15. The Ripple Effect #2
“What, have sex with a guy? I don’t know.
Sure. Maybe. I don’t know.” He turns away from me to gaze into the darkness of the yard’s corner, where the pool lights don’t shine and vulnerability lives.
“If I did,” he continued, “it would have to be with someone I knew, someone I trusted and felt comfortable with. Someone I had feelings for.”
There was another long silence. The water was placid and grew warmer as the conversation shifted.
“So,” I ask, “do you have feelings for me ?”
Kevin turns. “Why, Daniel! Are you propositioning me?”
My heart pounded under the water. I couldn’t tell if Kevin was teasing or testing me—maybe both. It was like a silent dare.
“I don’t know,” I replied. “Do you want to be propositioned?”
We are playing a game of cat and mouse—a dangerous one. Neither wants to tip our hand first nor go too far, fearing we may not be able to recover our dignity.
“Yes,” Kevin says. “I like you. I’ve always enjoyed your company. I’m glad as hell we ran into one another tonight.”
I give him a crooked grin. “Thanks, but that’s not what I asked, is it?”
Kevin inhales, and this time doesn’t dodge it. “You want me to say it?” he asks. “Fine. Yes, I would have sex with you.” He is calm and says it plainly. “In fact,” he adds, “I think we should.”
I look at him. I’m not shocked. I’m just searching. “You really want to?”
“Yeah, why not?” he says. “We’re both curious. We’re alone. We’re friends. I trust you. I feel comfortable with you. And I know this stays between us, right?”
My grin lingers. “You can trust me, and yeah, why not? I want to.” The moment I say it, something shifts—not in the water, not in the air, but in me.
I want him. And there it is, the horse is out of the barn, and I am relieved.
Yes, it feels like being out on a limb and vulnerable, but I’m taking control of my desire and taking a chance, one of the few chances of free choice I have left. We both said it now. Both want it.
I sense our surroundings again—the warm night air, water, and pool light glowing softly beneath us, casting luminous shapes and shadows on our legs, torsos, and swimsuits. The space between us pulses with quiet energy, and I don’t move. I just let it fill me.
“Hold on a second,” he says, grabbing the pool’s edge and slowly lifting himself out of the water. He pulls the sliding glass open and turns the patio lights off at the switch. We’re cloaked in moonlight now, soft and silvery, shimmering off the surface while everything else disappears.
“There, that’s better,” he says. He lowers himself back into the water and moves slowly, carefully, and deliberately toward me.
His hands land on either side of me against the pool edge, caging me in but not trapping me.
He leans in, close but not touching. It is dark, late, and quiet; we both know we have privacy.
I don’t move, not toward him or away—until I feel his lips brush against mine.
It is soft and gentle, barely anything, like a whisper of a kiss.
I see him back away an inch to read my reaction.
Still, I don’t move. I don’t need to. Kevin knows.
Our lips taste like pool water and intense longing. I smirk as I close my eyes once more.
Kevin leans in again, and this time, the kiss is the kind that breaks things open. He lets his hands drift to my back, slowly and cautiously, lowering them to my hips to draw me closer to him. The pool wall no longer holds me in place—Kevin does.
I rest my arms around his shoulders to let my body float into his embrace.
I straddle him, wrapping my legs around his waist as we continue to kiss.
Our bodies press together, our chests touch, and our arms wrap around each other in an embrace.
The water engulfs us as we engulf each other—it rocks us gently as the heat and yearning between us swell .
“Are we going to do this here?” I whisper, my voice quivering slightly. It is dark, and I know we are alone, yet I feel uneasy about being out in the open, exposed as we are.
“No,” Kevin says. “Let’s go inside.”
The water splashes onto the concrete deck as we lift ourselves out of the water and grab the towels from the patio chair.
Kevin bends to dry off, and my gaze follows the way the moonlight moves with him: across the curves of his spine, the width of his shoulders, down his arms. He’s always moved like someone sure of himself.
We wrap the damp towels around our waists and move through the sliding glass doors, our bare feet silent on the tile floor. Neither of us says a word as Kevin leads me toward his bedroom—the moment either of us can stop, but neither wants to.
~
“Hey, pool guy!”
The voice cuts across the water like a stone skipping on surface tension. I blink hard, and the pole slips from my hand—snapped back to the present. My knuckles ache from how tightly I’ve been gripping it.
“Can you hear me?”
I glance up. Patrick is standing under the patio awning, leaning against one of the columns with a half-eaten popsicle in one hand and a crooked smirk on his face.
His hair is damp like he just got out of the shower, and he’s wearing a towel low around his waist—nothing else, by the looks of it.
He’s more tanned now and looks unbothered, like some prince of summer who has already figured out that rules don’t apply to him .
“Yeah,” I call back, masking the heat in my face with a casual nod. “Sorry. Zoned out for a minute.”
“You think?” he says, stepping off the patio and walking barefoot across the hot flagstone like it’s nothing. “I’ve been standing here for a full minute. I thought you might fall in.”
I wipe sweat from my forehead and hang the pole on the hooks beside the pump. “Just thinking.”
“Looked more like feeling,” he says, sucking a streak of melted cherry popsicle off his thumb. “Look down.”
I don’t have to. I know what Patrick is nodding at—the sweat highlighting what I was thinking about as it pushes against my tan work shorts.
I don’t respond. Instead, I bend down, reach for the test kit, flip open the lid, and pretend to double-check the chlorine level even though I know it’s fine.
He steps closer, stopping a few feet from the pool’s edge.
The sun behind him outlines his frame as he stands too close to me.
Not now, please. Not today. Not in this state of arousal.
“So,” he says, “big plans today?”
I shrug. “Just finishing up.”
“You’re usually not here this early,” he notes. “Not complaining. I was getting bored.”
I glance upward. “And now you’re not?”
Patrick grins, lets the popsicle linger at the corner of his mouth, then bites it. “You’re more entertaining than the gardener.”
A soft laugh escapes as I shake my head. “You always like watching people work?”
“Depends on the view,” he says. His eyes drop briefly before looking back at my face.
It’s too warm out here. My chest still hums with the memory of Kevin’s hands on my back, the water holding us in that electric hush.
And now here’s Patrick, barefoot and slick-skinned, wearing a towel and speaking in innuendo with zero hesitation.
My back aches from kneeling too long, pretending to test the water while waiting for my hard-on to subside.
Not sure if it’s irritation or intrigue he stirs in me.
“You’re not out here trying to flirt with the pool guy, are you?” I ask, keeping my tone easy.
Patrick shrugs. “What if I am?”
“I’m pretty sure you just turned eighteen.”
“Nineteen, and in college.”
I exhale through my nose, still crouching. “You’re playing games.”
He doesn’t argue. He doesn’t confirm it either. He stands over me with his dripping blond hair and a towel that’s damper and more clingy than it should be.
“Aren’t your parents home?” I ask.
“In Italy for two weeks. I’m here for two months until the fall semester.”
There’s a beat of silence, and then I stand.
What the hell , I think, let him look . Patrick’s gaze lingers.
He’s quieter, less cocky now. I wonder if he realizes he’s not wearing his sunglasses this time—he’s not hiding behind them.
He’s vulnerable. It’s like he’s waiting to see if I’ll lean in or walk away.
But I don’t do either. I meet Patrick’s eyes and hold the look longer than needed. Not because I want to, but because part of me, the part I thought I’d buried back in that kiss with Kevin, is still humming, still awake. Desire doesn’t compartmentalize just because you want it to behave that way.
“You ever go swimming?” The question changes the subject .
“Sure,” Patrick says. “But I don’t like cold water. I like heat. And control.”
Of course he does.
“I’ve gotta head out soon,” I say, moving toward my bag. “Got somewhere to be this afternoon.”
Patrick squints at me, then tilts his head. “Hot date?”
Just long enough of a pause to let him wonder. “Something like that,” I finally answer.
He doesn’t move out of the way when I sling the bag over my shoulder.
He stands there, his towel low around his hips, like a dare in human form.
I shift past him, close enough to smell the clean scent of his body wash, like coconut and ozone, and I consider asking if I can rinse off before heading to Emory.
I don’t need to use the shower inside—I can strip and wash off right here, under the shady overhang of the trees on the side of the patio where guests rinse off after enjoying the pool. But I don’t ask. Maybe next time.
“You should wear tan more often,” he says as I reach the gate. “Looks good on you.”
“Thanks,” I say, “I’ll keep that in mind.”
The gate squeaks shut behind me. I walk to my truck, my heart beating with something I don’t need or have time for. Patrick isn’t what I want, but part of me still feels flattered. I can think of a hundred reasons to keep my distance. Still, none of it matters. Not when I’m heading to see Kevin.
It’s just a swim. Just two old friends. Just water. Yet my hands are shaking with anticipation.