One week in.
It wasn't so bad. I spent a lot of time sleeping and reading, much thanks to Erick's family's small library in the living room. I had avoided any conflict with anybody and kept to myself. None of my friends had tried to force me into any of the activities, which was also pretty great.
Great things often didn't last. At least, in my experience.
Dallas and I had somewhat acclimated to sharing a space. The only thing was . . . well, he was kind of a slob. I never expected it because he seemed so clean cut, but he was awful at keeping his space tidy.
He would leave his clothes strewn about the floor and let water cups–disposable water cups–pile up on our shared nightstand. I just didn't get it. Why was it so hard to clean up after yourself? I kept my side very straight. My clean clothes put away, dirty in a basket on the floor, my bed relatively made. It put me at ease when I walked into an already clean room. That was impossible with Hurricane Dallas on the left side.
It was fine though. I was fine.
Most nights I would end up just taking my dinner to the bedroom and eating while watching something on my phone. I didn't mind, it was no different to life at home. I ate alone, I slept alone, I was alone.
Dallas would be gone before I woke up and I wouldn't see him until around dinner time or later. I avoided Frasier by all costs. The boys would come into the room and harass me on occasion, but only for light conversation.
One of those days I was planning to go outside and lay by the pool. That day was today.
I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror. I hated how I looked in a swimsuit. My pale skin protruded at the hips where the elastic waistband of the baby blue trunks I'd bought for this vacation. I thought they were cute, on my shopping spree from Old Navy. They were decorated with tiny little yellow flowers.
But the more I stared at myself, the more I wanted to take them off and go back to bed.
Most of the house was out right now anyways. Erick said the ladies wanted to go to the mall and dragged their partners along with them. As far as I knew, I was alone. I wasn't sure, though, since I hadn't left my room yet today.
I sucked up my insecurities and grabbed a towel before heading downstairs. The house was eerily quiet without the kids running around. Erick's daughter Aubrey wasn't the only one. Grace also had a baby girl and a son around Aubrey's age named Bryce. And Chris had a son named Jeremiah. It was never quiet.
There was a half-full bottle of champagne on the counter, presumably from that morning's mimosa indulgence. I grabbed it without a second thought and stepped out onto the back balcony.
I took a moment to take in the view. It really was beautiful here. I was standing at one of the hundreds of houses along the beachside. Below me was a grand pool, large with stunning blue tiling. If I stared straight across, I would be making eye contact with the sea. I avoided doing so.
The ocean made me feel uneasy. I had always been afraid of it, in a sense, much unlike my classmates growing up. The closest we were to the ocean was Coney Island and that wasn't much of an experience. I had nearly drowned in those waters when I was seven and didn't dare dip a toe in one again.
Separating me and the ocean, of course, was a plane of hot, white sand and tall dunes. I liked the privacy that the tall grass supplied.
"I could stare at it all day."
I jumped out of my skin. Beside me was Dallas, sitting in one of the rocking chairs on the porch. He had a book in his hands, one with a thick spine and thousands of words per spread. A law book, perhaps.
"You scared the fucking shit out of me, man," I said breathily. "How long have you been there?"
"Long enough to scare the fucking shit out of you, apparently," Dallas smiled. I sighed wearily. Curse words didn't sound right past his lips, like they were more scandalous coming from someone so elegant. "I didn't mean to, though. Sorry."
I held my towel closer to my bare torso. "Is anyone else here?" I asked, looking back down at the pool.
"I think there's one girl here. Jasmine. I think Carlos said she wasn't feeling well so she's laying down."
Nodding awkwardly, I started for the stairs. Dallas went back to his reading, so I made my way down to the pool in blissful quiet. It was a gorgeous sunny day. I knew that after ten minutes of just being in the sunlight, I'd be too tempted not to jump right in the pool.
I was making my way towards the perfect lounge chair spot when the gate behind me opened. I turned and saw a face I didn't recognize, but sure wish I did.
It was a guy about my age, holding a metal pole. For a moment I was so awestruck that I didn't put it together. Then I saw Pools Plus printed on his shirt and realized right away. He half-smiled at me. "Hey there, just here to clean your pool," he said.
"Right," I said mostly to myself.
He was hot. There, I said it.
I had sort of a weakness for tattoos. His entire right arm was covered in ink of various styles, none that I could decipher from the distance away I was. He had short, cropped black hair and deeply tanned skin. I made an effort not to stare as he came and went to get his equipment.
It was certainly just my luck that the first time I leave my bed to get in the pool, it's when the pool guy came.
Being antisocial seemed to be impossible around here.
I sat down on the lounge chair cautiously. I didn't want to get in his way any more than he wanted to get in mine, I was sure. I popped open the champagne and took a swig straight from the bottle.
From where I was sitting, I could see Dallas on the balcony. He was paying me, nor the pool boy, no attention. I just kept taking long swigs as I watched the vacuum suck up sand and debris from the bottom of the pool.
Maybe it was my imagination, too, but I swore I saw the guy look at me a few times. It was starting to feel kind of awkward with him working and me just sitting here, so I sparked conversation.
"Thanks for coming," I said. He looked at me with his eyebrows raised, as if he were surprised I'd even addressed him. "How often do you clean the pool?"
He adjusted his grip on the pole. I couldn't help but notice how muscular his arms were. "Once a week," he said. "Are you just here for the week?"
I shook my head. "Staying for the summer. My buddy's parents own the place," I said, gesturing towards the giant house behind us. We made regular conversation for a little while longer until he left. And in his absence I was left with a crush on the pool guy. God damn it.
As soon as he was gone, I got in the pool. I was sweating, and not just because I was watching a hot guy work. The water was refreshing on my skin and it felt like a slap in the face. I dove head first after going waist deep. When I emerged, I gasped, feeling the best I had since I'd gotten here.
The ocean was wild, unforgiving. But I could swim in the pool forever.
I was so caught up in wading around and floating on my back that I didn't see Dallas standing in the shallow end, skimming his fingers along the surface of the water. I stared up at the blue sky above me and wondered if Mrs. Cline had faced my cat's wrath yet. I tried to warn her not to pet her before she eats, but she didn't listen. She loved cats, though, and she lived next door, so she was the best contender for the role as cat sitter.
"What are you thinking about?"
My body flailed in the water as I jumped. "What the fuck, Dallas? Stop doing that!"
I glared at him from the deep end, my toes barely touching the ground every few seconds. He tried to suppress a smile, but ultimately failed, and held his hands up in surrender.
"You're the one that keeps zoning out! It's not my fault you're unaware of your surroundings," he said and swam towards me. "What were you thinking about?"
"My cat," I admitted with a blush. I looked away and focused on chasing after a rogue pool noodle.
I could hear him swim closer. "You have a cat?"
"Yup."
"That makes sense."
"What do you mean?"
"You act like a cat."
I faced him in confusion. He smiled playfully, like he told a joke I wasn't in on. "I'm not saying you're wrong, but how?" I asked with a frown. Cats were given a bad rep.
Dallas hummed in thought. "You're hard to read sometimes, like I can't tell if you're pissed off or just minding your business. You sleep a lot, you keep to yourself. And, well, you come off as very . . . brusque."
"Brusque," I repeated.
"Yeah. Like a cat."
And with that, he splashed me.