James is looking at me again, and I realize that I have to tell him. I have to, but I don't want to. Neither of us speak though, aware that my mother is probably observing us. I finish my sandwich. I finish my water. Now I'm just sitting and watching him work.
Okay fine, I'm looking at his body. I am the utter cliché. I'm looking at my pretty pool boy, and I've already fucked him.
James puts down the skimmer. "Miss Caldwell, would you be so kind as to accompany me to your garden? I have a question about its care I'd like to ask you."
What? He knows that I don't want him to take care of my garden. I raise an eyebrow at him, but say, "Sure."
He heads away from the patio and I follow him, going around the pool and toward my garden. I turn the corner, but I don't see James. He steps out from behind the garden shed and catches my hand, pulling me to him. One moment I'm in his arms, the next I'm against the wall of the shed and he is kissing me.
It's like a shot of adrenaline straight to the chest. My heart is pounding, my body saying yes yes yes. The part of my brain that's telling me that we can't, that we should stop, is being drowned out by the feeling of his lips and the caress of his tongue.
"I haven't stopped thinking about you," he confesses, before kissing me again.
"Me either," I manage.
His fingers are playing with the hem of my shirt, teasing my skin underneath and slowly moving upward. If he keeps going I might very well get my fantasy of him and me inside my garden. But … no.
I place my hands on his chest, pushing gently. "James, we can't do this."
"Don't worry," he says, that devilish grin spreading across his face, "We're not going to get caught."
He leans in to kiss me again and I stop him. "I'm sorry. We really can't."
All the playfulness wipes from his face and he takes a step back. "Why?"
"It's a really bad time for me … " I say, hedging around the reason. "Yesterday was amazing. I just can't do it again."
A little laugh escapes him, but there's an edge to it. "I didn't think you were one of those girls."
"What girls?" I ask, my voice coming out harsher than I meant it to.
He shrugs. "A thrill seeker."
"What?" I'm confused, and defensive. "I don't under-" I stop as I look at him, the reality of what he's saying hitting me. "Are you kidding me? You think the reason we have to stop is that I wanted to slum it with you and then dump you?"
He doesn't say anything, looking at the ground. Anger pours into me, freeing me of any of my restraint. "If it weren't that I have everything-everything-to lose in the next week, I'd be fucking your brains out right now. But I can't, because if we are caught, then my father will lose his shit. He'll go back on his deal with me. He'll destroy my career before it starts!"
"Vera-" he starts, but I don't let him finish.
"He'll force me to do the one thing I will never want to do which is work for him. Because his daughter having sex with the pool guy could get out and damage his reputation-and his business-and you never, ever damage the business. It doesn't matter what I want, or that I love designing houses for families who deserve them but can't afford them. It doesn't matter that I have no interest in helping millionaires looking for their fifth house. My father will own me."
I know that my voice is louder than it should be, but I can't stop. "I don't know what made you think I was the kind of girl who would do that to someone. If you really think that's who I am then you can fuck off right now. I don't just go around screwing people. I don't know why I'm so attracted to you, but I am, and yesterday was amazing and it was incredibly difficult for me to tell you to stop, but we have to." I'm a bit out of breath now. "In short, that is why I am not currently fucking you in the garden."
James is staring at me now, mouth open in shock. "Wow," he says.
"Yeah."
He reaches out like he's going to touch me, then thinks better of it. "That was a terrible thing for me to say."
"Why would you think that?"
"I don't," he says quickly.
"There must be a reason why that's the first thing that came to your mind."
James shakes his head. "I've never slept with anyone on a job before, but-"
"Someone tried?"
He nods. "And she made it clear why."
I don't know what to say to that. It's terrible that that happened, but what he said was terrible too.
"I apologize, Vera. It wasn't fair for me to assume that. And you obviously don't owe me anything." He slides his hands into the pockets of his jeans. "I don't expect you to excuse that I said it, but I am sorry."
"We don't know each other that well yet," I say, "so we'll make an agreement here. No assumptions. Nothing good comes from them."
"You're right, and I can agree to that."
"Then I accept your apology," I say.
"That was a lot of information you just gave me," James says. "And I get it. I do."
"Thanks."
"And I can wait."
Did I hear that right? "What?"
"You said you have everything to lose in the next week. I can wait that long."
"But-"
He keeps going, "There's something here. There's something between us. I want to figure out what it is, and I think you do, too."
I can't answer.
I have no answer, because he's not wrong.
"So I'll wait for you while you handle your business, but this isn't over."
I think my heart stops beating, because he's still not wrong. Just the fact that my body warms up at those words proves that it's not over. Hell, it hasn't even started.
"Unless … " He takes a step toward me. "Is waiting really what you want?"
"No," I breathe. "But I don't know another way."
"I'm sure we can find one." He kisses me. It's a gentle kiss, but it is unyielding. I swear I can feel that kiss in every pore, and god I want more. He wraps an arm around me, pressing me into him. My hips are pressed against his, my breasts pressed against his naked skin and I still want to be closer. But instead he's pulling away, smiling softly. It's maddening.
"Fine, you're right, it's not over," I say, and he laughs.
"Can I ask you something?" He looks back toward the house.
"Sure."
"You said you like to design low-income housing?"
I nod. "Yeah. It's what I want to do."
There's a light in his eyes and he seems excited. "Do you have designs here?"
I smile. "As a matter of fact, I do."
8
Vera
Having James in my room is … weird. It's oddly intimate. I've only ever had boyfriends while I was away at school, so none of them ever saw this room. And James isn't even my boyfriend, is he? I don't know what we are at the moment. We're nebulous.
Sneaking him up here wasn't easy either. I took the long way around through the garage and up the back stairs, making sure to stay as far away from my father's office as possible. I'm sure on the surface my parents wouldn't object to James looking at my architectural designs, but ‘better safe than sorry' seems like a motto I should live by in this situation. Thankfully he has his shirt on. He's less distracting that way.
"Here," I say, leading him over to the drafting table. But he's not looking at the designs. Instead, he's looking around my room. I blush, wondering what he's thinking of the things I keep here. What does it say about me? What do the colors and books reveal about my personality that he might not have known? Finally he comes to where I'm standing, and I show him the different version of my ELIH house and the breakdown of affordable and eco-friendly materials I hope will be used.
I didn't expect for him to contribute. But instead of just looking at my designs, he points out places where they can be better. Places where I can add more functionality. As I nod along with him, I suddenly realize he may not be the only one who made assumptions about the other.
"Thank you," I say. "This will help. Now if someone would only be interested in the designs."
James flips back through the different versions one more time. "I have no doubt that they will," he says. "They're really good."
I bite my lip to keep from smiling too widely. I think they're pretty good too, but they're all about function-not usually the type of architectural designs that get a lot of praise. So far in my experience, no one really cares about houses for poor people.
There's a chiming sound, and I realize it's the doorbell. I look over at my clock. It's six. Shit. I got so carried away with James and the designs that I forgot about my dad's guests. I'm not even close to being ready. I run into my closet and shut the door. I grab the first dress I see that's appropriate-a short black one that's pretty but tame enough for my father not to give me any disapproving looks.