Authors: Penny Wylder
P
aul is here
.
Paul, the king of my wet dreams. The man I want so badly it hurts both physically and mentally when I think I might not ever be able to have him. The guy who didn’t return my text.
Shit.
Believe me, I’ve been ghosted a time or three, but never by someone I cared to see the next day. And not by someone who also just happens to be my dad’s best friend, someone I will eventually have to face in person. I just didn’t think I’d have to face him so soon after such an embarrassing text. I know my face is fifty shades of red right now and I want to jump in the pool to cool it off. I mean, what do you say to someone after a text like that?
I weave my way through the throng of guests. I say hi to my mom and try to avoid looking over by the pool where Paul and my dad are talking. It’s difficult because Paul looks edible. He’s wearing blue and white board shorts, chest smooth and tan, arms taut with muscle, showing off all his ink. And not blotchy ugly tattoos left over from his youth either. These are genuinely amazing art pieces he spent a fortune on. It’s so shocking to see because he’s always so put together around my parents, wearing suits, and designer clothes. Sometimes I forget he even has tattoos.
He turns to toss a ball to one of my cousins in the pool and on his back there’s an entire ocean scene with sharks and coral. The details are flawless, right down to the drop shadows and sun ripples in the water. That is a body I want to explore. I want to walk right over there and lick every square inch of him.
My dad is also a handsome man and manages to look elegant even in swim trunks. It’s the way he holds himself. Straight posture, shoulders back, his chin just a little higher in the air than everyone else. Maybe that’s why he seems so much older than Paul even though they’re the same age. Paul is so much more laid back.
I manage to kind of not stare at Paul, but once in a while I forget myself and glance over. His eyes latch onto mine. Even after I look away, I feel him watching me and my heart drums in my chest as I make my way to the bar for a glass of champagne. I’m going to need it.
I try to ignore the heaviness of his gaze while I sip Dom—though, at the moment, I’d prefer an ice-cold beer, but that’s not on the menu. Hair of the dog. I still feel like shit from the night before. Except now I can add humiliation to it. Which pisses me off because this is the first surprise party I’ve ever had and I want to enjoy myself.
Nursing my drink, I make my rounds, catching up with people and thanking them for coming. I smile and nod as my high school friends tell me about their new jobs and plans for marriage, and all the other stuff I’ve always dreamed about for myself. I do my best to share in their happiness, but I’m having a hell of a time trying to concentrate when Paul is nearby.
“Rachael,” I hear my dad call out to me. “Come over here and say hi to your Uncle Pauly. He drove all night to be at your party.”
He drove all night? Maybe he didn’t get my text after all. Or maybe he drove all night to be at my party
because
of the text. I try not to get my hopes up.
Relax and don’t say or do anything stupid,
I tell myself.
There’s something skeevy about my dad calling Paul my uncle. And yet, in some perverse way, I kind of like it. Don’t get me wrong, if past royals taught us anything with their clubbed feet and genetic deformities, it’s that incest is bad. But a little bit of kinky fantasy never hurt anyone.
Anyway …
I try to play it cool when I head toward them, like, whatever, you’re here, no big deal. And it kind of works until I trip over my dad’s fat poodle lounging by the pool and nearly fall in. Paul catches me by the arm before I go into the water and he hauls me onto my feet.
That Harry Potter invisibility cloak I asked for on my eleventh birthday would come in real handy right about now.
“Damn dog,” I mumble. My dad loves that mutt. He takes him everywhere with him and calls him my brother. If there’s one friend who outranks Paul in my dad’s eyes, and one child who outranks me, it’s Pickles.
True to his character, my dad’s more concerned about his pet who lays there licking his balls, unfazed by my near destruction.
“You okay?” Paul asks.
“You talking to me or the dog?”
“Someone’s trippin’” I hear Emily say somewhere in the background. I ignore her, but remind myself to strangle her later.
Paul chuckles and the deep rumble of it touches me in a place not even my favorite dildo manages to reach. The gentleness in how he holds my arm, and the way he’s looking at me … Jesus. This isn’t good. I’m a fumbling mess whenever he’s around.
“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.
He caresses my shins beneath the water where no one can see, raising goosebumps and sending chills through me. I touch his ear lobes, massaging them between my fingertips, and there’s so much sexual tension between us I’m sure others in the pool can feel the charge in the air.
When the game starts, I’m having more fun just sitting on his shoulders than I have in a long time, and it’s nice to forget about school and bills and all the other grown-up stuff that bogs me down on a regular basis.
We make a great team. Emily and her future one-night stand are the only ones who come even close to knocking me off Paul’s shoulders. Paul and I kill it at chicken fighting and are the victors every time. When we’re done and everyone else starts to leave the pool, he ducks back under the water, no longer between my legs and I miss him there.