Okay. But we go under together. No cheating.”
They moved to the center of the deep end, facing each other. The water here was over their heads. Bailey’s eyes were dark pools in the fading light. “On three,” she said. “One… two…”
They filled their lungs and sank.
The world muted. Traffic noise vanished, replaced by the low thrum of the pool’s filtration system and the frantic, yet distant, beat of her own heart in her ears. Alison opened her eyes. The chlorinated water stung, but she could see Bailey clearly in the eerie glow of the underwater lights. She was perfectly still, suspended, her hair floating around her face like seaweed. Her eyes were open, too, locked on Alison’s.
Thirty seconds. Alison’s chest began to tighten. This wasn’t like waiting for a shot. That was active, anticipatory. This was passive surrender. A fight against her own biology. She watched a stream of silver bubbles escape from Bailey’s nose and float toward the shimmering surface above.A minute. The burn started in her diaphragm, a sharp, demanding knot. Her body screamed to move, to kick for the air just feet away. Bailey hadn’t moved. A few more bubbles trickled from her lips. Her expression was serene, almost detached. She’s used to this, Alison thought. The burn of a long sprint. You just sit in it.
Alison’s vision started to pulse at the edges. The peaceful blue glow began to feel like a prison. This was a stupid way to lose. She kicked, just a slight flutter of her feet to keep herself from rising.
Bailey saw it. A slow blink. A challenge acknowledged.
The need for air became a pounding in Alison’s temples. She was going to lose. She pointed a finger upwards, the universal signal of surrender, and began to push off the bottom.
Bailey’s hand shot out. Not to stop her, but to grab her wrist. Her grip was firm, insistent under the water. She shook her head once, slowly. Her eyes were wide, intense. Wait.
It wasn’t aggression. It was a dare. A shared secret, just like the empty rink. Endure this with me.
Alison stopped ascending. She stayed, suspended, her wrist locked in Bailey’s grasp. The burn in her lungs became a white-hot fire. Spots danced before her eyes. Bailey’s face was beginning to blur. But she didn’t let go.
Together, they pushed past the point of reason.
Finally, as one, their bodies rebelled. They kicked towards the surface, breaking it with twin, gasping bursts. Alison sucked in air, sharp and sweet, clutching the edge of the pool. Her heart hammered against her ribs. Bailey was right beside her, forehead pressed against the cool tile, her shoulders heaving.
“Jesus,” Alison coughed.
“Told you,” Bailey gasped, a breathless laugh escaping her. “Lung capacity.”
“That wasn’t lung capacity. That was mutual stupidity.”
Their laughter mingled with their ragged breaths. They floated, recovering, the few feet of water between them feeling suddenly insignificant. The sky was now a deep indigo, the first stars piercing through.
“Why’d you grab me?” Alison asked, the question leaving her lips before she could stop it.
Bailey turned her head, her cheek still against the tile. The underwater lights painted blue trails across her skin. “You were giving up.”
“I was dying.”
“You had more in you.” Bailey pushed off the wall, floating on her back beside Alison. “I could see it. You just needed a reminder.”
“A reminder to drown?”
“A reminder that you can hold on longer than you think.” Bailey’s voice was quiet. “It’s not just patience. It’s stubbornness. You have it. I saw it today. Every time I thought I’d figured you out, you’d read the play a second faster.”
Alison felt the words settle deep, a different kind of warmth spreading through her. Compliments from coaches were about technique. This was about her core. “You could see that?”
“I watch people,” Bailey said simply. She rolled in the water, facing Alison. The movement brought them closer. The ripples from their bodies collided, disrupting the perfect mirror of the sky. “It’s what I do. You get a feel for when someone’s about to break. Or about to do something incredible.”
The space between them hummed with a new kind of tension. It was no longer about competition. The charged silence from the rink had returned, but the context had shifted. The water lapped softly at Alison’s chin. Bailey’s leg drifted, her calf brushing against Alison’s under the water. A casual, accidental touch. Neither moved away.
“So, what do you see now?” Alison asked. Her voice was lower, barely above the waterline.
Bailey was still for a long moment. Her eyes searched Alison’s face, tracing the lines of her cheekbones, the set of her jaw. “I see someone who doesn’t like to lose,” she said finally. “Even at something stupid. I see… a really good goalie.” She paused. The air between their faces was thick with humidity and chlorine and something else, unnamed. “And I see I’m probably in your space.”
She didn’t pull back. She just stated it, leaving the decision hanging there.
Alison’s pulse, which had just settled from the breath-holding, kicked up again. The water seemed to heighten every sense—the slick coolness on her skin, the scent of chlorine, the faint, clean sweat smell that still clung to Bailey from their earlier practice. She was close enough to see the droplets clinging to her eyelashes.
“It’s a shared space,” Alison heard herself say. “Like the rink.”
A slow smile spread across Bailey’s face, softer than her challenging grins. “Right. Neutral zone.”
Neutral zone.”
Alison’s words hung between them, a fragile permission. The water around them felt suddenly thinner, less substantial. Bailey didn’t move away. Instead, she seemed to settle, her feet finding the bottom, bringing her to her full height. The water sluiced off her shoulders, leaving glistening trails on her skin in the blue pool light.
Standing this close, Alison truly noticed. Bailey’s thighs were colossal, the quadriceps defined and powerful even at rest, tapering to shockingly thick calves. They were pillars, the kind of legs built for driving against ice, for explosive starts and punishing endurance. It was a speed skater’s architecture, honed by years of brutal, low-to-the-ground power.
“Your legs are insane,” Alison said, the observation slipping out before she could filter it.
Bailey glanced down, as if seeing them herself. “Remnants of a dual life. Hockey all winter, speed trials all spring. I don’t race anymore, but I still do the track work.” She gave a slight, purposeful flex, the muscle knotting with dense power. “The crossover speed is unreal. Lets me change direction like most people blink.”
She paused, a faint, private smirk on her lips. “And honestly? It feels good to be this strong. Walk into a bar at six feet with these? Nobody even thinks about starting shit.”
Alison believed it. In that moment, Bailey seemed less like a teammate and more like a force of nature, calmly contained in the warm water. The attraction was a low, steady current in Alison’s gut, unmistakable now.
“What about you?” Bailey asked, her voice a notch softer. “Any hidden talents? Besides being preternaturally patient and having a scary-good glove hand.”
Alison leaned back against the pool wall, the tile cool through her swimsuit. The question felt loaded. “I’m pretty much a hockey monolith. Utterly talentless outside the crease.” She shrugged, a playful glint entering her eyes. “Well. There is one stupid party trick.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“It’s visual.”
Bailey raised an eyebrow, waiting.
Alison stuck out her tongue. Not just a peek, but a deliberate, unsettling extension. She touched the tip of her nose with ease, then curled the pink muscle higher, reaching the lower part of the bridge of her nose. She held it for a second, her eyes crossed slightly, then retracted. Without missing a beat, she tilted her head back and licked a stripe along the underside of her chin.
It was absurd. Grotesque, even.
Baley’s breath caught, just a tiny hitch. Her brown eyes, fixed on Alison’s mouth, went dark and wide. A wave of pure, visceral heat rolled through her, settling low in her abdomen. She was vividly, immediately aroused. The strength in her legs felt secondary to the sudden weakness in her knees.
“That’s… a talent,” Bailey managed, her voice tighter than before. She forced a casual tone, scrambling to cover the reaction. “Definitely unique. Gross, but unique.”
The chemistry in the water was now a tangible thing, a charge that made the humid air feel thicker. Alison’s demonstration, so casually bold, had ripped the friendly tension into something else entirely. Bailey wanted to reach out. She wanted to test the truth of that talent against her own skin.
But she held still. The fear was a cold counterpoint to the heat—the uncertainty of who Alison was, what she wanted, if this was just her being a laid-back philadelphian without a filter. To make a move now would be to risk the delicate partnership they’d just begun building on the ice.
So she just smiled, a little strained, and said, “Remind me never to get in a lick-fight with you.”
Alison laughed, the sound echoing off the water. She seemed oblivious to the turmoil she’d ignited, or maybe she was perfectly aware. “Deal. You handle the crushing. I’ll handle the…” she wiggled her tongue.
They lingered there in the blue glow, the unspoken thing swelling between them, palpable as the night breeze stirring the water’s surface.