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Me: Oh, so this is a sympathy-seeking text?
Carly: Exactly.
Damn, she’s cute.
Me: I feel so bad for you right now, Carly. It’s horrible what you’re having to deal with. I mean, you almost got initiated into a Sunny Creek gang! That’s like one step away from ending up in prison!
Carly: Very funny.
Me: I thought it was.
Carly: So, you’re just going to sit in your dad’s nice and quiet house and work while I instruct water aerobics to the Bee Gees?
Me: Yeah. Pretty much.
Carly: You’re a horrible person.
Me: LOL. How about this? I’ll take a break in about an hour and bring you lunch.
Carly: What kind of lunch?
Me: Anything you want.
Carly: ANYTHING I want? That’s a big statement, Ryan.
Me: I’m blaming it on all the forced sympathy.
Carly: Are you prepared to put your money where your mouth is?
Me: Pick your poison, Carly. I’ll oblige, no matter what.
Carly: While it’s incredibly tempting to go buck wild with this, just some sandwiches and chips will be fine.
Me: All that talk, and you choose fucking chips and sandwiches?
Carly: *shrugs* What can I say? I’m a complex woman.
She isn’t wrong. At every turn, it feels like all of the preconceived notions I initially had about her are completely wrong.
Yeah, and it’s that very reason that has you growing more intrigued by this woman by the fucking second…
I ignore that thought and send Carly another text.
Me: All right. In about ninety minutes or so, chips and sandwiches will be delivered for lunch. You have my word.
Carly: Greetings from water aerobics.
My phone chimes with another message, but this time, it’s a selfie of her staring at the camera with wide eyes, and behind her showcases our parents hugging on each other in the pool.
And I find myself staring at that photo a little too long than would be deemed normal.
But it’s not at our parents.
It’s at her.
She’s clad in a little black bikini, and every perfect inch of Carly’s curvy yet fit body is on display.
Instantly, my mind starts to wonder what that body of hers looks like without the black scraps of material.
Shit. I shake myself out of my thoughts. I have to get it together. I have way too much work to get done today to let myself fucking fantasize about shit I definitely shouldn’t be fantasizing about.
Yeah, but even knowing all the work you have to get done today, you were more than willing to offer to bring her lunch…
I roll my eyes at myself.
Clearly, I offered the lunch thing because I was being nice and showing appreciation for her getting my dad out of the house so I could get shit done.
Nothing more than that.
Sure, dude. Keep telling yourself that…
Carly
“One, two, three, four,” I count off, making my arms move up and down in what I think is an alternating, jazzercise type of move. Though I have no fucking clue what I’m doing.
I’m just thankful Sal and my mom are following along. And more than that, I’m happy to see that, despite their injuries, they appear to be tolerating the pool workout without any difficulty.
Plus, we’ve managed to spend the last half an hour in the pool without bloodshed. Sure, Betty’s been shooting daggers at me the entire time—like somehow the rivalry of Sunny Creek Village is all my fault, even though I’ve only been here for a little over a week—but Carrie’s done a good job of keeping her group on task, and I’ve hobbled my way through the same.
“Come on, Sal,” I encourage. “Get those arms up higher!”
Heartened perhaps by my words, but mostly by the male ego, he takes his extensions to a new level, stretching toward the sky with the dexterity of someone twenty years younger.
“There you go,” I praise. “Now it’s time to bend those knees. Downnn,” I yell, squatting into the water until my shoulders go under and only my head remains above. “And uuup!”
Stella and Sal wink and make kissy-faces at each other, and my mind reels with the kinds of things they could be silently communicating to each other.
Do. Not. Go. There.
Immediately, I turn around and face the edge of the pool, successfully avoiding watching their interactions, and continue to squat and call out instructions over my shoulder. “Downnn…and uuup!”
A deep, rich laugh vibrates above me, pulling my attention to the source just as a shadow falls across my face.
Ryan stands there, a grocery sack filled with what I can only assume is my lunch dangling from his long fingers. A large smile fills the confines of his handsome face. He’s still in full work attire—suit pants, dress shoes, and a tie—and the only recognition that he’s standing at the edge of a pool in the middle of sunny Florida is the positioning of his sleeves, rolled casually up to his elbows. He looks ridiculous. And yet, somehow, like a goddamn wet dream.
