“Hey,” he said, “This is the last round of hot dogs. We’re going to need more.”
When the last of them were served, he breathed hard and swiped the sweat off his face with a towel.
“Hot under here,” I said.
“Yeah. Steal a soda for me, will you? Take one for yourself, too.”
I tossed him a cold can and he caught it against his chest, cracked it open, and drained it in three big gulps. I drank more slowly, trying to convince myself that the slickness I felt between my legs was sweat.
Jim left me to sell the last few sodas, came back a little bit later.
“Hey,” he said. “I’ve got to run. Andy wants me to grab some more hot dogs.”
“Can I come?”
The words were out of my mouth before I realized what I’d said.
Startled, he blinked a few times. “Sure, why not?”
“I just want to get in the air conditioning for a while,” I added, quickly.
Stupid girl. He’s not interested in you. It’s just your imagination.
He shrugged. I followed him through the back gate to his car, slipped inside. He had towels on the front seats, and that was a good idea. I was absolutely drenched in sweat. It was hotter in the car until the air got going, and then I was freezing, shivering. I had my shorts and my bathing suit on. He was just in trunks, with a pair of sandals on the floor of the car and a wifebeater balled up on the center console.
I sat back and let myself adjust to the cold. He swiped at his face with his shirt, and wriggled into it. I watched every movement carefully, licking my lips. When he saw he shot me a startled look and threw the car in gear, shifting to sit very upright in his seat.
Down, my eyes went. I wasn’t imagining it, or just seeing what I wanted to see. I could see the hard outline of his rigid cock straining at his shorts, pushed down one pant leg. God, he was big. I wriggled in the seat and put my seatbelt on, letting the strap press between my breasts, outlining their shape. My nipples were tight points, chafed by the fabric. Sweat trickled down my chest and between my shoulder blades.
“So,’ he said. “The wholesale place is right around the corner, here.”
I put my hand on his leg.
He started, jerked the wheel. The car swerved a little. He pulled off the road as I pressed my palm down the shaft of his cock, stroking it from outside his shorts. His arm slid around me and he half pulled me over his lap and crushed his mouth to mine, so hard I was afraid it would bruise, but only a second. His tongue slid over my lips and I opened for him, reaching back with my own as the kiss deepened and my stomach tightened into a warm twist of excitement. I started to shift myself over the center console, trying to get on his lap. His hand slid down under my shorts and he cupped me from beneath, pressing his palm against the wetness and heat. Just the pressure made me bark a little cry of pleasure as my body jerked.
Then he pulled back, almost shoved me into the seat.
“What? What did I-”
“I can’t do this,” he said, pulling back out onto the road. “You’re still a little girl.”
“No I’’m not!” I shrieked, balling my hands into fists. “I’m eighteen years old. I’m a college student. I’m an adult.”
My chest turned to ice. I couldn’t breath. A little sob choked out of my throat and I shrank against the door, hugging the seat belt. My tears burned. I was crying.
“Wait here,” he said, flatly, and left the car running.
He came back, tossed some frozen hot dogs and buns in the back of the car, got in. We rode back in silence. By the time we got back to the pool, I had stopped crying. When I got out I said to him,
“I’m not a little girl.”
I didn’t help him carry the stuff back, or talk to him for the rest of the day. Instead I blew off my duties and got in the pool myself, and splashed around to hide the wetness on my cheeks.
After that, things were tense. I showed up on time, and so did he, no more morning swims. We talked only to exchange pleasantries and discuss our duties. I tried with all my might to just ignore him, but I couldn’t stop looking.
I don’t think he could, either.
The pool was open for another week, but it was my last day. My things were packed, and tomorrow we would load up the cars, my parents’ and mine, and I would go to live in the dorm. It was a Thursday, and the place was dead, and unbearably hot. I sat for most of the day at the plastic table, in the shade. Jim watched the empty pool, leaning on his knees up on the lifeguard stand.
When the day was finally over and I locked the front gate, he was waiting for me.
“I’m sorry,” he said, very quietly.
I stared at him. “For what?”