Flattening my hands on his firm lower back, I lift myself slightly and crane my upper body to confirm my suspicions. “Greyston, what are you doing?” It’s a stupid question, because I know the minute we step out onto the patio that I am about to get thrown in the pool.
Of course, I don’t expect to go down alone.
“I’m warning you,” I tell him, curling my fingers into the thin material of his shirt and shifting my weight on his shoulder as we reach the edge of the pool.
“And I am terrified, Miss Foster.” Sarcasm drips from every word. His hands slip from my upper thighs, forcing a ripple of goosebumps across my skin, and he grabs just above my knees in preparation of tossing me in the water.
The minute I feel him move to throw me in, I adjust my upper body, wrapping my arms around his other shoulder. I can feel it offset his balance already, and he tries to right himself, but I take the opportunity to swing one of my legs around his waist, sending us both into the pool. We break the surface with a loud splash, both of us emerging at the same time, laughing and wiping the water from our eyes; his are bright with amusement.
“You’re trouble,” he declares, pushing his hair back and off of his forehead.
I shrug before swimming toward the edge of the pool. “I tried to warn you,” I remind him.
The water feels amazing as I move through it, passing by Greyston. I know that once I get out, I’ll wish I was back in, so I stop swimming and let my body roll over until I’m floating on my back and looking up at the clear blue sky. To my right, I hear a splash, and when I turn my head, I see Greyston has hopped out of the pool and is headed for the house. It doesn’t escape my notice that his shorts are riding a little low and showing off the very top of his muscular backside between them and his shirt.
“Where are you going?” I call out after him.
“To answer the phone and grab us a couple of towels. I’ll be right back.”
I shift my body upright and begin to tread water, watching him disappear into the house, grabbing the phone from the kitchen counter and coming right back outside, walking toward me and holding out the phone.
“It’s your mom,” he announces, walking toward the pool as I make my way to the ladder.
My white tank is clinging to my skin as I climb up onto the deck, shaking the excess water from my hands before reaching for the phone. Greyston stops dead in his tracks, clenching and averting his eyes quickly as he hands me the phone.
“I’m, uh…” His voice is raspy, so he stops talking to clear his throat. “I’ll go grab you a towel.”
Unable to figure him out as he quickly runs back to the house, I put the phone to my ear. “Hey, Mom. What’s up?”
“Hey, sweetie. I’m just calling to see how everything is going,” she replies.
I laugh. “Pretty good. I kind of ruined Greyston’s laundry, though.”
“Well that can’t be good!” Mom exclaims with a snicker. “What happened?”
I cringe again just thinking about it. “Red sock. White clothes.”
Through her laughter, she says, “Oh, dear. Was he upset?”
“Enough to throw me in the pool,” I tell her, shaking my head.
She stops laughing, and her voice takes on a more serious note. “Oh, really?” I don’t have to focus hard to get the underlying insinuations in her tone.
“Mom, stop,” I command lightly. “You’re insane if you think anything will ever happen there. Believe me when I say that there is nothing I can do to make him find me even remotely attractive.”
“Who?”
I jump when I hear Greyston’s voice behind me and almost drop the phone. “Uuuh, Mom, I’ll talk to you later, okay?”
“Sure, call me!”
I hang up the phone and set it on one of the lounge chairs before looking up at Greyston. “Sorry, she’s a talker.”
Greyston is regarding me curiously. How much could he have possibly overheard? Have I made things awkward between us by outing the crush I have on my landlord? My landlord who is in a relationship…with another man.
A cool breeze picks up, ripping right through my soaking wet tank top, and I shiver. Goosebumps cover my entire body, and in a flash, Greyston is thrusting one of the two towels he’s holding toward me and using the other to cover his head and dry his dripping wet hair.
This behavior of his can’t be normal for him, and I’m right back to wondering what the hell is going on. Instead of wondering, I decide to just ask. “Hey,” I say, dropping the towel onto the chair and reaching out for him. “Are you okay? You’ve been acting kind of funny.”