by Brooks, Abby
Her brothers gave her a starting fund of a thousand dollars. The rest of her money was off limits because she hadn’t earned it.
Which led them to her favorite part of the bet.
The super-duper, extra fun part. According to the rules, she was responsible for supporting herself. By getting a job. You know, with all her vast and extensive experience in...
…she had no experience in anything employers were interested in.
She brought one pot. One pan. A chipped plate set they found at Goodwill and some flatware she picked up at Walmart. Her brothers gleefully deducted every cent of the money she spent on supplies from the starter money in her account and for whatever reason, at the time, that made her all the more determined not to buy more than the absolute essentials.
The result? Her apartment was an exercise in minimalism.
On the topic of apartments, she wasn’t allowed to rent one in Bliss, her hometown in South Carolina. For some reason, having people know that she was the Lilah Moore, the youngest daughter of local royalty, would make things too easy on her. For some reason that seemed really important to her brothers, she had to be anonymous.
So, there she was, four days into living on her own and she hated every fucking second of it. She was almost out of clean clothes and since she wasn’t allowed to bring her washer and dryer, it meant she was going to have to find a laundromat. Dishes filled the sink and were starting to pile up on the counter because it turned out doing dishes was the worst. And cooking sucked too. And then there was job situation.
When the topic of jobs came up, Lilah proudly proclaimed she’d make money waiting tables. In her mind, she’d be a shoo-in at a higher end restaurant in one of the large cities nearby. Not only would she fit in better with the clientele, but she would make bigger tips.
So, she’d need to drive a little farther to get there? That wasn’t such a big deal, if it meant earning more money.
But…surprise!
The higher end restaurants wanted waitresses with experience and since Lilah had none, in any job of any kind, they’d all pretty much laughed her out of the interview. And, as if to prove a point, Ellie’s junker broke down on the way home from the last interview, forcing Lilah to call a tow truck and pay to get it fixed.
Which sucked, because car repair shops smelled bad. It had taken her days to get the stink out of her hair.
“I don’t have a job,” Lilah said as she peered into her empty fridge. “I have a car that barely works. This is so not fun.”
She closed the fridge with a thwack and folded her arms, totally ready to move back into the comfort of her parents’ guesthouse. Luxurious pajamas. Meals cooked by people who knew what they were doing. A closetful of gorgeous clothes that she would never have to wash herself. And good God…her car.
But that would mean admitting she was wrong. Even worse, it would mean admitting her brothers were right. She couldn’t handle life out in the ‘real world’—whatever that meant. And she just couldn’t bring herself to do that, because they would never, ever let her live it down.
“Besides, I’m Lilah Moore. I can do anything I want.” She glanced at the dirty dishes in the kitchen, the pan from breakfast caked with scrambled eggs, the pile of plates that had migrated out of the sink and consumed every bit of counter space. “And I don’t want to do you.”
They would just have to keep waiting because it was just past noon, she had an interview at four, and the pool was calling. That was the one decent thing about living there. The pool. Even if she did have to share it with all the other people who lived at the Seaside Apartments.
Ha! Seaside. She couldn’t even smell the ocean they were so far inland.
Lilah ran upstairs and changed, slipping into a hot pink bikini that gleamed against her sun-kissed skin, then pulling her hair into a high bun. She grabbed her sunscreen, a towel, a bottle of water, and her Kindle then trudged to the pool in the oppressive July heat.
Wondering how her cheap flip-flops hadn’t melted to the pavement, Lilah pushed through the gate that was somehow supposed to keep non-residents out of the pool and cringed. The water seethed with screeching children splashing about while swarms of parents stretched out in lounge chairs, ignoring their offspring. Lilah made a beeline for the last available seat, eager for a place to stretch out, even if there were towels draped across the chairs on either side. Obviously she would have preferred something more isolated, but everything about the last week had been about accepting less than she was accustomed to.
“I’ll have earned a sainthood when this is over,” she muttered.
She pulled her towel from her bag and laid it over the seat then sat down to lather sunscreen on her legs. Her gaze settled on the one adult occupant swimming laps, somehow oblivious to, and completely undeterred by the herd of children churning the pool into a frothing mess.
He attacked the water with a singular focus, his long arms stretching out in front of him and pulling his body forward. His legs kicking with confident determination. His skin was bronzed from hours in the sun and his body had the long muscles of an Olympic swimmer. Lilah leaned back in her chair, eyes locked on him.
He didn’t seem like he was a parent to any of the rug rats in the pool. Nor did he have the same, go-with-the-flow, distracted appearance of the adults lounging around the water. He was determined. Single-minded in his exercise. And for some reason, the children stayed out of his way, leaving his lane clear, as if they knew better than to get in the way of where he was going.
As Lilah watched, the man came to a stop, grasping the wall and shaking water out of his sun-bleached hair. He ran his hands over his face and took several long breaths before pulling himself out of the pool. Her mom always said it wasn't polite to stare, but she’d never let that stop her.
Why start now, when the view is so good?
The man walked toward her, his long strides causing the muscles in his torso and legs to twitch and flex. His powerful arms led to strong hands that she imagined running along her body, setting her skin on fire. He shook out his hair again as he plopped onto a chair directly beside hers, rubbing a towel over his head to finish drying.
Of course, he looked up just as she was staring directly at him. Their eyes locked and she gasped at the hardness in his gaze. His eyes were a stormy blue, the color of the restless sea and cold as steel. They glinted with something she couldn’t understand and left her feeling exposed as they raked over her body. Like he cut through to the very essence of who she was and cast judgment on all her doings, past, present, and future.
It was raw. Personal. Almost crude.
It set Lilah’s teeth on edge and she didn’t like it. Not one bit.
People didn’t look at her like that. When someone got her attention, they smiled. The look in their eyes practically begged her to like them and smile at them and want to be with them. This judgmental hardness wasn’t going to fly.
She scowled, her eyebrows and lips pursing together in a pout.
To make matters worse, the jerk smiled at her discomfort. Actually smiled!
A broad, vibrant grin stretched across his face, transforming his eyes from stormy to vivid. His straight, white teeth contrasted his tanned face and a hint of blonde stubble peppered his chin and jaw.
Great smile or not, Lilah was not impressed and intended to make sure he knew. She yanked her gaze away from Mr. Chiseled-Abs McJudgy-Pants as she pulled her phone from her bag. What this moment needed was a soundtrack. She unlocked her phone and launched Spotify, flipping through her favorite channels until she found the perfect one for sitting in the sun on a lazy Sunday. As the swimmer strutted past her chair on his way back out to the pool, Lilah popped in her ear buds and stretched out, her eyes plastered on his perfect ten of an ass.
Just because she didn’t like him, didn’t mean she couldn’t enjoy the view.
* * *
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