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“Yes, I am the Pool Boy”
It was a hot, steamy day beside the pool. The lady of the house was bored and lonely, daydreaming as she tanned on the expertly crafted tanning ledge that Great Falls Pools created during a recent renovation. The good life, she thought, still impressed with herself for becoming a “lady of leisure,” as her mother would have called it. She didn’t miss the corporate hustle of DC at all, thinking back to her days at the K Street Law firm before she got married, but she did miss the human connection. These days were quiet, almost too quiet, the only noise was the buzz of cicadas in the fields. Her husband Mark was away on business again. The quietness and heat of the day were weighing down on her.
Suddenly, she felt a break from the heat as a shadow blocked the hot sun. She opened her eyes to see him, standing there, hardly a day over twenty, all muscle and sinew and sweat. She could smell the suntan lotion and chlorine coming off his skin.
“Are you…” she started, looking him up and down, “Are you the pool boy?” He must have been new to the company. She would definitely have remembered him if she’d seen him before.
He smiled at her, with all the confidence of a varsity athlete, she thought, recalling her days as a cheerleader now so many years ago.
“Why yes, I am the pool boy.”
She let the words settle between them, thick as the July Virginia heat. His voice was deep but not yet weathered, carrying a hint of amusement. He knew exactly what he was doing, standing there like that—arms flexed just enough to suggest strength without effort, the kind of ease that only came with youth.
Cecelia had always appreciated a well-built man. Once upon a time, she had been the object of admiration, the blonde queen of Friday night football games, flipping her pleated skirt with every high kick. But now, she was settled—comfortably married, as they said, though comfort didn’t always equate to excitement.
“You’ve been working hard,” she said, her gaze flicking to the sweat glistening on his chest.
He smirked, setting down the pool net and wiping a forearm across his brow. “Heat like this? Comes with the job.”
She tilted her head, her long legs stretching in the shallow water. “And how long have you been in this… profession?”
He crouched beside the ledge, close enough that she caught the tropical scent of his Banana Boat suntan lotion mixed with something distinctly male. “Long enough to know my way around a backyard like this,” he said, his voice dipping low, nearly conspiratorial. “Long enough to know when someone is looking for a distraction.”
Her lips parted, but no words came. The audacity. The accuracy.
She should have been insulted, maybe even outraged. But instead, she felt something else entirely—a slow burn, starting deep in her stomach, unfurling through her limbs.
“And what makes you think I need a distraction?” she asked, lifting a brow as much as her freshly Botoxed forehead would allow.
He leaned in just slightly, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “Because you haven’t looked away yet.”
Cecelia inhaled, her breath just a little unsteady. A test. A game. She had always loved both.
“Well,” she said, tilting her chin up, “since you’re here, I suppose you might as well make yourself useful.”
His grin widened, slow and knowing. “Anything you need, ma’am.”
She liked the way he said it—polite, but laced with something dangerous.
She reached for the icy glass of lemonade beside her, took a slow sip, and held it out to him. “You look like you could use a cool drink.”
He didn’t hesitate. He took the glass from her, fingers grazing hers for the briefest moment, and brought it to his lips. The line of his throat shifted as he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He handed it back, the condensation slick against her palm.
“Thanks,” he said, still watching her.
The cicadas droned. The water lapped softly at the edge of the pool.
“Let me know if you need anything else,” he added, standing to his full height, stretching slightly, as if he knew the way her gaze traveled over him.
She exhaled slowly, watching as he grabbed his net and walked to the other side of the pool, muscles shifting with each movement.
Yes, she thought, brushing a slow, deliberate hand down her sun-warmed arm.
She would.
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