I let myself in through the garage and the silence hits first — that too-large- of-a-house silence that never feels cozy unless Penis running around it somewhere. Tonight there’s only the faint hum of the refrigerator and the muted tick of the kitchen clock.
There’s a wine glass in the sink and a couple of clean bowls on the drying rack.One of Penny’s glittery sandals rests by the garage door, another by the backdoor, as if she was taking them off while wandering around.
I toe my shoes off as I notice the light on.Not inside— out back. Blue water ripples, reflecting the moon and the faint yellow flood light, and I stop.
Every muscle in my body goes still.
There, swimming through the middle of the pool in a smooth, steady line, is Carly, wearing what I’m fairly certain is a sports bra and a pair of matching underwear.For one stupid second, my brain quietens so much that it’s almost peaceful.
But then it all comes roaring back meaner than ever.
She’s in my fucking pool wearing almost nothing.
Jesus Christ.
I stay where I am as she surfaces and slicks her hair back, my body half-hidden by darkness inside the house. This is self-destructive. I know this. It’s stupid, it’s reckless, it’s doing the exact opposite of helping my problem, but I can seeso much.
She lifts herself backward to sit on the edge of the pool, and in that half a second her lower half is out of the water, I can see the way the water makes her underwear cling between her legs, can see the outline of?—
My grip tightens on the doorknob.
Steam rises off her in the cool air, her lips parted as she twists the water out of her hair, her cheeks light pink.
Then she does the worst thing she could possibly do to me without even knowing.
She leans back on her palms, arching her back, letting her head tip back as if it carries the weight of the damn world. It’s just a stretch, but I can see every little line on her stomach, every inch of muscle, every soft line and curve. She lowers herself fully until she’s lying out on the concrete, her calves still dangling in the pool, her face disappearing over the rise of her breasts.
And her hand comes to rest on her lower stomach, just above the waistband of her underwear.
Her fingers toy with the hem.
My mouth goes dry.
This is ridiculous.I am a grown man, aforty-five-year-old father, business owner, ex-professional athlete, and apparently a complete fucking idiot for this woman.
I should open the door, announce myself, walk out and say something normal like,Evening,orHope Penelope didn’t give you too much trouble.
Instead, I just stand there watching her play with the edge of her panties like a boy seeing a swimsuit ad for the first time.
My body responds instantly. Brutally.
I shut my eyes, but it’s too late. I can feel blood rushing south, can feel the discomfort as my cock starts to strain against my boxers.
“Fuck,” I mutter.
Because now all I can see is that kiss, the one I initiated,and how she froze because, as Cole suspects, I blindsided her like an asshole.
Then last night, with her in my kitchen and Penelope laughing between us and that strange domestic warmth tainting everything, I went and made it worse. I drew the line harder after Pen went to sleep, told her this fake relationship was exactly that. Not real.Professional.
Meanwhile, I’m standing in the dark getting hard because she went for a swim in my house.The irony of it should kill me where I stand.
She moves again, slipping back into the pool before swimming to the steps, climbing out fully. Water streams down her body in ways that make a tiny spot on my boxers start to feel damp.
I turn away so fast I nearly give myself whiplash.
I can’t do this. Absolutely the fuck not.
I head down the hallway and up the stairs quickly, every instinct in me screaming different things. One half says get a grip, but the other... the other half is already untying the knot of my joggers the moment I shut my door.
