Her Dad's Friend(3)

"Did we finally manage to surprise you for once?" my dad asks. I smell  whiskey on his breath and cigarette smoke in his hair. He only smokes  when he drinks. If my mom knew, she'd kill him. He looks over at Paul.  "We've never been able to keep a secret from this girl. Even at  Christmas she used to open her presents while we were asleep then spend  all night rewrapping them so we wouldn't notice. Who knows how many  years she got away with it before she was finally caught on the home  security system."

"You know I hate surprises." I tell him.

But I actually like this one. My parents have never been able to pull  off a surprise party in the past, but I suspect this was Emily's doing.         

     



 

"Anyone want a refill?" my dad asks. He lifts what's left of the amber  liquid in his glass. He's drinking hard alcohol, I realize. This is  going to be some kind of party. Not sure if that's a good thing or bad  at this point. My dad is unpredictable after a few drinks.

"I'll take another scotch on the rocks," Paul says.

I show my dad my full flute. "I'm good for now."

By the way he shuffles his feet, it's not his first drink of the day.  It's kind of hilarious seeing someone who's usually so poised let his  guard down. That only happens when he's with Paul.

"You know he's going to forget about that drink as soon as he gets to the bar," I say.

"I know. I'm not even drinking." Paul's smile is all glistening white  teeth and dimples. "Come here and give me a hug. I haven't seen you in  ages."

His hair has more silver in it than I remember, but it doesn't age him  like it would other men in their barely forties. He's one of those guys  who started going gray young. Better than losing it, which he hasn't one  bit. It's thick and wavy on top, and damn can he ever pull off the  silver fox look. Doesn't hurt that his baby blues are the same color as  the water and shine against his tan face. He could so be one of those  older hipster models you see in high fashion ads these days. The Miles  Better types with less facial hair.

As soon as his arms are around me I'm melting. His hands rub my back,  warm breath on the pulse of my neck. He smells like sun and chlorine and  coconut from the pomade in his hair. I want everyone else to disappear  so I can be alone with him.

The text starts running circles in my head. Will he bring it up, or  should I? Or should I just leave it alone and hope it goes away? Ugh.

"I can't believe how grown up you are." He steps back and studies me. "Twenty-one already. Time flies," he says.

"I've been grown up for a while now."

"I've noticed." His eyes shift to my breasts for a brief second before  finding my eyes again. He shrugs his lips as if embarrassed for looking.  I wish I would've worn something a little more revealing than the  university t-shirt I threw on this morning to get manicures.

I can only imagine the horror show he sees in front of him right now.  All I did this morning to get ready was shower, brush my teeth, and  throw my hair into a messy bun. I'm the epitome of lazy college student  at the moment with my blotchy face I spent the morning picking at, down  to the Uggs on my feet. I look like a hot mess.

Before I can respond my mom comes up to us. "Go get your suit, Rachael, everyone wants to swim a while before we do cake."

"I didn't bring a bathing suit."

Emily comes up behind me. "Don't worry, I have you covered."

We head upstairs to my childhood bedroom. Emily pulls out the tiniest  bikini I've ever seen. It's black and made of string and an inch or two  of fabric. The butt area is practically a thong with thin strings  attaching it to the triangle in front that barely covers me. It's a good  thing I got that Brazilian. The top half of the suit is more string  than fabric and does a shoddy job at being an actual, functioning  garment. If I'm not careful when twisting my torso, my areolas will  show. There's no padding either so it shows off every bump and curve.

"You're insane," I tell Emily. "I can't wear that. My dad will have a heart attack."

She smiles mischievously. "Don't worry. I thought of everything." She  hands me a lace cover dress to go over the top of it until I get in the  pool. I get dressed and we head downstairs.

Paul is already swimming when we go outside. With my sunglasses on I can  stare openly and not be obvious about it as he glides seamlessly  through the water. I can't think of anything more satisfying than the  look on his face when he finally sees me. With my dad preoccupied beside  the booze, I take off my cover and Paul's eyes grow wide, mouth opening  like he's about to belt out a big note. He's lucky no one's splashing  or he would drown.

Emily is beside me in a modest one piece and a pair of shorts. She's  always been self-conscious in a bathing suit. "Good thing I brought out  the big guns. Did you see the look on his face?"

With a quiet cat-call whistle at me, and a slap on my ass, Emily flits  off to talk to the boys she invited. I sit on the edge of the pool with  my feet dangling in, adjusting my body to the temperature. It's a  hundred and too-fucking-hot out and I can already feel the sun burning  my shoulders. I'm slathering 50 SPF Banana Boat on every exposed piece  of skin because I have the complexion of a Tim Burton character and this  bathing suit would make hilarious tan lines. The point is to make Paul  hot if he ever sees me naked, not make him laugh.         

     



 

His body glistens wet, his hair slicked back. After a few minutes of  staring, he finally swims over to me and props his arms on my knees.  Having him this close to me with so little fabric between us spins my  naughty thoughts into overdrive.

"How's school going?" he asks, looking up at me and squinting so that I  can see just a drop of those impossible blue eyes between his thick  lashes.

I can hardly think straight with him so close. He's one fine wine I'd  like to taste, maybe lick the rim  …  drink too much of. Get drunk on. He  looks all King Triton with his wet skin, silver hair, and muscles. "It's  fine. How's work?"

He used to own his own construction company here in town, but he sold it  suddenly two years ago and moved away. I don't know what he does for a  living anymore. I don't know much about his life at all except what  little my parents tell me. Since moving, he's been like a ghost. For the  longest time it was as if he went out of his way to avoid me, which is  why I'm so surprised to see him here at my party. That first year of him  being gone, I'd dug through the archives of my brain, wondering if  maybe I'd made him mad somehow. Then I started wondering if it was  because of a woman. I'd been a jealous wreck, but my dad had insisted it  wasn't, even though he wasn't exactly sure why he'd moved either.

"Fine," Paul says, and smiles up at me. He visibly swallows and his  smile falters when he asks, "So, do you have a boyfriend yet?" He looks  around at all the cute guys Emily had invited. "I bet they're eating out  of your hand. Especially when you wear things like this." He tugs at  the string of my bikini top, loosening it.

"Why, you jealous?" I say, only half joking.

"Maybe a little."

"Well, I don't have a boyfriend. But there is someone I've had my eye on for a while."

I suddenly become self-conscious and ask, "What about you? Do you have a girlfriend?"

I chew on the inside of my cheek as I wait for him to answer. What if my  dad had been wrong about him moving to be with someone? I don't know  how I would handle that kind of news. Of course I would be crushed, and I  don't know if I ever really thought we could be together, but as long  as he's single, there's hope.

When he simply says, "No," my breath leaves me in a rush and my shoulders rise now that that weight has been lifted off.

He asks more questions about school and the classes I'm taking. Our  conversation comes easy, and I realize I'd forgotten how effortless it  has always been to talk to him. That was a big part of his appeal  growing up. I was always an awkward girl without friends; taller than  nearly everyone else my age, hitting puberty before everyone else. And  yet, with Paul, I never felt weird or out of place. He's always made me  feel special.

We're interrupted when someone suggests a chicken fight. The pool is  full and people are making teams. Paul says, "How about we show these  rookies how it's done."

"Let's do it." I slip into the water and the cold is perfect on this  sweltering day. I feel weightless-and not because I'm floating in water.  It's such a relief that Paul and I are back to our normal, flirty  selves, and I've almost forgotten about my hang over and the drunk text.

He ducks under the water, and when he comes back up, I'm lifted onto his  shoulders. Water cascades down my back and breasts, running on to him. I  brush my fingers through his salt and pepper hair, pulling it back away  from his eyes. When he looks in either direction, the stubble of his  face tickles the insides of my thighs. I start to wonder if he can feel  how hot my opening is against the back of his neck, if he's as conscious  about how close his mouth is to it as I am.