The Pool Boy (Nashville Neighborhood Book 2)

by Nikki Sloane

  My head spun, and I was grateful for the way he held me as he deepened the kiss. His tongue pressed at the seam of my lips, and although I shouldn’t have, I opened my greedy mouth to let him in.

  His tongue slid against mine, and I was hopelessly drowning in desire.

  Fuck. It felt so good.

  The way my heart fluttered over merely kissing a boy, it made me feel like I was eighteen and not forty-two.

  He had one hand in my hair while the other gently grasped my waist, and his lush tongue filled my mouth. It was eager possession, and everything I’d wanted for so long. I went giddy with excitement. My body reveled in hands that actually wanted to touch and explore.

  His mouth drifted from mine, planting kisses across my cheekbone, as he moved toward my ear. It made me shiver and melt when he discovered the tender spot on my neck, and then his lust-choked words filled my ear.

  “Fuck Tinder,” he uttered. “You don’t need it. I’m right here.”

  To add to his sales pitch, he leaned in and pressed the hard length of his body against me, reminding me how male and ready he was. A sound of satisfaction escaped from my throat, and I pressed urgently against him.

  My desire was so strong, it blurred the line between want and need.

  But this could not happen. Tension twisted my insides, and when I solidified, Troy slowed.

  “I don’t get involved with my clients,” I whispered, as his lips brushed across the curve of my neck.

  He pulled back and stared at me with a hard, exacting look. The ends of the whiskers on his jaw glinted in the light, making them look a shade lighter than the rest of his brown hair. “I guess you can’t be my manager then.”

  I blinked. “What?”

  His kiss had been so distracting, I hadn’t realized he’d worked the hand on my hip up under my shirt, so it could rest on the waistband of my jeans. The pad of his thumb traced the edge where the denim stopped and gave way to the bare skin of my stomach, and the connection was like a drug. Each gentle stroke of his fingertips made me weaker.

  “Are you serious?” I asked.

  His half-grin was devious. “Don’t make me choose, Erika.”

  I thrilled at hearing my name on his lips, but my brain wouldn’t be quiet. How was this even possible? “You’d give up an amazing opportunity—”

  His mouth crushed against mine, silencing my words, and his searing kiss burned away all thought.

  “I want this,” he murmured into my mouth. “You told me to go for it.”

  “I meant the audition for Stella.”

  “You’re saying you don’t want this too?” His tongue flicked in my mouth, and a traitorous moan seeped out of my chest. He was just as talented at using his regular voice to persuade, as he was with his singing voice. “Why can’t we help each other?”

  “Are you,” I gasped, “trying to extort me?”

  “Of course not.” He nipped at my lips. “Is it working?”

  Fuck, it totally was, but I couldn’t let him know. It didn’t matter, though. He walked us backward until the edge of the desk hit me behind my legs, and then his hands clasped around my ribcage. His sure grip lifted and pushed me back, seating me on top of the desk with a loud thump.

  I gaped up at him in shock, but he wasn’t apologetic. If anything, he looked victorious. Lord, it was fucking hot. He moved to stand between my parted knees, and his mouth captured mine, driving me back against the cold mirror.

  There wasn’t a lock on the door. Anyone could walk into the green room right now and catch us. Honestly, what we were doing was incredibly tame by musician standards—I’d walked in on at least one orgy in the past with one of the bands I’d managed.

  But if I was going to take him on as a client, this was beyond unprofessional. It was a line I wasn’t going to cross.

  Like you care. Didn’t you cross a bunch already?

  Troy’s hands dove under the hem of my shirt and slid up, his fingers gliding up over my bare skin until his palms landed on my bra-covered breasts. His action sucked all the air from my lungs, and I slumped farther back against the mirror. Maybe I’d done it to give him more room, but I wasn’t sure. I was halfway out of my mind for letting this happen, and I lost whatever sense I had left when his fingers hooked into the front of the cups of my bra and jerked them down.

  My breasts tumbled free into his awaiting hands. As he palmed me, his mouth latched on to the side of my throat and sucked, sending sparks of pleasure skittering down my legs.

  I wanted to wrap my thighs around his hips and lock my ankles behind his back. I wanted to ask him if he liked how my new tits felt and tell him the way he gripped me was so fucking perfect. Instead, I summed it all up in one word.

  “Fuck,” I gasped.

  “Yeah.” He was short of breath, and his voice went low and rough. “We should do that.”

  The image of us together sliced through my mind. I saw him tugging off my jeans, one leg at a time, while I struggled to undo his zipper over his massive erection. He’d pull a condom out of his pocket, tear it open, and by the time he had it on, I’d have stepped down off the desk and turned around.

  He’d bend me over, and although he’d take me from behind, I’d get to watch through the mirror. I’d see his hands, which were rough with callouses from his guitar, clench on my hips as he drove into me. Satisfaction would twist on his sexy face.

  It was the hottest fantasy I’d ever had, and I went cold with the realization that, that was all it could ever be—a fantasy. A sob of disappointment welled as a hard lump formed in my throat, but I swallowed it down.

  I sat up so abruptly, I nearly knocked our heads together. “Wait, wait.”

  His hands froze, each one cupping a breast, and uncertainty tightened his expression. It grew into anxiety as I closed my hands over his and gently eased them down and away.

  I hated the words, but knew I had to say them. “We can’t.”

  There must have been enough seriousness this time in my expression because he retreated and straightened. He knew the answer but asked it anyway. “Why not?”

  “Pick a reason,” I said. “It’s unprofessional. Inappropriate. I’m twice your age, and your mother’s best friend.”

  “So? We’re both adults.” Was that desperation in his eyes? “She doesn’t need to know.”

  I sighed and pushed off the desk to stand on my kiss-drunk legs. “Then, go with one of the other reasons.”

  “I’m serious.” Troy’s expression was firm. “I’d rather have a chance with you than the audition.”

  Everything went still.

  I didn’t ask it to be mean, because I was full of worry. “Are you insane?” There was no power in my voice. “This is a once in a lifetime opportunity.”

  “Yup.”

  He’d said it so simply, I couldn’t help but wonder if he thought I was talking about me and not Stella’s audition. No, that was ludicrous. Almost as ridiculous as this bluff he was making. He was a twenty-four-year old, self-assured guy used to getting his way.

  “I don’t believe you,” I said. “Look, what we did cannot happen again, especially if we’re going to be working together. So you need to put it out of your mind.”

  He laughed like he was amused, but it was tinted with bitterness. “Yeah, right. Forget it then. I’m not interested in auditioning.”

  What the actual fuck? “Because I won’t sleep with you?” Anger flared inside my belly. “If you’re too scared, man up to it. Don’t try to use me as an excuse.”

  Oh, he didn’t like that. His posture went stiff, and his eyes narrowed. “I’m not using you as an excuse.” He dipped down to grab the strap of his guitar bag and jerked it up onto his shoulder, before shooting me a dark look. “I’m a lot younger and you were married, and it was wrong, but . . . shit. I wanted this for a long time. And then it happened, and it was even better than I thought it’d be.”

  It felt as if he’d picked me up and flipped me upside down. I didn’t know where to
look or what to do, but the weaker I became, the more he seemed to strengthen.

  “And now,” his tone was sour, “you’re saying it can never happen again. I couldn’t stop thinking about you before any of this, how the hell am I supposed to now? And work with you on top of it?”

  It was like I was standing on ice. Any move I’d make would be precarious. I couldn’t latch onto thoughts or process what he was saying. “What?”

  “You can’t be my manager,” he said. “You don’t know a thing about me.”

  I was too dumbstruck to do anything other than watch him stride to the door, yank it open, and walk through it without another word to me.

  EIGHT

  Troy

  I parked my Jeep on the street in front of Erika’s house and turned off the engine, but I couldn’t make myself get out of the seat. Eventually the heat would get to me and force me out, but I need another minute to prepare. It was Tuesday, which meant I’d need to go inside her pool house.

  Last time I had, it’d been one of my fantasies come to life.

  Don’t think about it.

  Because if I did I’d get hard, and I was frustrated enough already.

  She’d sent me a text yesterday.

  Erika: Can we set up a meeting? I’d like to talk.

  My answer was straight to the point.

  Me: No.

  If I took a meeting with her, she’d fill my brain with ideas. I’d see record deals, and music videos, and thousands of fans screaming my name—when none of that was going to happen. I’d dreamed big once and failed so hard, I’d learned my lesson.

  Hopefully.

  Yeah, she’d said she’d believe in me enough for the both of us . . . but I was still gun-shy. And I figured, why risk getting burned again for nothing? At least with her, I had a chance. She’d opened the door, so I wasn’t going to leave until she told me to. She wanted me to audition and I wanted her. That seemed pretty fucking simple to me.

  I needed to get her to say yes.

  The sun was baking me, so I shoved open my door, climbed out of the Jeep, and trudged toward her gate. When I climbed the hill of her backyard, I sensed I wasn’t alone. She was already home?

  Erika had been waiting for me, judging by the two glasses of iced tea that sat on the patio table. The ice inside them had melted, making the top half of the glasses look watery.

  I pulled to a stop and was glad she couldn’t see my eyes behind my sunglasses. It meant I could stare. I could take in every gorgeous inch of her. She was wearing white pants and a pretty blue top, looking like she’d just come from work.

  “Troy,” she said, her tone soft and warm. “Can we talk?”

  I let out a breath as I considered her question. She’d told me I shouldn’t get within striking distance of her because she was dangerous, and I was starting to think she may have been right.

  She could be like Coach Parker all over again, promising me everything I wanted to hear. Telling me my dreams could come true, when it was all bullshit.

  But I was smarter this time, or at least older. She wanted me bad enough to wait for me, so I could hear her out. I strode toward the table and grabbed a chair. “Yeah, sure.”

  She gestured toward the sweating glass in front of me. “You want some tea? I can get more ice.”

  “No, it’s fine.” My tone was guarded. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “You,” she said. “You told me I don’t know a thing about you, and you’re right. Can we fix that?”

  My shoulders pulled back at her unexpected statement. “Uh . . . I guess.”

  “How long have you been playing?”

  “I started about five years ago.”

  “Did you take lessons?”

  I drew in a slow breath. “If YouTube counts, yeah. I watched a lot of tutorials on different songs I wanted to learn how to play.”

  It didn’t seem to matter to her that I was self-taught. “Just guitar?”

  “At first. I started trying the piano last year, but I’m pretty terrible at it.”

  “What about singing? Did you take vocal lessons or—”

  I shook my head. “My mom made me sing in church, and I was in choir in high school, but that was mostly for the grade.” I relaxed a little into my seat. “I, like, paid attention, though.” I didn’t want her thinking I didn’t care. My voice was just as important to me as my music. “I watched videos about vocal exercises too.”

  “That’s good,” she said. “How’d you decide to start performing?”

  A smile twitched on my lips. “My dorm had a talent show night.”

  Since she could hear the amusement in my words, she guessed the outcome. “You won.”

  I’d won easily. It hadn’t even been close.

  “Yeah,” I said. “I discovered I like performing, so I found a couple of other guys to play with, and we got some gigs at the bars just off campus.” I changed my mind on the tea and picked up the glass, swirling it to mix the water with the rest of the drink. “They paid us, and it was fun, but when I graduated, we had to go our separate ways.”

  I drank a long sip and didn’t miss the way her gaze lingered on my throat as it bobbed in a swallow. She was trying so hard to stay professional, but it seemed to be a battle she was losing.

  Good.

  “Original songs?” she asked.

  “Nah, just covers. I’ve tried writing my own stuff, but it’s . . .” I frowned. “Everything I’ve come up with so far has been shit.”

  “Songwriting’s not easy.” Her voice was full of understanding, and it was a long moment before she spoke again. “What made you want to learn the guitar? Have you always wanted to perform?”

  Oh, man. That was a question that could lead us into a whole thing. “No.” My voice was uneven. “I did it because I wanted to impress someone.”

  Her posture straightened as if she suspected. “A girl?”

  I took off my sunglasses and cast them down on the wrought iron tabletop with a clatter, giving her the full intensity of my stare. If this was as close as I was going to get with her, I might as well just do it.

  “You could say that. She was married at the time.”

  Erika became a statue and it looked like chaos was scrambling the inside of her head. Was she doing the math? Five years ago, I’d been nineteen.

  And she’d barely known I existed.

  “Remember my mom’s fortieth birthday party?” I leaned over the table, bringing us closer.

  It had been a surprise party my stepdad had thrown for her at the country clubhouse. It’d been such a big deal, Bill put Erika in charge of handling the entertainment. While the band she’d hired had been great, they weren’t the best performance of the night. My mom had asked if Erika could join the band on stage for a song near the end of the night.

  It was the first time I’d ever seen her play. The first time I’d heard her sing.

  “You were really fucking good,” I said, even though it was an inadequate compliment. “I went to find you after that song, because I needed to say something. Like, tell you your voice was amazing, or that I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

  It wasn’t that often I got shy, but with her?

  I always struggled.

  I shoved my awkwardness aside and continued. “I hadn’t even thought of what I’d say or if it would be weird. I was younger. I did whatever stupid thing I wanted to back then.” I still did now sometimes, didn’t I? “All I knew was that listening to you felt—I dunno—special. I wanted you to know.”

  She was so stunned she could barely squeeze out the question. “Did we talk?” Her gaze dropped to the tabletop, and there was an ache in her voice. “That night was special for me too. It was the last time I ever performed.”

  “Oh.” My tone matched her sadness. “No, we didn’t talk. You were in the lounge with your husband. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

  She sucked in a breath.

  So . . . she remembered that. I’d discovered her and Mr. G
raham hidden in the empty lounge beside the event room. It’d been late and nearly everyone at the party was drunk, and she’d tried to get her husband to fool around with her in a dark corner.

  But he’d shut her down. Worse, really, because he’d acted offended by her suggestion. Like it wasn’t incredibly hot, and she should have been ashamed of herself. The memory of it made me tighten my fist under the table.

  “You saw us arguing,” she guessed.

  I gave a plain look. “What I saw was Mr. Graham being a fucking idiot. He turned you down when nearly every other guy in the place would have killed to be with you. You know that, right?”

  It didn’t look like she believed me, but it was the truth.

  I made a face. “That shit pissed me off. How could he pass on you?” I crossed my arms. “I watched y’all together after that night, but it made it worse. He never touched you, didn’t pay attention. Sometimes, I don’t think he was aware you were even in the room.”

  The breeze blew, ruffling her hair, but she didn’t move to push the strands back out of her face. The intensity between us had her locked in her chair.

  “I always knew when you were around.” My voice went soft. “So, I figured if he wasn’t interested . . . I’d try to show you a guy who was.”

  She blinked, slowly processing all of it. “You’re saying you learned to play the guitar, because you wanted to . . . fuck me?”

  My chest expanded with a deep breath, and I rubbed the pads of my fingers against my forehead. “Okay, so it doesn’t sound great when you say it like that.”

  It was encouraging that she didn’t look like it sounded all that bad to her. Warmth colored her cheeks. “But we never talked.”

  “I was working up to that.” I quirked the corner of my mouth into a pained smile. “Your pool is the only one I work on.”

  She pressed her lips together. “Your master plan was to seduce me with clean skimmers and perfectly balanced pH?”

  I laughed. “I told you, I was working on it.” I didn’t know how long she’d need after her divorce. She wasn’t dating yet, according to my mom. “Look, maybe it’s weird or it doesn’t make sense to you—but it makes sense to me. You’re hot. Us together? We’d be off the charts. And don’t act like you’re not interested.” My dirty mouth hadn’t shocked her before—in fact, she’d responded to it. I smirked as I went in for the kill. “Shit, you’re looking at me right now like you want me to bend you over this table.”