The Pool Boy - Nikki Sloane Page 0,19

did not want.

“Nobody likes their first job,” she’d said to me, when she’d relayed the story.

He’d rebelled against the offer for months, worried that once he got into a job, he wouldn’t be able to escape it.

But Jenna was nothing if not persuasive. The woman could sell you a recipe for ice, and you’d walk away feeling like you got a bargain. We’d met when Clark and I bought our house and hired Bill’s company to remodel the kitchen. Jenna was an interior designer and had helped me come up with a better footprint for the space; plus, she talked me into all the upgrades and high-end finishes that had made the kitchen my favorite room of the house.

We’d become fast, loyal friends.

Maybe loyal wasn’t the right word to use anymore.

I stared at my glass of sweet tea as she talked about a mix-up with an upholstery order that resulted in a client’s chair being recovered in a flamingo pattern.

“It was wild, I tell you,” she said. “I was speechless, and then the woman turns to me and says she likes how quirky it is.” Jenna tossed her sandy blonde hair over a shoulder. “It’s a statement piece,” she muttered, “just not sure I liked what it was saying.”

“But the customer was happy?”

“Oh, yeah. She fucking loved it.” She rested her elbows on the table as she prepared to switch topics, peering at me with a hard look, and my stomach filled with dread. I’d seen this expression from her before. It meant all-business. “So, you’re officially back on the market.”

I picked up my drink and took a sip, using it as an excuse not to answer.

My friend wasn’t deterred. “Before you leave tonight, we’re putting you on Match.com.”

Tea slid down my windpipe as I swallowed wrong, and I sputtered, “We are not.”

I loved my friend. She’d been my rock throughout the divorce, but she had a bad habit of thinking she knew what was best for everyone, sometimes without even asking if it was what they wanted. Uh, oh. What if she’d started building my profile already?

Movement behind her stole my focus. Then, all the air went out of the room.

Every time I’d come over since Troy had moved back in with his parents, I’d never seen him at home. Their guest house was a full apartment and that was where he stayed.

Until now.

He stood in the doorway to the kitchen, as if an invisible force field prevented him from moving farther, a bowl full of cereal, complete with a spoon, in his hand. Our gazes locked, and he blinked rapidly, as if he couldn’t process what he was seeing. Had I done the same thing? Because it was exactly how I felt.

Jenna, however, was unaware since he was behind her. “Maybe not Match,” she laughed. “How about Tinder? You said you’re horny all the time now.”

Oh, no.

My mouth dropped open, and the horrified sound that came from my throat was inhuman. Troy’s expression flooded with shock as his eyes widened, and his gaze shifted to stare at the back of his mother’s head.

“Jenna,” I choked out, but she was oblivious to my distress.

“Actually,” she nodded to herself, “I think that’s exactly what you need. Find some hot guy who’ll bang your brains out. Doesn’t matter if he’s stupid or broke or crazy, as long as he’s down to fuck. You can ghost him later.”

A void opened inside my head, preventing me from functioning, and a similar void was likely consuming Troy as he heard his mother utter the phrase “down to fuck.”

“After Clark?” Jenna scowled. “You need to be with a man who’s dying to get on you. Tell me I’m wrong.”

My heart was galloping a million miles an hour, and I couldn’t stop myself from looking at him. His simple gray t-shirt was stretched tight across his chest, flaunting his powerful frame. Jeans clung to his hips, and his brown hair was mussed, but not messy. He was casually styled and effortlessly sexy.

His expression caused me to unravel. Jenna had said I needed someone dying to have me, and for one long moment, he gazed back like he could be that man.

And I wanted that too.

Warnings triggered in my mind, but the loudest was that she’d asked me a question, and if I didn’t answer soon, she might wonder what I was looking at. I ripped my gaze away from him and focused on her.

My voice was weighted with reluctant truth. “No, you’re not wrong.”

She beamed a