This is the second part of a pool boy romance fiction series entitled “Yes, I am the Pool Boy,’ written by the pros at Great Falls Pools. For part one, click here. For t-shirts, beach towels, and beach bags inspired by this story, check out our swag store.

Cecelia watched as he moved along the pool’s edge, scooping away debris with practiced ease. She wondered if he could feel her eyes on him. No doubt he could—men like him, young and reckless with their confidence, always knew when they were being admired.

The heat clung to her, thick and unrelenting. Or maybe it was something else entirely that was so relentless inside her.

She stretched again, languidly, letting the warm water lap at her stomach. “Do you do this for a living?” she asked, her voice slow, deliberate.

He glanced over his shoulder, flashing that same easy smile. “For now,” he said. “But I’ve got plans.”

She liked the way he said it. Plans. No specifics, just the certainty of someone who still believed the world would hand him whatever he wanted.

“Oh?” She leaned forward, elbows on her knees. “And what exactly does a pool boy aspire to?”

He rested the net against the pool deck and turned fully toward her, hands on his hips. The motion did interesting things to his torso, the defined lines shifting under his sun-bronzed skin.

“I’m studying business at JMU,” he said. “Thinking about real estate, maybe development. But I like working outside.” His grin turned playful. “Better than sitting behind a desk, anyway.”

She smirked, tilting her head. “So you clean pools for exercise?”

He chuckled, a deep sound that settled low in her stomach. “I do it because I like the work. And because the views aren’t bad.” He kept his gaze on her as he said that, not even motioning to the picturesque acreage of her husband’s estate, the rolling grassy hills that went all the way to the Potomac.

She arched a brow. “The views?”

His eyes flicked to hers, unreadable for a moment. Then lower—just for a second, before meeting her gaze again.

She knew that look. It had been a long time since she’d been on the receiving end of it.

Her husband, Mark, didn’t look at her like that anymore. He barely looked at her at all.

She shifted her weight, allowing one strap of her swimsuit to slip slightly off her shoulder. “I imagine you see a lot of interesting things in this line of work.”

His smirk deepened. “You’d be surprised.”

She ran her fingers along the rim of her glass, tracing slow circles against the condensation. “I’m sure you’ve got stories.”

He stepped closer, just near enough that she could see the tiny beads of water drying on his skin.

“Oh, I’ve got stories,” he said, voice low, intimate. “But I’m more interested in yours.”

She felt her pulse quicken. This was dangerous—ridiculous, even. But something about the way he stood there, watching her, waiting, made it impossible to ignore the slow burn in her chest.

She leaned back, stretching once more. “I’m afraid mine aren’t exciting at all.”

His gaze flicked over her, deliberate. “I don’t believe that.”

Cecelia exhaled slowly, the tension between them thick as the summer air.

“Tell me, pool boy,” she murmured, “what do you do when you’re finished with work?”

His smile was slow, knowing.

“Whatever I want,” he said.

The ice in her glass clinked softly as she lifted it again, watching him over the rim.

She had a feeling the day was about to get a lot more interesting.

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