Manservant

by Shari J. Ryan

  However, I can tell he’s not looking because his hands just slid under my rib cage and he’s lifting me up. His hands are big; like they take up most of my stomach. I’ve gone from a peeing statue to an elegant figure skating partner who can’t keep her head up. What adult needs to learn how to swim like this? Why couldn’t I have just Googled this shit? It can’t be that hard.

  One of his arms wraps around my body as I lift my head above the water for air. “Now you’re going to want to kick your legs under the water and move your arms at the same speed.”

  We’ve graduated folks. I’ve gone from a figure skating partner to a wind-up figurine like Scuba Steve.

  Just as I’m starting to find a rhythm between my arms and legs, a small wave gushes into us and his arm tightens around me, but slips at the same time, forcing his hand up and around my right breast, which I can feel very clearly since the tiny wave yanked my bikini top up to my neck. You must be kidding me right now.

  The second we recover and find our footing in the sand, his hand “degropes” me, and he releases his grip on my boob. While I assumed he’d jump back a foot and apologize or something, he just nonchalantly helps me with my top. I mean, he’s pulling my bikini top back down, over my breast and letting it— “Ouch!” —snap back into freaking place.

  “This isn’t the best type of bathing suit to learn how to swim in, just for future reference.”

  I should be in utter shock. Not only did he just touch my breast, then fix my bikini top . . . for me, but he is completely unaffected by the exchange. “I got it, thanks. I’ll be bathing suit shopping this weekend, trust me.” He grabbed my breast, and I’m already past the thought of how large his hand is, considering he made me feel like an A-Cup when in fact, I’m definitely a couple of cup sizes larger than that.

  “Oh, watch yourself,” he warns.

  Another wave, slightly larger than the last one, is coming for us, and rather than find a way to avoid being knocked over by it, I obviously protect the bikini situation so I don’t have to be exposed again. Wrong choice . . .

  The wave shoves me forward—not once, but twice—right into Liam. I still have my bikini top and bottom on, but I’m flat against his body. Ripples from the wave are making it hard to push back from him, so I release my hands from his rippled chest, dropping them into the water, but—oh, I have an idea—not so accidentally grazing his—massive boner. We’re in freezing water, and I’m sure I’ve heard it’s nearly impossible to have that happen in such icy waters. That size can’t be possible in a resting position, though . . .

  “So, this isn’t going well,” he finally spits out.

  “I’d say so. We’ve both been fondled, and I still can’t swim.”

  “It’s going to take some time. Most people don’t learn to swim in a day,” he says, ignoring the fondling part of my statement.

  “Most children, yes, I’m sure you’re right. I’m twenty-two, however.”

  “We’ll just have to keep at it until you know how to swim.”

  “Yeah, I guess that’s what we’ll have to do.”

  Wave. Fucking wave. His chest is so smooth and hard, and my hands are trapped between us, so I kind of want to grab his pec just to see how hard it is, but I won’t. I should. My cheek is resting on his chest, which feels nice on my face too, and he smells like . . . ocean mist with a hint of coconut from his sunscreen—a scent I want to bottle up and keep.

  Liam’s hand wraps around my back as if he were embracing me, and for less than a split second, I feel like something is right about this.

  It was just another wave though.

  “Let’s head out. We’ve ended up a far distance from the shore. That’s why the waves are getting bigger. You don’t always realize you’re moving when the current is pulling you out.”

  The momentum of everything is stronger out here. Maybe that’s why I’m feeling things I shouldn’t be feeling. His hand is still against my back as he helps me walk against the pressure of the ebb and flow from the forceful tide.

  As we approach the sand, I hear, “Brochacho!” shouted from down the beach. It takes a minute for my eyes to focus, but when I see who it is, I realize why it’s so important to learn how to swim. If I knew how to swim right now, I’d be out of here before Sterling or Cleary has a chance to see me.

  This is totally not awkward. Not even a little bit. I kissed one of you last night and fondled the other ten minutes ago. After only two days, I think am officially a beach whore. It does have a nice ring to it, I suppose.

  I grab my towel and quickly wrap it around myself, hoping to detract some of the attention away from my body, which is apparently under a spotlight. “Guppy, what are you doing here?” Sterling’s words sound chipper, but at the same time there is an inflection of what the fuckery. Because, yeah, he offered me swim lessons too, and probably not at zero degree thirty in the freaking morning. Maybe I should have taken him up on his offer instead.

  “Oh, uh—” Name. Name. His name. “Liam, offered me swim lessons.”

  “Ahh, nice, nice. How’d she do?” Sterling asks Liam.

  “Before or after the wave almost stripped her bare?” Liam asks, laughing. Holy crap, why would you say that to him? No.

  “It was nothing.” I laugh nervously, combing my fingers through my wet strands.

  “I wouldn’t call that nothing,” Liam adds in. “I copped a feel.” What, are we . . . fifth graders in the boys’ bathroom?

  “You do know I’m standing right here,” I pipe in.

  “Yeah, you should um, pull your towel up a bit,” Liam mutters and gestures to me, pointing at my on-alert frozen nipples. I grip my towel and hold it against my neck for full coverage. I look back and forth between the two of them, and I feel the testosterone in the air. Sterling expressed that he’s interested in me, but why is Liam acting possessive all of a sudden? I feel like he might come over here and claw his mark into me to claim his territory or something.

  “I’m going to get going,” I tell them. I think that would be best for all parties involved at this point.

  “Where’s your stuff?” Sterling asks Liam. “You not going back into the water today?”

  “I’ll be back at it tomorrow. I pulled something yesterday, so I’m taking a rest day,” Liam tells him.

  I feel completely uncomfortable right now, especially seeing the somewhat crushed look on Sterling’s face. It was bad enough I basically told him he couldn’t call me last night after he kissed me, but seeing/hearing all of this now is kind of a slap in the face. He’s misreading this whole situation, and understandably so.

  “Hey, Guppy, I know what you said last night, but—” I should just start running now. Sterling makes his way over to me and takes me by the arm, bringing me a few feet away from his brother and Liam. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you last night. That kiss—” Yeah, that word was a little louder than the rest of his words. “It was something else and—did you feel it too?”

  I’m trying to avoid the obvious peripheral stare Liam is hiding, not-so-subtly, when I look up at Sterling. “Yeah, I felt it too, but—I told you my reasons. I just need to get settled in here for a bit and figure some things out.” Like, do I want to have some nice sex all summer, then go home and pretend like it never happened, or should I just auction my heart out to someone who wants to have the first crack at breaking it open like a piñata?

  “I gotcha. Liam, though, he’s not bothering you, is he? I can handle him if he is. I know he can be a little rough around the edges sometimes.” What is the right answer here? Yes, he’s bothering me . . . he grabbed my breast, acts like a jerk, and he hid Shermanator from me, but other than that, he’s been perfectly charming?

  “No, I can deal with him. It’s not an issue, really.”

  “Are you diggin’ him?” Another question I can’t honestly answer.

  “I—I ugh, Sterling, I just don’t know anything right now, okay? I got here less than a week ago, and my head is all over the place. I
t’s a lot to take in at once. I’ve never left Indiana before last week, I lied to my dad about what I was doing here, and he’s out there alone, probably living in a filthy house, eating leftovers from dinners I made two weeks ago. I need—I just need some time, like I said.” I don’t leave my statement open ended, or the opportunity for another question to pop up. Instead, I turn and jog back to the house.

  It isn’t until I reach the small boardwalk leading up to the path that I realize I forgot my flip-flops, but I don’t want them badly enough to go back down there right now. I’d rather get new ones later.

  I reach the side of the house and rinse my feet with the small foot shower, then rush inside before Liam can catch up with me. No more questions. No more teasing. No more groping. I need a break from it all.

  When I close myself inside of the house, I hear Samantha and Daniel in the kitchen having a heated but quiet conversation. At the sound of the door closing, their voices go mute, and Samantha turns the corner. “How did the swim lesson go?”

  She’s decked out in her yoga clothes, ready to leave, but it’s only eight. I thought she didn’t head out until nine. This getting up early business is new to me. I’ve never understand how anyone is completely functional before nine in the morning. Daniel turns the corner too, holding a cup of coffee in his hands. He’s dressed casually today, unlike yesterday.

  “It went okay, I guess.” I’m still holding the towel up to my neck, afraid of anyone seeing more than they bargained for, now knowing I’m wearing the wrong type of swimwear for almost all occasions.

  “It’ll get easier,” she says. “Liam taught Dylan how to swim and now look at him. You have a great teacher.” I force a smile and look toward the clear path of the staircase. “I better squeeze in a shower real quick so I can get Dylan settled when he wakes up.”

  “Of course,” Samantha says.“I’m just making my rounds at the local parking lots today, so I’ll be home around four,” Daniel says between sips of his coffee. I’m not sure why he’s offering this information, though, especially since I have no clue what he does for a living. All I know is, Samantha said one of them would be home between four and six every day. It was one of the first things she mentioned when I was interviewing.

  “Parking lots? If you don’t mind me asking, what do you there?” In other words, how the hell do you two have so much freaking money running a yoga studio in a beach town and skipping from parking lot to parking lot? I’m kind of confused and curious at the same time. Clearly, I need to be doing whatever they’re doing so I can have a sweet lifestyle like they have.

  “Oh, I figured Sam would have told you. I—ah—own—” He looks down at his fingers, counting across both hands. “I think I’m up to about twelve lots now. Between that and my investment consulting biz, it’s not the worst way to live, if you know what I mean?”

  Parking lots. He owns parking lots. I just went to school for four years and destroyed my brain so I could acquire a career worth more than fifty thousand a year, and this man is making bank by owning parking lots. I’m twenty-two, and I’ve already made poor life decisions.

  “Wow, that’s impressive,” I offer quietly. “Well, I’m going to—” I awkwardly point upstairs, “shower, so I’ll see you guys later.”

  Hiking up the stairs, I hear a muttering of aggravated words exchanged between Samantha and Daniel, but I can’t make out what they’re saying. All I know is, I make it inside my bedroom just as I hear the front door open and close again.

  I hit the light switch in the bathroom, and of course, the first thing I notice is the missing bowl of condoms. Okay, awesome. What the hell? Clearly, Liam is the king of all mind games, and I’m obviously not putting up a very good fight.

  My towel drops to the floor as I peer into the mirror at my frizzy hair, seeing my unthawed nipples still standing at attention. I glance into the mirror a little closer, studying the . . . ohhh—way thinner than I thought—material of my bathing suit. I’m always so careful about white, and this is exactly why. You can see my freaking nipples right through the damn thing. No wonder I’m getting so much unwarranted attention. Crap. It’s a good thing I had a towel on when I came into the house just now.

  I open the frosted glass door of the shower and crank the hot water up before stripping out of my skankilicious bikini. I believe that was the brand name, which now explains it all. The stupid thing was expensive too. Don’t they test the material in water before selling it? Plus, I’m blonde. My nipples aren’t even that dark. I can’t even imagine what it would have looked like if that were the case. I would chance being arrested for indecent exposure in public. That could only add to the amazingness of this summer so far.

  Inside the shower, I revisit the spa-like bench I didn’t take advantage of yesterday during my five-minute shower. I was in and out and didn’t take the time to notice the variety of shower spouts protruding from the wall. I turn a knob that I didn’t touch yesterday, and the water shoots out from different directions. How fancy. At home, I was lucky to have high enough water pressure to rinse the shampoo from my hair.

  I drop down and rest my head against the tiled wall, sucking in the hot steam with the hope that it’ll loosen some of the tension in my chest.

  I can’t believe he took Shermanator. Who does that?

  Opening one eye to look around the shower again, I spot a detachable shower hose with a massage dial. Oh, there is a sex god. Tugging it away from the wall, I turn the dial to a medium level and hold it between my legs, relaxing at first, then quickly welcome flashing images of Sterling and Liam, but Liam’s boner-looking non-boner from last night is one of the clearer images I’m focused on. I can’t help but wonder . . .

  A sudden burst of cold water shoots up my penis fly trap, and I almost let out a loud scream, but instead my body convulses, enjoying the drastic temperature change. Even the pipes are groaning behind me, followed by the loud percussion of pressure storms returning the hot water. It’s about all it takes to finish me off quicker than I would have liked. The fulfillment is so intense that I feel the need to cup my hand over my mouth to prevent any noise from escaping my throat.

  A door slams in the vicinity, and I can’t tell if it’s in the hall or closer. Whatever the case, it better not be in my room. Now that my O-factor has zeroed out and my pulse is left racing as I fall off the beautiful ledge made of orgasms, I just want to know what that noise was. Holy paranoia.

  I wash up quickly and shut the off shower, grabbing the towel from the nearby rack before stepping out onto the fluffed bath mat. My focus goes to the door first, which is still closed. Then I glance over to the mirror, finding a smiley face drawn into the fog with a blinked eye and the words, “Don’t forget the vent switch” beside it.

  I stomp over to the door and whip it open, somewhat assuming I’d find Liam standing in the middle of my bedroom, but my door is closed, just not locked anymore. Enraged once again, I towel dry my hair and slip into a pair of jean shorts and a black tank-top—all materials fit for hiding body parts.

  There are weird noises coming from Dylan’s room when I open my door, so I head down there first, finding Dylan and Liam both playing a video game together. They’re perched on the edge of Dylan’s bed, making similar tongue-in-cheek faces while concentrating so hard it’s like there is no option other than beating each other out in whatever game they’re playing.

  Since they don’t notice me, I head downstairs to put Dylan’s breakfast together. Liam is beginning to strike me as some big kid who wants to live vicariously through Dylan because I’ve never met any guy around my age who wants to spend so much time with a kid almost a third of his age. It is sweet, and I feel awful for what Dylan has been through, so I guess it’s nice he has Liam, though I wish Liam would just focus on his manservant tasks here and let me do my job with Dylan. I’m starting to feel like a houseguest more than a nanny. It’s weird.

  After I put Dylan’s breakfast together and pour him a glass of juice, I head to the bottom
of the stairwell. “Dylan, your breakfast is ready.” After a minute, he comes downstairs, covering his mouth, laughing silently. Let me guess, Liam has filled your head with some kind of crap information about me? “What is so funny? Did you beat Liam at your game?”

  “No, it’s nothing,” he says. “But, yeah, I whipped his butt.”

  “Good, keep doing that. He needs a good butt whipping,” I say, joking around while roughing up Dylan’s hair.

  “Huh, is that true?” Liam asks, appearing in the entryway of the kitchen. “Just like those movies you watch, right?”

  Dylan laughs again. “You watch butt-whipping movies!” Thankfully Dylan has no clue what Liam means, but I want to slap him for even mentioning it around Dylan. What the hell is he thinking?

  “You forgot—” Liam begins.

  “No, no, no, no,” Dylan whines, holding his hands up to the sides of his face. “You forgot.”

  “What, what? What did I forget? It’s cereal, just like you want in the mornings?”

  I look up at Liam, watching him mouth the word, “Strawberries.” Oh. I did forget. I race to the refrigerator and whip out the container of already sliced strawberries, bringing it to his bowl.

  “Do you want to do it, or should I?” I ask Dylan, feeling nervous, but doing my best to hide it that from him.

  “You, you, you!”

  “How many?” I ask.

  “Ten,” Liam spits out as if we’re on a tight schedule.

  I count them out carefully and drop ten into his bowl. Immediately, Dylan drops his hands and lifts his spoon as if none of this happened.

  How is Samantha so put together and calm? I feel like my heart might explode right now, not knowing what else I’m going to mess up with him today. The last thing I want to do is hurt this poor kid.

  I head over to the pantry and grab the binder. I’m trying to memorize this thing as quickly as I can, but it’s obviously not fast enough. As I open it to re-read her notes, Liam sits down with Dylan at the table and scrolls through his phone.