The Pool Boy (Nashville Neighborhood Book 2)

by Nikki Sloane

  He’d been having an affair with Derrick all that time.

  It’d been ten months since I’d walked into my husband’s office and found him getting fucked by his boss, but I remembered the scene like it had happened an hour ago. How Clark was bent over, his hands splayed out on the desktop. How Derrick loomed behind him, his pelvis fitted tightly against Clark’s bare ass. How their faces were flushed and shiny with sweat, and both of their mouths hung open in pleasure.

  But most of all, I remembered the idiotic thought that struck me in that moment. It wasn’t shock, or anger, or really even hurt . . . although those emotions came later. The first thing to leap into my mind when confronted with the image of these two men together, was that my husband’s dick swinging between his legs was hard. Harder than I’d ever seen it in my life.

  All the years we’d been together, and I hadn’t known he was capable.

  My sharp gasp yanked the men’s attention to me, and then they both issued their own horrified gasps. They couldn’t move fast enough, tripping over the pants wadded at their ankles as they hurried to separate and cover themselves.

  “Erika,” Clark blurted out, as he jerked up his pants. “What are you doing here?”

  I back pedaled, unable to speak or rip my gaze away. As soon as Derrick had his pants up, he raced to zip his fly, and my gaze zeroed in on his wedding band. I’d met his wife a few times at the annual holiday party.

  My mind was disconnected, but my body activated on the desire to flee, to try to outrun the emotional pain that would arrive any moment.

  “Oh, fuck. Wait,” Clark pleaded.

  I didn’t. I reeled around blindly, dashing for the elevators.

  If I’d been able to register the desperation in his voice, it might have been heartbreaking. “Please, Erika. I’m so sorry.”

  He caught up to me right after I’d slapped the down button, forcing me to wait to finish my escape. I couldn’t look at him. Instead, I focused on the carpet at the edge of the elevator doors and listened for the chime to announce its arrival.

  By the time I boarded the car, he was crying. The first time I’d ever seen him do it. The story spilled from him in a mess of words as we rode together down to the lobby, him trying to explain how he wasn’t bisexual or gay. He claimed he didn’t like men, and neither did Derrick. That they’d become friends and bonded when they worked out together. They’d tried to fight off this thing between them, but their connection was too powerful.

  He sobbed that they hadn’t wanted to fall in love with each other.

  “Love?” I repeated in horror. “How can you be in love when you’re married to other people?”

  It was the stupidest question.

  Wasn’t I already aware marriage didn’t mean a thing to some people? Like my father. He’d had at least two affairs that my mother knew about, before leaving her for my stepmother. He’d probably had more. My father had always suffered from a wandering eye. Even now, I doubted he was staying faithful.

  Clark hadn’t been anything like that. He never looked at another woman once we were together. I’d thought we were rock solid in that department.

  I sank my teeth into my bottom lip and let my eyes fill with tears as he begged for forgiveness. Didn’t he know it was way, way too soon for that? I stood motionless and numb as he planted his face in my chest and shook with emotion. His fists curled around the edges of my coat, holding me to him, before he stilled. He drew back just enough, so I could see the puzzled look on his face.

  He was wondering what the hell I was wearing.

  I swallowed down my embarrassment. I’d come here tonight with a plan of seduction, completely unaware my husband was in love with someone else. He’d made me an oblivious fool.

  A tiny voice cried out in my head that he’d done this to me on my birthday.

  My voice was empty because I’d become a husk. “I loved you.”

  “I know,” he whispered. “I loved you too. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  It wasn’t the first lie he’d ever told me, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last either.

  I trudged toward the house, carrying the thick envelope along with my thoughts about the fallout that ensued. I’d done my best to stay civil, at first. We agreed via a short exchange of texts that he’d find somewhere else to stay for a few days, and I’d contact him when I was ready to talk.

  But Clark couldn’t even give me that.

  I’d come home the morning after my birthday from my best friend Jenna’s house to discover him packing his things in boxes, and the Fender American Standard Stratocaster guitar leaning against them.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” I was too emotionally exhausted to control myself. “You don’t even know how to play.”

  But I did. When we’d met in college, I’d been pursuing my dream of becoming a singer-songwriter. Clark had proposed to me onstage one night after my weekly set, saying my music had captured his heart, and he wanted to spend the rest of his life listening to me.

  Clark straightened stiffly, and when his hand flexed possessively around the neck of the beautiful instrument I’d used to create my favorite songs, I felt his fingers on my throat choking me.

  His tone was sharp and definitive. “This was a gift from my parents.”

  “Yeah,” I snapped. “A wedding gift to us.”

  I’d found his parents’ present both romantic and encouraging. Ultimately, I’d failed in my dream, but his parents had been more supportive of my journey than my own family had been.

  The guitar was just the beginning.

  I could forgive Clark for falling out of love with me. Even his confusion over his feelings developing for someone else . . . especially a man. It was obvious he was struggling with it.

  But the year of cheating? And the fact he had no desire to ever come clean about it? Not to mention the way he treated me after he’d been caught . . . that was fucking unforgivable.

  Once he’d proven he was a liar, I realized I couldn’t trust anything he said, including that he’d been safe with Derrick, and that he’d had no other partners over the last year. Clark and I hadn’t had sex in months, but there’d been overlap, and if he’d caught an STD, I was now exposed.

  He was livid when I tracked down Derrick’s wife and confessed what I’d caught our husbands doing. I’d battled heavily with the decision to tell her. Clark had begged me not to tell our friends and family why we were getting divorced. Neither he nor Derrick were ready to be outed, and I didn’t have any desire to do that.

  But his wife had a right to know her husband wasn’t faithful, and I wouldn’t have hesitated if I’d caught him with another woman. I was a firm believer that once a cheater, always a cheater, and if it were me—I’d want to know. Better to deal with the hurt now than waste years with a partner who lied and didn’t love you.

  Clark said I’d done it solely to punish him and Derrick, and there was no convincing him otherwise. He turned cold and mean and left rude messages on my voicemail when I wouldn’t answer his calls. Each one of them tore my heart to shreds. I didn’t recognize this man anymore. He wasn’t even a shadow of the person I’d fallen in love with twenty years ago.

  The same afternoon I’d had my first meeting with my attorney, I also had my consult with a plastic surgeon. Jenna drove me home after the surgery and stayed with me as my new size D breasts ached beneath their bindings.

  It was one of the best decisions I’d ever made. I didn’t care what anyone else thought, because I loved the way I looked now. Feminine and youthful and proportional. I had worked so hard to get healthy and fit, and my reward only motivated me to keep going with it.

  The air conditioning in my kitchen did little to cool me down as I dropped the mail on the counter with a thud, followed by my purse. I glared at the letter, then sighed and slipped my finger beneath the flap, tearing it open.

  The tension slipped from my shoulders as I read the cover letter from my divorce attorney, and then paged t
hrough the signed papers that followed.

  It was official.

  My marriage was dissolved.

  My relief was so overwhelming, I gripped the edge of the counter with both hands to keep me upright. One long chapter of my life was finally closed.

  I could hear Jenna’s voice in my head, urging me to start a new one. She’d been on me for the last two months to start putting myself out there, but it felt wrong to do that before my marriage was legally over.

  There was nothing stopping me now.

  Nothing except my crushing fear.

  I’d been so oblivious to my relationship falling apart with Clark, how could I trust myself with someone new? I’d buried the sexy red bodysuit deep in my closet because it was too expensive to throw out, but it was stupid. I hadn’t been on a date in nearly two decades. By the time I found someone to wear it for, it probably wouldn’t fit anymore.

  I closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath, cleansing the thought from my mind. It was a good day today. I was off work in the middle of the afternoon with no obligations. This called for a celebratory margarita. And when I opened my eyes and stared out the window at the backyard, my bright blue pool glistened back at me.

  Even better.

  I’d have my drink beside the pool and enjoy the fabulous weather while I finished listening to the demos. I had a brand-new peach-colored bikini I’d bought last month on sale in preparation for the summer. Today was the perfect day to wear it.

  Once I’d changed and fixed my drink, I stepped out on the covered back patio and surveyed my options. There were chairs gathered around the table beneath an umbrella, or there was a set of lounge chairs next to the deep end of the pool shaded by the nearby pool house.

  When Clark and I had moved in years ago, we’d had grand plans to turn it into a guest house, but those never materialized. The small house had electricity and plumbing, including a bathroom inside and an outdoor shower, but the floors were concrete, and the interior walls were just studs.

  It meant the building was an oversized storage shed where we kept all the pool supplies and Christmas decorations. For a brief time after Clark had moved out, I’d considered turning it into a studio, but it didn’t make financial sense. Eventually, I would realize the house was too big for me, and if I were going to invest in it, a guest house was more practical.

  My flip-flops slapped against the concrete patio as I carried my margarita, my phone, and a towel tucked under my arm toward the loungers. It didn’t take me long to spread out the towel and get situated on it, and then I was sipping my drink and slipping in my earbuds.

  It’d been a hard ten months, but my broken heart and wounded pride had slowly healed as I’d settled into my new normal. In fact, other than the holidays, my life hadn’t changed all that much. Clark had begun fading from my life before I’d realized it. Now that it was done, perhaps the most shocking part was just how quickly he’d discarded two decades with me and moved on.

  You should do the same, Jenna would tell me.

  I adjusted my sunglasses, settled back in the chair, and tapped the ‘play’ icon on the screen of my phone.

  I finished listening to the demos around the same time I finished my margarita, and after I fetched a refill, there were emails to be answered. I managed bookings for several of the artists at our agency and did everything from scheduling and negotiating payment, to writing up artists’ preferences and making sure those riders were provided to the events.

  As I worked, the shade from the pool house began to recede. It was late enough in the day I hadn’t bothered with sunscreen anywhere other than on my face, so maybe I’d get a little color.

  My phone rang, and Ardy’s name flashed on the screen.

  “Hi,” I said, suddenly feeling guilty that I was day drinking. I was by no means drunk, but the tequila made me feel loose and smiley.

  “Hey,” he responded. “We’re working up an idea, and I need you to hit the ground running with it.”

  “Yeah?” I sat up and pressed my lips together. Don’t sound buzzed, Erika.

  “For Stella’s final show of the tour, she wants to do something special. She got her start here in Nashville, so she wants to pay it forward. She’s hoping to audition some locals and pick one to be her opening act that night. Johnny from her promo team was thinking we could shoot the talent scouting as a web series and have her fans help her choose the winner.”

  Not that Ardy could see me, but I nodded along with the idea. But, abruptly, I stopped. “Wait, she’s already on tour. She’s got—what? Fourteen shows left?”

  “Eighteen, yeah.” Ardy sighed. “Which is why I need you and everyone else at Warbler to run with this. We’ve got less than two months to pull it off.”

  My brain churned with prospects. “What are the requirements?”

  “Obviously, we’re looking for talent who’s going to appeal to her audience, but no other constraints. Male or female, band or solo artist, it doesn’t matter to her. You got someone in mind?”

  “I have a few ideas, yeah.”

  “Great.” I could hear the relief in his voice. “Get me a bunch more by Friday, and we’ll pitch Stella before she leaves for Atlanta.”

  When our discussion was over, I immediately went to the Dropbox folder with all my clients’ work and took a listen with an ear toward Stella’s sound.

  The sun was hot, and I wondered what kind of tan lines this swimsuit was going to give me if I wasn’t careful. It was a halter top, and that wouldn’t be flattering.

  You can’t get tan lines if you’re not wearing anything.

  It had to be the liquor that caused the thought. But . . . Dr. Lowe wasn’t in his backyard, and I was obscured from his view anyway by the pool house. I grinned shyly to myself. There was something so freeing about the idea of topless sunbathing. Empowering. Like my desire to go skinny dipping last year, the thought excited me.

  Maybe someday I’d even be comfortable enough to go to a nude beach.

  Baby steps, the practical side of my mind scolded.

  I glanced around, even as I knew no one could see me, and undid the hook behind my neck. The straps tumbled free, exposing my breasts, then I undid the second hook behind my back, before dropping my bikini top over the side of my chair.

  I was so happy with the results of my surgery. My breasts were fuller, but still looked natural. My incisions had healed, the scars had already faded to a soft pink, and by this time next year, they’d likely be invisible. Even if I was the only person to ever see my new chest, it was worth it.

  But hopefully, that wasn’t true.

  I had a considerable collection of vibrators that got the job done, but no amount of silicone and mechanics could truly replace the real thing. God, I was so fucking horny.

  I reclined back on the lounger, streamed some music I wanted to listen to, and closed my eyes behind my sunglasses to think.

  The best fit in my deck of artists was Lauren Kinsell. She was young, had a great look, and we could probably tone down her heavy country sound to broaden her appeal for a single show. Stella’s target audience skewed heavily female, playing best to the 14 to 30-year-old age range.

  I hadn’t seen Lauren’s set in several months. She had a regular gig on Thursday nights at a honky-tonk on Broadway Street, and I’d need to go this week to refresh my memory. While I loved her sound, last time I’d watched her perform, her stage presence hadn’t been overly energetic or charismatic. She’d need a lot more for a Stella concert.

  Hopefully, it’d just been an off night for her. Plus, she’d likely improved since then. Either way, I was confident I could get her to where she needed to be for the audition. This was such a huge opportunity to come her way.

  I believed in my artists with all my heart, and it was my job to get as many doors open for them as possible. Helping them walk through them and into their dreams was immensely satisfying.

  Plan of attack plotted out, I raised my arms up over my head and arched my back, stretc
hing contently in the sun like a cat. The warmth felt amazing on my—

  A noise rang out as a metal pole clattered loudly against the concrete.

  It made my heart stop. I pulled out one of my earbuds, lifted my head, and opened my eyes, only to find the pool boy looking at me with a shocked expression painted across his face.

  THREE

  Troy

  I was sticky with sweat, which meant I was also covered in dust. It was a billion fucking degrees outside, and my stepfather, Bill, was huffing like he couldn’t find any air.

  I loved him like he was my biological dad. He was a good guy and made my mom happy. But he was also a lot older than her and in total denial about what kind of physical shape he was in. For example, he was carrying two boxes of tiles into the house, and I was carrying six. They were heavy as fuck too, and I’d done upper body at the gym yesterday, so I was struggling.

  But I didn’t let the other guys on the job site know. Most of them saw me as Bill’s punk stepson, and any amount of bitching, even if it were justified, would only make it worse. I hated this job. Didn’t need a reason to hate it more.

  “You leaving?” Bill didn’t mask his irritation when he saw me heading for the door.

  Was he kidding? I tried not to snap at it. “It’s five after three.”

  He glanced at his watch like that couldn’t be right. But sure enough, it was. “I thought it was barely two.” His demeanor changed and softened, and I gritted my teeth. He had that look like he was going to ask for something. “Any chance I can talk you into staying another hour? We could really use the help.”

  I shook my head. “I’ve got an appointment.”

  It wasn’t a lie. Tuesdays were my standing appointment to clean Ms. Graham’s pool, but I didn’t mention to Bill how the timing was flexible. She hadn’t been home a single time I’d gone over there, so I doubted she cared when I did the service.