by Nikki Sloane
He looked disappointed, but I didn’t stick around to watch. I walked out the door and down the lawn to my black Jeep Wrangler parked on the street. The leather wrapped steering wheel seared my hands as I drove home, the top open and the wind whipping through my hair.
I couldn’t wait to take a shower.
Remodeling homes wasn’t just dirty—it was fucking disgusting. Mold and termites and asbestos and mouse droppings . . . I didn’t want to think about what I was subjecting my body to every time I helped Bill’s company knock down a wall or tear out a bathtub.
As I turned down the street I lived on, a familiar car was parked to the side of my driveway. Preston was here?
My parents’ house had a three-car garage, and after I’d parked in my spot, I went through the kitchen and out the back door. My work shoes clomped on the concrete apron surrounding the pool as I walked toward my place. The exterior of the one-story guest house was the same as the main one, making the guest house look like a miniaturized version of it.
It had a nice setup, with a kitchenette and full bath, and a bedroom that was separate from the living area. My own apartment, really. If I wanted to, I could come and go through the gate in the fence and bypass the house entirely, which was probably what my friend had done today.
Not that it’d do much good for me to sneak around. The guest house had sensors on it, so my overbearing mother could check the timestamps if she wanted. Plus, we argued constantly about me turning off the location on my phone. I was twenty-four, not twelve. She was a chronic worrier, but she didn’t need to know where I was every second of every day.
My house was decorated like an adult lived there because my mother was an interior designer, but the big screen TV and the loud sounds of gunfire currently coming from it now were more my style.
My friend sat on the couch, focused intently on the game of Call of Duty he was playing . . . while using my PlayStation. Without asking. If he was logged in to my profile, I was going to throw his rude ass out.
“Um . . . hey?” I said pointedly.
Preston barely glanced my direction before returning his attention to the game. “What’s up? My PlayStation’s acting weird.” When he didn’t get a response from me, his posture straightened and he paused the game. “Is it cool if I hang out and use yours until my shift starts at five?”
Most people would have sent a text to ask before showing up, but this was typical Preston. My friend was an only child, like me, and could be self-absorbed a lot of the time, but he was working on it. He was two years younger than I was and still had a lot of growing up to do.
And I almost never remembered to lock the door on the guest house, so . . . lesson learned.
I checked the screen to see he was playing on his own profile. “Yeah, it’s fine. I gotta take a shower.”
He nodded and restarted his game.
It didn’t take me long to get clean, and when I was done, I dressed in board shorts and a t-shirt from my traveling baseball team when I was in high school. I’d cut the sleeves off a lot of my shirts because I’d been more dedicated to the gym my last year of college and the old shirts had grown snug around my biceps.
Preston was still on the couch when I came out of my bedroom.
“What’s going on with your PlayStation?” I asked.
“It won’t connect to the internet. I probably just need to reset the WiFi router.”
I blinked slowly. “It was easier to come over here than do that?”
He paused the game, put down the controller, and ground the heel of his palm in his eye. “Yeah, well . . . my dad’s planning Cassidy’s birthday, and I kind of needed to get out of there.”
“Oh.”
It made a hell of a lot more sense why he’d shown up without warning. Preston hadn’t had that hard of a life. He was healthy, decent looking, and came from money. He owned his own car and had just finished his sophomore year of college at Vanderbilt.
But his relationship with his dad had been tough, and my friend had been filled with resentment when he’d first come to Nashville at sixteen, forced to move in with the father who’d basically been a stranger up to that point in his life.
And just when things were finally smoothing out for them, the Cassidy situation blew it all to hell.
Cassidy Shepard had been Preston’s girlfriend for years, although the rest of us didn’t really get it. Near the end, he’d been enough of a dick to her, most of my circle of friends avoided hanging out with him whenever possible. He was my boy and all, but he didn’t deserve her.
I was glad for both of them when they broke up. She could do better, and he needed to date around to realize not every girl out there was willing to put up with his shit. He’d seemed better after he’d spent his summer with his mom.
Then he came home one night to find his dad fucking Cassidy on the couch. Apparently, they were hopelessly in love.
Fuck, it was some messy drama—and it sucked for everyone involved. It’d been hard for Preston to get past it, but somehow he’d found a way. For as immature as he could be, he’d handled it way better than I’d expected.
His tone was worried. “I think he’s going to do something big, like propose, or ask her to move in with him.”
“Seriously?” I made a face. “They’ve only been together, for what? A year?” Not to mention, Cassidy was only twenty-one. Wait—not yet twenty-one because Dr. Lowe was planning her birthday.
Preston shrugged. “He floated the idea recently, saying they don’t get to see each other as much as they want. I think he was putting feelers out.”
“Would you be okay with it? I mean, things are good between y’all, right?”
He considered my question, not sure how to answer. “Sometimes it’s weird, and other times, it’s no big deal. They’re happy, so that’s good, and if she moves in, I could probably deal. I’m not there much anyway.” He frowned. “But Cassidy being my stepmom? Yeah, I’m not ready for that.”
Truer words had never been spoken. “I get it.”
“I don’t think she’d say yes anyway if he proposed. Cassidy will want to get her degree first.”
“Okay.” I wasn’t sure what else to say. They’d been best friends in high school, completely inseparable, and they’d made tremendous strides this past year, but their friendship could never be what it was.
Thankfully, Preston gave me an out when he picked up the game controller. It was a clear signal he wanted the conversation to be over.
“Hey, man,” I said, “I need to take off. Feel free to stay as long as you want.”
“Where’re you going?”
“Actually, over by where you live. I’ve got to clean Ms. Graham’s pool.”
He hadn’t restarted the game, so he was able to give me a knowing smile. “You took a shower . . . to go clean her pool?”
He wasn’t wrong with what he was implying, but I had to defend myself. “I was fucking gross. Besides, she won’t even be there.”
I’d been pushing my start time later and later in hopes of seeing her, but so far, no such luck.
“She’s always had that ‘Stacey’s Mom’ thing going on, but since she got her tits done?” My friend did a chef’s kiss. “She’s hot as fuck.”
I was well aware. Ms. Graham had been my primary source of spank bank material whenever I was without internet, and sometimes, even when I had access to PornHub. My fantasies about her were numerous.
And detailed.
“She isn’t married anymore,” Preston teased. “Now’s your chance, Troy.”
“Shut up.”
He laughed at himself, but then sobered. “Maybe that’s what I need to do, get me an older woman.” He did a terrible, dramatic impression of Liam Neeson. “One with a very particular set of skills that she’s acquired over her long career.”
I gave him a look to tell him I wasn’t amused.
He let it roll right off him. “All I’m saying is I’d let Ms. Graham ride me until she broke my back.�
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“Great.” I picked up my keys off the counter and stepped into my flip-flops. “Lock up when you leave.”
What Preston had said bothered me the whole drive over to her place, mostly because it hit a little too close to home. I’d spent years trying not to think about her. She was older—not to mention married—and my mom’s best friend. Pursuing her would be stupid.
Then again, I wasn’t the smartest guy around, was I?
I parked my Jeep in the street, halfway between her mailbox and Preston’s, so I wouldn’t block her driveway if she came home early. The privacy fence surrounding her property looked like wood, but it was textured concrete slats, and the gate was heavy as I unlatched it and went through.
I needed to come up with a better plan for getting her to notice me because cleaning her pool once a week while she wasn’t there wasn’t working.
Her pool house had two doors, but the workshop where she stored her chemicals was on the far side, so I climbed the sloping lawn, went around the backside of the building, and pulled the workshop door open.
It was nasty hot inside the unfinished space, and I moved with purpose to get the netted leaf rake. It’d been windy the past few days, and my pool at home was full of cottonwood seeds, so Ms. Graham’s was sure to be the same.
The sun was so bright I didn’t see her at first when I stepped out of the pool house and started toward the deep end. When my vision adjusted, I saw her lying out on the lounge chair, but my brain was much slower to recognize she was wearing a bikini. A peach one that showed off her flat stomach and—
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
She wasn’t wearing a top.
I couldn’t stop my gaze from tracing every mouthwatering inch of her. The sight of her pale skin and dark pink nipples soaking up the sun wasn’t something I was prepared for, and my hands clenched in response.
Except doing that made the long pole of the rake pop free from my grip. It fell, almost as if in slow motion, and clanged loudly against the ground.
Ms. Graham’s head lifted at the same moment she pulled one of the earbuds out of her ear, and her focus snapped in my direction.
My goal had been to get her to notice me, so . . .
Mission fucking accomplished.
FOUR
Erika
Troy Osbourne came once a week to service both my pool and the freestanding spa. I’d hired him last year to handle closing and covering the pool for the winter, then reopening it for me last month, and his weekly visits that followed had kept the water crystal clear and the pH perfectly balanced.
My pool had never looked so good.
But Troy always came when I was at work and let himself in through the gate at the side of my fence, so I had completely forgotten his schedule. He must have gone behind the pool house and inside to fetch his supplies, and when he’d rounded the corner and discovered me topless, he’d dropped everything in his arms.
Including the long pole with the net on the end.
It was as if someone had put their foot down on the sustain pedal of a piano, only this piano played the music of time, and the moment suspended with my long, drawn out gasp.
I was topless, and he was frozen, and holy shit, he was my best friend’s twenty-four-year-old son.
It burst from my lips in horror. “Oh, fuck!”
In my panic, I grasped at my towel to cover myself, only to struggle hopelessly since it was pinned beneath my body. I leapt to my feet and yanked the terrycloth up, pressing it over my naked chest.
Troy still hadn’t moved. His lips were open, as if he’d planned to say something, but now he was frozen and unable to do anything. I couldn’t see his eyes behind his mirrored Aviator sunglasses, but he didn’t seem to be breathing.
So, I did what any reasonable woman would when a gorgeous, almost-stranger caught her naked.
I ran.
I abandoned my phone and my top and fled as fast as possible toward the main house, crushing the towel over my boobs. There was no thought in my mind, only the basic need to seek shelter. My face burned a million times hotter than the concrete on the soles of my bare feet, and it wasn’t until I was in the house that I could catch my breath.
“Oh my God,” I whispered in the darkness of my kitchen, only to realize it was because I was still wearing my sunglasses. I shoved them back on my head.
Nervous energy coursed through my body and propelled me through the living room and into the master suite. I dropped the towel as I sprinted into my closet and grabbed the first thing that made sense. The sun dress was a deep indigo, and I pulled it on, not bothering with a bra.
Having the dress on made me feel marginally better, and a voice inside my head patronizingly reminded me of my desire to one day visit a nude beach. Troy had gotten an eyeful, but only above the waist, and now I was hiding in my closet like a scared little girl. My confidence still had a long, long way to go.
Finally decent, I sucked in a breath and willed my heartrate to slow down.
It wasn’t like this was the first time Troy had ever seen a topless woman before. He was young and attractive and had plenty of girlfriends while he’d been in college. I knew because Jenna had whined about all of the ones he’d brought home. None of ‘those girls’ were good enough for her son, she’d said.
I didn’t envy whomever he eventually got serious with. I loved my friend dearly, but she was difficult to please, and in my opinion, had always been a little too strict when it came to Troy. I tried not to judge. I didn’t have children, so what the hell did I know?
Like a spy, I tiptoed cautiously back into the living room and inched up to the window, scanning the backyard for him. I was curious. What did he think about seeing me?
He stood at the edge of the pool and was currently gliding the net through the water, skimming out leaves and flower petals that the magnolia tree nearby had shed. His gaze was tipped down, watching the surface of the water, and that, plus his sunglasses, made it difficult to read his expression.
Difficult, but not impossible. He looked deep in thought and also—
Hot.
I frowned at myself. Sure, he looked good, wearing faded red shorts and a t-shirt with the sleeves cut off. The toned muscles in his bare arms flexed as he grasped the pole and swished the net through the water. If I were twenty years younger, I might have lost my mind looking at him. But lusting after Troy was way, way inappropriate.
It didn’t stop me, though.
Fuck, he was cute. His light brown hair was short on the sides and messy on top, and his strong jawline was shadowed with a few days’ worth of stubble. Not enough to call it an actual beard. More like he couldn’t be bothered to shave, and that, paired with his dark tan, made him look like he was two months into a lazy summer and not two weeks.
Everything about him was enticing.
Maybe tonight when I was tucked in bed with one of my vibrating friends, I’d let myself indulge in a fantasy in the safety of my own mind. One where I seduced a younger man who happened to look a helluva lot like Troy Osbourne.
I sighed wistfully, then pressed my lips together and furrowed my brow. What was wrong with me?
I knew I should stop watching from my hiding spot in the window like a creeper, but I couldn’t help myself. There was something about the way his steady, sure hands gripped the pole that made me long to know what they’d feel like if they were holding me. How the sinewy muscles moved in his biceps and forearms as he lifted the dripping net from the water and swung it over to empty it in the rock landscaping beyond the edge of the patio.
What would he look like naked?
He’d probably look amazing. I felt feverish and uncomfortably tight all over as the image glanced through my mind.
Troy’s head lifted, as if he had somehow heard my wicked thought, and his focus abruptly veered toward me.
“Shit!”
I pivoted away from the window and crushed myself flat against the wall, desperate not to be caught. Once again, my cheeks bu
rned hot with embarrassment. Why was I acting so stupid and immature about this? I wasn’t a teenager anymore.
He’d seen me topless, so what? This didn’t have to be a thing. What I needed to do was stroll out there with a casual, unashamed attitude. If I laughed it off and didn’t make it a big deal, it should put us both at ease.
I straightened from the wall and sucked in a deep, preparing breath.
Relax, Erika. He’s probably more uncomfortable than you are.
I needed to apologize. It got me to move toward the door, but didn’t help much with my wobbly legs.
By the time I worked up the courage to step outside, he had vanished. For a split second, I wondered if he’d already left, but there were still supplies left out by the pool. A vial of water sat on the table beneath the umbrella. One chamber was stained yellow and another blue, signaling he’d tested the water to maintain the right balance. He’d probably gone back into the pool house to get some chemicals.
I snatched up my phone that I’d abandoned on the lounger before marching across the stone pavers toward the pool house.
Since it wasn’t a finished space, there wasn’t air conditioning, and Troy had left the door open in a feeble attempt to keep the air circulating. It was sweltering inside anyway.
A single bulb hanging from one of the rafters in the ceiling lit the room, which had a small collection of pool floats on one side and a shelf on the other, where all the chemicals and supplies were typically stored. At the back, there was the door to the bathroom and a bare set of stairs leading up to the second story. That was where the folded pool cover was stored, along with boxes of Christmas decorations.
I’d expected Troy to be at the shelves, picking out what he needed, but he wasn’t. He was across the room, lingering beside the stairs. His sunglasses were propped up on his head and he stared at the hooks on the wall with a displeased expression smeared on his face, as if they’d somehow pissed him off.
I blinked with confusion, and the longer I stood there, the more it became clear he hadn’t seen me come in and wasn’t aware of my presence.
A hand reached inside my body and tightened its fist as realization swept through me.
