The Pool Boy - Nikki Sloane Page 0,1

wasn’t about turning a year older so much as it was a celebration of a year of hard work and determination.

The waiter brought me the chocolate cake anyway, but he was smart enough to put it in a take-home box. “In case you change your mind. Happy birthday.”

I hadn’t had sweets in forever, and as I stared at the white box, I was suddenly grateful. Clark probably wouldn’t be home until the middle of the night, and a slice of cake would be a nice consolation prize.

It was around eleven o’clock that night when I got the idea. I’d been sitting on the covered back patio, holding a glass of cabernet sauvignon, and staring at my pool. It was lit by the underwater lamp in the deep end, and the shimmering water was enticing.

My first thought was to go for a swim. It was hot out, even by August’s standards. I could leave my swimsuit in the house and skinny dip. It was something I’d never done before, partly because I’d spent a lot of my adult life not feeling comfortable with how I looked. Our backyard backed up to a forest and was large, putting distance between my neighbors on both sides. But it sloped down toward Dr. Lowe’s house, meaning it was possible he could see over the top of our shared fence.

He didn’t let it bother him.

A smile teased my lips. I’d never actually seen them because his hot tub was up against the house and hidden from view, but I’d heard Dr. Lowe and his girlfriend enjoying each other. The girl was half his age and quite vocal.

It’d given me a dull pang of jealousy. Not over Dr. Lowe, but young Cassidy Shepard. Apparently, she’d been lucky enough to find a partner whose sexual appetite matched the one inside me, and from the sound of it . . . the good doctor could keep her satisfied.

I stared at the pool, watching the pretty pattern of the pool liner bend and distort as the subtle ripples caused by the pump moved through the water. Dr. Lowe wasn’t home right now. His house was dark, and I’d seen his car leaving the subdivision when the Uber brought me home a few hours ago.

If I went for a swim, perhaps Clark would come home, find me naked in the pool, and the sight of my bare, wet skin would be enough to entice him into joining me.

But it was also likely he’d be trapped at the office for hours, and by the time he walked through the door, I’d be pruney and cold, and he’d be cranky and tired. I had no control over when he’d be done.

I picked up the takeout container and carried both it and my wine glass inside the house, depositing them in the kitchen, before moving into my bedroom. My birthday present—the one I’d bought myself—was still in the box it’d been delivered in and tucked away in the back of my closet.

The deep red mesh and lace bodysuit cost more than I typically paid for an outfit, and this was something only Clark and I would ever see. If I were honest with myself, it was more for me than him. Sure, I wanted him to take one look at me packaged in the sexy lingerie and hopefully he’d remember I was a sexual being. That he’d used to find me attractive and now I looked better than ever.

But it was also a frivolous present to celebrate my success.

I stripped off my clothes and pulled the delicate fabric up over my curves, hooking the clasp in the back closed, then stood in front of the mirror to evaluate. My long, straight hair was a light auburn. The hue was so warm, I could pass as a redhead some days. I had blue eyes and fair skin, and last week at a launch party, a guy told me I reminded him of Amy Adams. He was drunk and maybe nearsighted, but I took the compliment anyway.

For the first time in forever, a pleased thrill shot down through me as I stared at my reflection. The crimson band belted across my natural waist was tight, but not unflattering. My arms had tone to them, and my thighs were proportional to the rest of me. I looked . . .

Hot.

Unexpected tears pricked my eyes, and I rapidly blinked them back, while sucking in a deep breath. I wasn’t about to start crying over my excitement at