The morning is already ridiculously warm when I wake up. There's a note on the kitchen table from my aunt telling me she's gone for a spa day at some place in Beverly Hills that I'm sure she'll find everything wrong with. Good. This means I'm wearing her down.
Not enough, though. The note warns me she'll be back in time for dinner. Guess I'll have to try harder. I can think about how I'm going to do that while I sit by the pool, loving her absence and the hot weather. After changing into a bikini, I grab a towel, a book, and some sunscreen, and then I head outside.
I get in about twenty minutes of reading before a text message alert pulls me out of the story and back into the real world. I pick up my phone. It's a message from Riley.
Did you know nothing rhymes with the word "orange"?
I shake my head. I know he's supposed to be filling in for the receptionist at his parents' studio all this week, but he can't be busy if he's pondering rhymes.
Slacker. Boring day at the studio? Send.
My phone chimes again. Nope. Boring morning writing lyrics.
You aren't working? Weird. I send the message. It's about a minute before I get another text.
Riley: Laryngitis. Can't answer the phone when people call, and can't answer any questions anyone at the studio has for me without writing everything down. Got kicked out by my mom.
Me: How'd you lose your voice? Are you sick?
Riley: Nope, blew out my voice singing. The doc says not to use my voice at all for the next 36 hours.
Me: Yikes.
Riley: It's harder than you'd think. I'm getting good at being a mime.
Me: I'll bet. So does this mean you're going to text me all day?
Riley: Pretty much. What are you doing?
Me: Hanging out at my pool. Want to join me?
Riley: I can't use my voice.
Me: You're right. Sitting by a pool definitely requires screaming at the top of your lungs. Karaoke, too.
Riley: You and your sarcasm.
Me: You know I'm right. It's 92 degrees.
Riley: You're right that it's 92 degrees.
Me: So why are you sitting in your apartment and texting me when you could be outside sitting by a pool and probably still texting me from right beside me?
Riley: It's the principle of the thing.
Me: Don't say I didn't offer when you're melting this afternoon.
Riley: Be there in half an hour.
I set my phone down on the lounge chair, catching sight of my reflection on the screen. I'm smiling. I guess I do that when I win.
I keep reading until the heat makes me feel like it's entirely possible I'll melt into my chair. Pool time. I get up and jump into the water, feet first. Just as my head starts to go underwater, I hear my phone chime. Once I'm back above the surface, I swim over to the side of the pool and hoist myself out.
I read the message from Riley. I'm in your driveway. I can't really yell for you.
Droplets of water fall from my hair onto the screen. I reach for a towel to dry myself off. My hair still dripping wet, I walk across the sundeck and into the house, making my way to the front door. I'm suddenly aware of how little of me my bikini covers, and that Riley's never seen me anything but fully clothed. Not that I know why this matters. It must be the heat. Still, I wrap the towel around my waist before opening the door.
Riley waves and smiles. There's total silence, which makes me laugh.
"You not being able to talk could be a lot of fun," I tell him. He waggles his eyebrows at me and steps inside of the house. "The pool's that way," I say, pointing him in the direction of the door to the backyard. "I'll get you a towel and meet you out there."
I walk down the hallway and grab a beach towel from the linen closet. When I get back outside, I stop so fast I nearly trip over the tops of my flip-flops. The hand that's not holding the towel shoots out to grab onto the doorframe behind me. Smooth. Here's hoping I don't look like a complete klutz. Riley doesn't seem to notice, though. How could he when he's sprawled out on a lounge chair, shirtless, his nose buried in my trashy romance novel? Awesome. I should have hidden that somewhere.
I can't really think too much about the book, though. Not when I realize I've never seen him without a shirt on before. That's probably a really good thing, since I'm having a hard time keeping my jaw in place. Holy cow.
He holds the book up and catches me mid-stare. I feel heat rising to my face. He points at the book cover, smirking, and I know that I have to be turning bright red. Let's hope he thinks it's because he's discovered that I don't always like to read about string theory.
"It's not like you can read about anything serious outside in the sun," I scoff, tossing his towel at him. It lands on his face.
He puts the towel beside him on the chair, and then picks up his phone and waves it at me.
"Words with Friends?" I ask. It's the only phone game I can think of.
He shakes his head and starts typing something. A moment later, I hear my phone's text message alert.
Read to me? Looks like a hot book.
I glance over at him. He contorts his face into a suggestive look. I don't know what color you turn after your face is already on fire, but I'm sure Riley is finding out right now. Curse him.
Just be cool, I tell myself. That should be easy. This is Riley, after all, and we're friends. I'm here to help him, not make out with him. Well, not unless I listen to Noah, and that's not high up on my list of things to do right now.
"What, does that kind of thing turn you on?" I flip a few strands of my wet hair over my shoulder. I can be indifferent. No problem.
He nods, keeping the suggestive look on his face. There's a little flutter in my stomach and then I catch myself. I'm being silly, and I'm going to put an end to this right now.
I get up from my chair. "Read to you, hmm?" I walk over to him and stop beside his chair. I keep my eyes on him when I lean in close. I could be wrong, but I swear I see his eyes widen. Good. A flushed face would be better, but whatever. Then I grab the book from his hand. "In your dreams."
I saunter back to my chair and toss my book beside it. Then I turn around and give him a wicked grin.
"It's kind of fun that you can't talk," I say. He gives me a look that clearly says, Oh really?
He swings his legs over the side of his chair and gets up. I eye him, but it looks like he's heading for the pool. I look away for a second to grab the bottle of sunscreen and when I look up again, he's at my side. Before I know what's happening, he's scooping me up from my chair and holding me against his chest, his face only inches from mine.
"Um, what are you doing?" I swear his face is getting closer, and my heart starts to get a little crazy. Yup. We're almost nose-to-nose. Then I see we're at the edge of the pool, and I realize what he's up to.
"Don't you dare," I growl. He smiles a very innocent-looking smile. Then he dangles me over the pool and lets go. Water splashes around me as my feet hit the surface of the pool, followed by the rest of me.
The water is nice compared to the heat, but I'm not telling him that. I try to glare at him, but it's impossible not to laugh.
"You're in so much trouble," I declare between giggles.
He widens his eyes and points to himself, as if saying, Who, me?
"Yes, you," I answer, taking slow steps across the pool floor. He winks and sits down at the pool's edge, his legs hanging down into the water. He's probably convinced there's no way I can try to get back at him since he's bigger than me, but he's wrong. I creep closer to him and put my arms out in front of me like I'm going to grab onto the side of the pool and lift myself out. Then I reach over and yank hard on his arm, throwing him off balance. He falls into the pool with me, water splashing onto the pool deck. Good job, me.
"Guess I win," I tell him, smirking at the look he's giving me. A wall of water hits me in the face a second later, followed instantly by another wave.
"This is war," I warn him. I raise my arm to thrash water in his direction but his hand catches my wrist. His other hand grabs my other wrist, and now I can't move.
Our eyes lock. Keeping hold of both of my wrists, he moves forward until he's close enough for me to feel his breath. The look on his face is intense, and he's even closer now. I feel my eyes close.
Then my head is underwater, pushed down by the same hand that was holding one of my wrists. When I come back up, trying to get the water out of my nose without actually snorting, he's already clear across the pool.
"You're making lunch," I grumble at him, wading over to the side of the pool and pulling myself out. His grin gets bigger. "What?" I ask, putting my hands on my hips.
He shrugs and follows me out of the pool. I dry myself off with my towel while I wait for him, but then find myself showered with more drops of water when he walks right up to me and shakes out his hair.
"You're asking for it," I say, swatting him with my towel. He gives me his best puppy-dog look as I stalk off toward the house. I turn my head to face forward so he can't see that I'm smiling.
Once we get to the kitchen, I pull a head of lettuce and some other vegetables out of the fridge and put him to work making a salad. He still hasn't put a shirt on now that we're inside. I've at least wrapped my towel around my waist and the tops of my legs, though I'm not sure why. He's seen all of that uncovered outside. But something about him standing half-naked at my kitchen counter makes me self-conscious now, and maybe it's because I can't do anything other than stare at him.
He spreads his hands out over a pile of vegetables he's chopped, displaying his work for my approval. He looks up with a question on his face that disappears when he catches me staring at him. The question is replaced by a thoughtful look and slight squint of his eyes that I don't think he means for me to see. He's probably wondering what I'm looking at. That, or he wants to know why I'm not telling him how beautiful his chopped vegetables look. Or maybe it's neither of those things. I think I need to stop thinking.
"Excuse me for a second," I mumble, taking off into the hallway. I keep walking until I'm in the living room, where I left my iPod.
I'll fix this with music. If there's music, I don't have to talk. He can't talk, so this is good. We'll just listen to something, and I'll calm down enough to stop being ridiculous. Because this is beyond ridiculous, bordering on insane. He's Riley, after all. Shirt or not, flirt or not.
I take a deep breath and square my shoulders, then head back to the kitchen. When I get there, I keep my eyes off of Riley and on the stereo I'm headed for. I put my iPod into the dock and fumble for a second until I find the playlist I'm looking for, then turn up the volume. The sweet sound of music fills the room and I feel like it's safe to turn around again. Except that when I do, Riley's looking at me in a way that makes me think I've grown a second head. My heart starts to thud.
"What?" I demand.
He puts down the knife he's holding and glances around the room. I can tell when he spots what he's looking for, because he walks over to the fridge and grabs the notepad and pen that are stuck to the door. He scribbles something on the notepad and brings it over to me. I glance down at the words he's scrawled.
How do you know this band?
"Wait, do you know this band?" I ask. I downloaded the song that's playing right now after discovering the band by accident when they played the side stage at a music festival in Boston. I wasn't actually supposed to be there, but I told my aunt I'd scheduled an extra guitar lesson and got my free pass out of the house.
He nods, taking the notepad from me and writing something else.
My friend John is the drummer. That's whose side project I've been wrecking my vocal chords on.
"You're kidding?" He shakes his head and starts writing again.
They're playing a show here next week. Want to go?
"I definitely want to go," I answer. That's what slips out of my mouth before it hits me that this could be a date. No, not a date. Just a night out with a friend. Because friends do things like go to shows together. I keep telling myself that while I turn my back to him to grab a salad bowl from the cupboard, trying to ignore my racing heart.