Nine Lanes

The floor was rough under Alexa’s bare feet, designed with safety in mind. Damp residue soaked the grainy texture, remnants of drops left by swimmers who had come and gone throughout the day.

When the day was over, the pool belonged to her. She had her own key and the owner’s permission, so nobody could tell her otherwise.

Sitting on the edge, she dipped her feet in before sliding her body down. The cool water caressed her warm skin, tickling her toes and kissing her lower stomach beneath her tight suit. She tucked a few stray wisps of hair back under her silicone cap and submerged.

The scent of chlorine lingered in her nostrils when she came up for air. She kicked off against the wall and crossed the first lane with lazy, formless strokes. When she reached the other side, she rested for a moment before she switched.

Ducking her head beneath the ropes dividing the lanes, she propelled herself forward with a powerful breaststroke. Her chest led the way, the muscles in her arms and back lined up in support formation. She didn’t time herself. She didn’t need to. Not when it felt this right.

Switch.

Without skipping a beat, she slipped under the next divider, twisting her torso to emerge on her back. Her chest lifted now, dipping in and out of the water ahead of her kicking feet.

Switch.

She moved into her next lane, into her next technique. Switch, then switch again. Nine lanes in total, but she didn’t swim the ninth.

She floated.

Relaxing on top of the miniature waves created by every slight movement she made, Alexa let herself drift. Her shoulder brushed against the ropes that would keep her in this lane, and she laughed.

It was all the same water. And tonight, it was hers.