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“What’s your name?” he asked, his hands skating closer to where I was shrinking against the side of the hot tub.
Shit, where was Jack?
“A-Ava,” I stuttered, my eyes never leaving those wandering fingers.
“You’re very attractive, Ava. My son has great taste in women. I guess you could say that’s something I passed down to him,” he said, smiling with a creepy air of paternal pride.
I gave a weak smile, scooting incrementally away from him. He decided to forgo our game and laid his wet hand on my shoulder, rubbing his thumb suggestively over the edge of my collar bone.
What was going on? Was Jack’s father actually hitting on me? I was about to get out of the hot tub in search of Jack, when I heard his booming voice.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
Jack’s dad – I still didn’t know his name – pasted a benevolent smile on his face, rose up and turned to his indignant son.
“I’m just introducing myself to your girlfriend, son. No harm in that,” he said as he lifted his hands up in the universal gesture that indicated “no harm intended.”
A series of fleeting emotions crossed Jack’s face – anxiety, anger, hatred, anguish. There were clearly some unresolved issues between Jack and his father, issues his presence here was only exacerbating. “Just get the fuck out of here,” Jack gritted between clenched teeth, his dark green eyes periodically darting over to me, as if evaluating my response to this confrontation.
“I was just telling Ava that we have similar taste in women, so I didn’t think you’d mind my introducing myself. In fact–”
“Just fucking leave. She knows who the fuck you are now, probably more than she wanted to know,” Jack barked, advancing toward his father with aggressive steps.
Jack’s father gave a placid smile and held up his hands once more, apparently trying to placate Jack after needling him in his previous comment. This guy got off on head games.
He stood there in his expensive button-down shirt, tailored dress pants, and expensively cut hair, the picture of civility, but the glint in his eyes was anything but civil. He enjoyed toying with Jack’s emotions, pushing his buttons, and my presence had provided an opportunity he clearly had been unable to resist. It was no wonder Jack lived in the pool house.
“Son–”
“Just fucking stop,” Jack said, his fists starting to clench. He shot me a quick, grim look. “Ava, get out of the water and go into the house.”
I felt momentarily paralyzed by his request, as the water had come to represent safety, and I had no desire to walk near Jack’s father, who was still hovering near the steps of the hot tub. Jack seemed to understand my resistance and walked over and held his hand out, so I could be pulled up and out of the tub without using the steps. Thankfully, he’d grabbed a towel and hastily threw it around my shoulders, ushering me toward the pool house.
Jack shut the door behind me, evidently planning to continue this confrontation with his father. I wanted so badly to hear what they were talking about, but the hot tub was about fifteen feet away from house and Jack had gotten so close to his father, I couldn’t hear their words.
I started shivering in my wet bathing suit, so I rapidly peeled off my suit, right there in the dining room, and threw on a yoga pants and sweatshirt, still trying to figure out what Jack and his father were talking about. If I went by body language, their conversation hadn’t gotten any friendlier since my departure.
I jumped when Jack reached out and gave his father a sharp push, and it looked like his father was ready to respond in kind if the angry, malevolent expression on his face was anything to go by. However, instead of retaliating, he barked out something and stalked back towards the house.
I stared at Jack’s tense back, practically feeling the waves of tension and anger all the way inside the house. He must have been freezing, still only wearing his wet swim suit, but he gave no indication he was coming inside the house. He stood there, frozen and unmoving, for so long I started to worry about him. I grabbed a soft blanket off his couch and ran out the door.
I came up behind him and threw the blanket over his shoulders and gathering it in front of him. “Jack, are you okay?”
Green eyes that had been sparkling with affection and warmth now looked empty and shuttered as they focused on my face. “Ava, you need to leave,” Jack demanded tonelessly.
I felt shock course through my body. “What?”
“You need to go. Now,” he repeated in the same deadened tone.
I shook my head. “No, Jack, we need to talk. I’m so sorry that happened. It looks like you have a rather…complicated relationship with your father. Let’s talk it out,” I pleaded, eager to wipe the vacant look off his face.
Jack snorted, but it was a harsh sound. “Talk? Fuck no, I don’t want to talk. I want you to leave.”
My stomach was cramping, and my head was spinning with disbelief. “Jack, don’t you think–”
“No,” he cut me off. “I don’t want to think about shit.”
I took a deep breath feeling frustration, incredulity, and anguish warring for supremacy in my head. I so badly wanted to reach out and touch him, give him some form of comfort, but he didn’t look the least bit receptive. He looked like he was made of stone, his face set in an expression of resolution and grim acceptance. All I could do was stare at him, my eyes roving his features searching for some sign of softness, some sign of compromise, but there was nothing.
