The Pool Boy - Nikki Sloane Page 0,29
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. Graham 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.”
She straightened uncomfortably in her seat, which told me everything I needed to know. She was visualizing it right this second, me pulling her from her chair, getting her pants down, and bending her over until her