The Pool Boy - Nikki Sloane Page 0,64

below the bubbling water line, making it hard for Troy to even see me. He used his hands instead to discover my curves and I wrapped my arms around his damp shoulders.

I whispered it in his ear, my voice rasping with need. “Are you going to fuck me out here?”

His smile was sly. “Maybe. Why? You think someone might see?”

“More like hear. Dr. Lowe’s girlfriend isn’t quiet when they use their hot tub.”

He went stiff and awkward.

“What is it?”

He made a face. “You know I’m friends with Cassidy, right? I mean, I was in high school, when she was with Preston. That whole situation is fucked up.”

I wasn’t sure what he was talking about, but I tried to piece it together. “Dr. Lowe’s girlfriend . . . used to date his son?”

“Yup.”

“Well, I guess that explains how Dr. Lowe met her,” I said quietly. “She’s half his age.”

“Like I said, fucked up.”

I gave Troy a plain look. “Yes, we should definitely cast stones from our glass house.”

He laughed like I was being ridiculous. “I didn’t mean because of the age thing. You know I don’t care about that.” He softened, returning to his playful self. “What I do care about is getting the rest of this bikini off, and then getting you on my dick.”

I feigned a dreamy, dramatic look. “God, you say the most romantic things.”

He chuckled knowingly. “You love it.”

I really did.

SEVENTEEN

Troy

It was three days before the videos were posted on Stella’s site, and by Monday my life became chaos. When I walked in to teach my bootcamp class, one of the other trainers joked loudly, “Hey, the pool boy’s here!”

Two of the women at the gym asked for my autograph, which was just fucking weird. What else was surprising was how I was leading in the fan poll. But Erika said she wasn’t surprised at all.

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