The mere mention of those three magical initials and Paul was salivating worse than a burst dam with backed-up rain water.  He shot her a double thumbs-up, followed by a resounding “Oh, yeah!  Making it there sounds good, too.”  Realizing his potential faux pas, he quickly added, “Um, I meant the sandwiches.”  Before his body had even the slightest chance of radiating a blush or a smile, Charlette decided to drop an atomic-bomb of a word.<br/><br/>“Swim?” he softly repeated.  As she nodded with a smile, he felt his knees go weak.  Right there and then, he seriously wondered if she would deem it rude of him to insist that she swim in a pair of sweats.  Of course, he’d be right there to reassure her that she wouldn’t sink due to the extra wet weight.  Hey, Old Man.  Great, Paul thought, only getting better from here.<br/><br/>You do know you’re now Dead Man Walking, right?  Paul weakly replied to the voice, You are so not helping.  For once, silence was his response.<br/><br/>Last night was bad enough, Paul reflected, though still enjoying the mental images of her.  Who knew what kind of swimwear she would choose?  Doubting he’d make it unscathed through the day, he offered one last caveat, however lamely, “Though you know, Charlette, at, um, this time of year, the water gets really cold.  Or, it could.  So, I dunno, might not, uh, be such a good idea for a swim.”  He smiled at her as if he knew what he was talking about.  Praying, more likely.<br/><br/>Dead.  Man.  Walking.<br/><br/>Man, just shut the hell up, Paul replied, though he wondered about his accuracy.  Was gonna be a good day, though a challenging one at that.