The Pool Boy (Nashville Neighborhood Book 2)

by Nikki Sloane

  She’d been the one to tell me my audition video was up, right after it was posted last Friday afternoon. I’d been at a jobsite, helping the guys hang drywall when my phone buzzed.

  Erika: Auditions just went live on the site. Here’s the link.

  I’d stepped outside, gone down the lawn until I was away from everyone else, and watched the clip with my hand covering the sides of the screen to cut the sun’s glare. It was shitty conditions for the first viewing, because my screen was small and I wanted to hear the audio through headphones, but it didn’t make the thing any less surreal.

  When I got home that night, I streamed the entire series to the TV so my folks could watch with me. There were five auditions and six videos in total, because the first was Stella’s intro. She’d shot it backstage before one of her shows, explaining the contest and that fans could vote once a day for the next week.

  My mom cried.

  Which of course, got Bill worked up too, and then someone somewhere was cutting onions because my eyes began to sting. I held it together though. Plus, any pride I felt was quickly overridden by unease when I watched the other auditions. They were so freaking good.

  “There were only five videos,” my mom commented. “I thought you said the auditions went all day.”

  “They did. These were the ones they liked best.”

  Or, as Erika had said, the five that Stella and her team had approved. The artist felt comfortable with any one of these acts opening her show. Erika didn’t say it, and maybe I was being pessimistic, but it kind of felt like I’d barely squeaked in.

  My mom beamed. “Lord, Troy. We’re so proud of you.”

  My chest expanded as I took in a deep breath. Of course it was great to hear, but it felt different than I’d expected it to. I’d thought it’d be vindicating, but instead it just felt . . . nice. Good.

  It didn’t last though.

  “I just want you to keep in mind,” she continued, “some of the other auditions were really good too, so if you don’t go any further, you should still feel proud of yourself for making it to this far. Top five! Honey, that’s so great.”

  It was painful to smile. Could she not be practical for once in her fucking life?

  “Oh, you have to call your Mimi,” she said abruptly, nearly bouncing off the couch. “She’s going to love this.”

  Inside, I sighed. I loved my grandmother but sending her a link wasn’t a thing you could just do, and walking her through using her ancient desktop computer was the worst.

  Over the weekend, my social media exploded. I gained a shit-ton of Instagram followers overnight. I got recognized at the Taco Bell drive-thru window. The cashier girl sputtered and dropped my change on the ground, but thankfully not my cheesy gordita crunches. While I was pumping gas, some woman catcalled me out of her car window as she drove by.

  “Looking good, pool boy!”

  Damn Ardy’s question during the interview. Beneath my name on the title card of the video, it had listed “Pool Boy” as one of the details about me. I didn’t mind the attention—honestly, it was a trip. But I didn’t want to be thought of as a joke.

  Saturday night I did a set at Blanche’s and it was the largest crowd I’d ever played. Erika sat at the bar, videoing and evaluating the performance. She’d delivered her critique afterward, and once we got back to her place, she gave me plenty more direction.

  There’d been champagne in her fridge to celebrate my considerable lead in the fan poll. I wasn’t big on champagne, but I appreciated the gesture, and by the time we’d finished the bottle, Erika had me on the couch with my jeans down around my ankles.

  “How do you want it tonight?” I asked, pushing her hair out of the way so I could watch better as she wrapped her mouth around my dick.

  She was buzzed and her eyes were shining with mischief. “I want it dirty.”

  I was going to ask her to expand on that, but it was taking all my focus not to thrust into her mouth, and if she described what she meant, I’d probably lose control anyway.

  I had an idea though, and when she was riding me reverse cowgirl, I licked the pad of my thumb and tested if she was squeamish about anal play. All it did was make her moan encouragingly.

  “Yeah?” I grinned.

  She didn’t give her answer with words, but her body screamed, hell yes. I was slow and deliberate as I worked my thumb inside her ass, and by the time I made it all the way to my second knuckle, she came so hard I was a goner.

  My girl was a wild freak like me, and I couldn’t get enough. It didn’t seem like she could either.

  We clicked when it came to sex and music, but the few times I’d brought up our relationship outside of that, Erika would shut down. She wasn’t ready to talk to my mom about us, and she still hadn’t blocked her ex’s number. The guy kept bothering her with calls and he was getting on my damn nerves.

  I tried not to push, because I was a lot younger than she was and I hadn’t been married. The longest I’d ever been with someone was fourteen months, but she’d been with Mr. Graham for twenty years. I figured she was scared and just needed more time. I wasn’t going to give up, and while I waited, I’d keep being awesome.

  She’d get there eventually.

  The next morning, after sex and breakfast, I’d gotten dressed in the same clothes from last night, kissed Erika goodbye, and headed out to my Jeep parked in her driveway.

  “You cleaning her pool on Sunday mornings now?” a familiar voice asked.

  Preston was in his driveway, just on the other side of Erika’s lawn, his hand on a push lawnmower. His tone said he knew his question was bullshit.

  I grinned at my friend as I walked across the grass toward him. “What can I say? She needed an emergency service.”

  He nodded, wanting to play along. “Took all night too, because your Jeep’s been there all morning.”

  “Well, I had to make sure I did it right.”

  Preston snorted. “And how long has this emergency been going on, bro?”

  We were only a few feet apart now, so I lowered my voice. “A few weeks.”

  “No shit.” He glanced up at her house, then back to me. “Is it serious?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  My friend could be self-involved, but he’d gotten better over the last year. Dealing with his dad and Cassidy hooking up had changed him, and he wasn’t always the center of the universe anymore. He cocked his head as he evaluated me, like he actually wanted to know how I felt.

  “Dude,” he whispered. “You’re into her.”

  I tried not to be defensive, but it happened anyway. “Yeah. So what if I am?”

  He lifted his hands as if to say, no offense. “I’m not trying to be an asshole. I’m just surprised, is all.” His lips lifted in a half-smile. “Maybe a little jealous. You bagged a cougar, man. How’s the sex? Is it insane?”

  Talking with my boys about fucking wasn’t a big deal. We liked to brag about numbers and how often we go laid, but now? Talking about Erika this way felt invasive and wrong.

  “Yeah,” I answered, giving him nothing else to go on.

  His eyes widened and his smile was incredulous. “Oh, you’re really into her.”

  Irritation heated in my chest. “Okay, I gotta get going.”

  I didn’t want to be a dick, but Preston wasn’t trying that hard not to be one, and if I didn’t get home soon, my parents would notice I’d spent the night out. I was an adult, but they struggled to give me space and not ask questions. Plus, my track record on honesty had taken a hit with them since I’d hidden my music side-hustle.

  “She got any hot friends?” he teased. “I mean, besides your mom?”

  I didn’t mean it, but it was a required response. “Fuck you, man.” But then realization hit me, and I dropped my voice. “Hey, seriously, though. Don’t tell anyone about this. Erika’s my manager, and it might be bad for her if word got around.”

  “Oh.” His amusement faded into seriousness. “Yeah. I gotc
ha, Troy.”

  A year ago, I might not have trusted him with anything important, but now? It seemed like I could.

  By Wednesday, my lead over Lauren had widened, but my mom was quick to remind me not to get cocky. Stella had stated in her intro video that she’d be taking the voting results into consideration when making her pick. Winning the poll did not equal winning the spot.

  I barely slept Thursday night. Erika had work with one of her other clients, so I stayed home and was up late playing Call of Duty with Preston and Colin. I was jittery most of the night, aware that in a few hours, I’d either be fucking ecstatic or depressed beyond belief.

  I tried to mentally prepare for the worst.

  Really, all I had to do was think about freshman year and the moment the coach had pulled me aside at training. He’d done it while the team was moving to the weight room so the other guys wouldn’t notice. I remembered that long-ass walk back to the dorm with my equipment bag in hand, knowing the team was still back at the gym working out. Training went another two hours for them.

  But not me.

  I needed it to be different this time.

  I wasn’t the only one who hoped I got the spot. Erika was right there with me, and it felt like this wasn’t just my dream anymore—

  It was ours.

  Morning sunlight crept through the window but I stayed in bed, staring vacantly at the ceiling while I tried to get a handle on my expectations. My schedule was light today. I didn’t need to be at the gym until my lunchtime burn class, but for once I wished I had something earlier. What the fuck was I going to do with myself for the next few hours?

  If I needed any evidence of how nervous I was, I discovered I was too distracted to jerk off.

  I considered texting Erika, but she’d be in work mode now when I wanted to talk to my girlfriend.

  The universe must have known my frustration because my phone rattled on the nightstand. I vaulted up out of bed, yanking the charging cord out of the port and sliding my finger across the screen when ‘Warbler Talent’ flashed on it.

  Only I hadn’t realized until I’d already accepted it that the call was coming through via FaceTime.

  Ardy popped up on my screen, wearing a confused expression as he stared back at me. “Hey, kid, I know it’s early. Sorry to wake you.”

  It wasn’t early, he was being polite. “No, it’s fine. I was up.”

  He lifted an eyebrow. I was in my bedroom and shirtless, and my hair was a mess, so he clearly didn’t believe me. “Right. Anyway, we’ve got a bit of a situation on our hands. You got a minute?” When I nodded, he said, “Great. Let’s have you put on a shirt first.”

  “Yes, sir.” I set the phone down on the dresser and scrambled for the first half-decent thing I could find. Fuck, my room was a mess. I snatched up a gray t-shirt off the floor and tugged it on, raked a hand through my hair to make it presentable, and picked my phone back up, turning so the only background was the tan wall behind me. “What’s the situation?”

  Ardy was satisfied with my transition. “I’m going to let her explain.” He winked at me. “I just needed to make sure you were camera ready.” His image blurred as he lowered his phone, and the screen abruptly rolled over to a new caller.

  “Troy?” the girl asked. “You there?”

  For a second, thoughts vanished from my brain. It made it really fucking hard to remember how to speak. “Yeah.” I fumbled. “Hi, I’m here.”

  Stella Mills was only a few years older than I was. She had sandy blonde hair and eyebrows that were like notches. When she’d started out, she’d been the down-to-earth girl next door, but she’d shed that image with her latest album. Now she was more like a lioness. Elegant and classy, and not afraid to flash her claws.

  This girl on the other end of the call was the OG Stella. Her hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun, and she was wrapped in an oversized sweatshirt from Vanderbilt. Her makeup was minimal, and the lighting on her tour bus was harsh as it sped along, making her look very real and normal.

  But she was still Stella Mills, on my phone, talking to me.

  “Hi!” She brightened. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  Don’t be weird, don’t be weird . . . “Yeah, you too!”

  It came out too loud and excited, making me cringe.

  She didn’t seem to notice. “So, listen. I’ve been talking with Ardy, and the concern over at Warbler is about your level of experience.”

  My heart thudded to a stop. This was where she told me they’d decided to go in a different direction. My shoulders sagged. “Okay.”

  “I don’t have those concerns,” she added.

  I blinked, unsure of what to say. That sounded good, but I didn’t trust it.

  “My concern,” she continued, “is with who you are as an artist. Like, I love your tone, but I’m not looking for a good cover band. I want to discover someone who has a voice. Do you know what I mean?”

  “Sure.” I didn’t really, but I was kind of starstruck, and my brain wasn’t functioning at full capacity.

  She lifted her gaze away from the camera so she could glance out the window and appeared deep in thought. Then, her attention abruptly snapped back to me. “I really liked what you said. I felt it in my soul when you talked about how much it meant to you to be on that stage. It’s been a while since I thought about it, but I remember being there at that point in my career, just starting out.”

  When she smiled, it was so genuine and contagious, I smiled too.

  She squeezed her earlobe with her fingers, thinking. “I guess what it comes down to is, what kind of show are my fans going to get from Troy Osbourne? I know what I get with Lauren, because she’s put out an album, but I don’t have anything else to go on with you.”

  My heart banged a furious tempo. It felt like my and Erika’s dream all hinged on the next thing I said or did. I swallowed an enormous breath. “Can I play you something?”

  Her smile was polite and bright. Hopefully, she wasn’t just humoring me. “Sure.”

  “Let me grab my guitar.”

  And some pants since I’m not wearing any.

  I’d never gotten ready so fast. I tugged on jeans and cleared my throat as I stumbled into the living area. I wasn’t warmed up at all, and I fumbled to get the phone angled right on the TV so she could see me, but it didn’t seem to matter. I got out my guitar and sat on the edge of the couch with the guitar positioned across my leg.

  “What are you playing for me?” Stella asked.

  “This is ‘Power.’” I was relieved at how confident I sounded. “An original written by Erika Graham.”

  The U2 cover I’d done was up-tempo and energetic, but Erika’s song was deep and deliberate. Even if I wasn’t in a relationship with the songwriter, it was likely I’d have felt a connection to the lyrics. Who couldn’t relate to feeling like they were under someone’s spell?

  Like my performance at the Opry House, I was calm and in command. Erika wasn’t here physically, but I felt her all around. She seeped through the music and sang the lyrics with me as a duet in my head. I barely checked in with the screen to see how I was doing.

  I got lost in the song. Every time I’d sung it before, Erika had been beside me, and I’d leashed my intensity. I didn’t have to worry about scaring her off now, so there was nothing to lose. I played and sang my fucking heart out, feeling every lyric in the marrow of my bones.

  Was it a cliché to say I put it all out there? When I closed the song, I was spent and drained. It’d taken everything I had emotionally to get through it, and my voice broke on the final word. When I lifted my hand from the strings, my gaze went to the phone propped up on the cabinet across the way.

  Stella had her hand tucked under her chin, and a slow smile worked across her lips. “Yes,” she breathed. “Now I know who you are. Thank you, Troy.”

  My chest was still tight with unexpected emotion, so I pressed a hand to it, trying to work the knot loose. “Of course. Thanks for l
etting me play it for you.”

  “I need to talk to Ardy again and discuss some things, but as soon as I’ve made my decision, you’ll know. Okay?”

  I nodded, even though my head felt like it was filled with bees. “Sounds good.”

  “All right, thanks.” She gave a wave. “Have a great day.”

  “Yeah, you too—” I started, but she was already gone.

  EIGHTEEN

  Erika

  The gym where Troy worked was decorated in burnt orange and black, and had a warehouse feel. It was so different from the one I went to. It was serious, and I suspected the big bros on the floor would be there all day, hogging the machines.

  I stood in the lobby and watched Troy through the glass, because not only was I a visitor, I was wearing my favorite hot pink heels. They’d brought me luck in the past, so I figured it couldn’t hurt Troy’s chances of getting picked.

  He didn’t notice me. He wore a black tank top with the gym’s orange logo stretched across his chest, and as he called out the exercises to the class of people on the mat, I wondered how much money it’d cost if I switched gyms. He had the same confidence leading the group as he had on stage.

  A cute guy approached me and flashed a smile. He was wearing the same black shirt Troy had on and a name badge that read ‘Colin.’ He looked vaguely familiar, but then again, he had the college frat boy look to him, so that was probably all it was.

  “You interested in our lunchtime burn class?” he asked.

  “Oh, no thank you. I’m actually not a member.” I motioned through the glass. “I’m just waiting for Troy.”

  He looked at me critically, like he was worried I was some stalker fan. I was about to tell him I was Troy’s manager, when Colin’s expression shifted. He snapped his fingers and then pointed at me with honest-to-God finger guns. “Ms. Graham?”

  I went rigid. How the hell did this kid know me?

  Oh my God.

  Had Troy told him about us? I was uncomfortable at the idea of this stranger knowing, but sort of excited because that meant Troy was talking about me, and wasn’t embarrassed for people to know he was dating an older woman.