Chapter 4
I change into the black bikini at eight thirty. Stand in the bathroom mirror, adjust the straps, take my hair down. I pick up a book from the nightstand, grab a glass of iced tea from the kitchen, and walk outside before I can talk myself out of it.
The patio chair is warm from the sun. I sit down, cross my legs, open the book. I am a woman in a bikini, reading by her pool on a Thursday morning. If either of them looks at me, they will know exactly why I’m out here instead of at my desk.
The gate opens. The big one comes through first, skimmer over his shoulder. He sees me and breaks stride for half a step. Then his face opens up.
“Morning.” He looks at me a beat longer than professional, then looks away, hoists the skimmer, gets to work.
The other one follows him through the gate with the testing kit. He glances at me, and his eyes stay a second longer than they have before. Then the nod, and he walks to the far end of the pool.
I open my book. I read the first paragraph and actually take it in.
They work for forty minutes. I read, or I read enough to turn pages.
The big one skims the surface, checks the drain covers, runs the vacuum along the bottom.
His shirt comes off at some point, and I catch it in my peripheral vision, the motion of him pulling it over his head, the sunburn already starting at his shoulders.
The quiet one tests the water, adjusts the pump, opens the filter housing and reaches inside. His fingers disappear into the mechanism then come back out. He wipes them on his shorts and writes something on his clipboard. I watch his hands and think about the dream. I turn a page.
The sun is on my legs, abdomen, and the tops of my feet.
I can feel my skin warming, the sweat starting at my lower back where it presses against the cushion.
I shift in the chair, and my thighs unstick from the fabric.
I am highly aware of my body. The swimsuit, the skin, the places where the sun hits and the places where the fabric covers.
I take a drink of iced tea. The ice has mostly melted.
The big one finishes first. He coils the vacuum hose, stows it in the shed, comes back wiping his hands on his shorts. The quiet one latches the filter housing and stands up, rolling his shoulders.
“Can I get you guys some water?” I close the book on my thumb. “It’s brutal out here.”
The big one grins. “I will never in my life say no to water.” He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. “I’m West, by the way. That’s Teo.”
Teo nods. “Thank you,” he says. His voice is lower than I expected. Soft in the vowels.
“Jenna.”
I go inside, fill two glasses with ice and water, carry them out with my own.
When I come back, West has taken the patio chair across from mine, legs stretched out, the iron frame creaking under him.
Teo is in the third chair, perched forward, elbows on his knees.
West takes his glass and drinks half of it in one pull. Teo takes his and thanks me again.
“So, what do you do in there all day?” West tips his head toward the house. He’s settled into the chair like he plans to stay a while, one ankle crossed over the other, the glass resting on his waist. “Saw the laptop through the window last time.”
“I’m a translator. Technical stuff, mostly. Patents, medical documents.” I tuck my legs underneath me. The cushion is hot against my thighs. “German, French, some Portuguese. The Portuguese is my worst, but it pays the best, so …”
Teo leans back in his chair for the first time. “Portuguese?”
“My grandmother was from Lisbon.”
“My mom’s from S?o Paulo,” he says. He runs his thumb along the rim of his glass. “I don’t use it much for work. More useful at home.”
“What’s your other work?” I ask.
“He’s in EMT school,” West says. “Almost done, too.”
Teo glances at West with something I can’t quite read. Not annoyed. More like a man who’s used to someone else telling his story. “Two more semesters,” he says. “Pool work fits around the class schedule.”
“And pays for it,” West adds, tipping his glass toward Teo like a toast.
“And pays for it.” Teo takes a drink. “West thinks everyone wants to hear my life plan.”
“Everyone does.” West grins at me. “It’s a good plan.”
I turn to West. “So, you own the company.”
He nods.
“Then why is the owner personally cleaning my pool?”
He takes a drink of water. Sets the glass down on the arm of the chair. Looks at me.
“I thought it needed special attention.”
The words sit there. West doesn’t take them back. He doesn’t smile, doesn’t make it a joke. He just looks at me, and I look at him, and the glass of water sweats in his hand. I feel it between my legs. A pulse, a heat, sudden and specific.
Teo’s eyes move from West to me. I catch it at the edge of my vision. He saw it. He heard the line the same way I heard it.
“We should get to the Hendersons’,” Teo says. He stands, sets his glass on the table.
West holds my gaze for one more second then pushes himself out of the chair.
“Thanks for the water, Jenna.”
“Anytime.” My voice comes out steady.
They gather their equipment. Teo latches the filter housing, collects his kit. West shoulders the skimmer.
At the gate, he turns back. “Same time next week.”
I nod.
The gate closes behind them. The truck starts. The driveway is empty.
I make it to the couch.
I pull the bikini bottom to the side, and my hand is already there.
I’m soaked, have been since the line, maybe since he looked at me when I came outside.
I push two fingers inside myself, and my hips come up off the cushion.
I’m tight and swollen, and my fingers slide easily.
I grind the heel of my hand against my clit.
West’s face when he said it. The way he didn’t look away. I fuck myself harder, three fingers now, my palm slapping wet against my pussy.
Teo’s eyes moving from him to me. Teo’s hands inside the filter housing, precise, knowing exactly where to go.
West’s mouth, the size of his hands, what his cock would feel like pushing into me. Special attention.
I come hard enough that my legs clamp together around my hand and I curl forward on the cushion with my mouth open and nothing coming out.
I lie there. My hand is still between my legs, and I can feel my heartbeat against my fingers, in my clit, in my throat.
I sit up, pull my bikini straight, then walk to the kitchen and stand at the window. The patio furniture, the pool, the skimmer leaning against the fence where West forgot it. I look at the three chairs. Next Thursday, I’m going to ask them if they want to come inside.
I pick up my phone and text Lina: The pool guys came today.
Three dots, then: HOW did it go?
I know their names now.
Which one is hotter?
Both.
I put the phone down. I look out the window again. The pool is still, clean, catching the sun.