About the Author
Emily Goodwin is the New York Times and USA Today Bestselling author of over a dozen of romantic titles. Emily writes the kind of books she likes to read, and is a sucker for a swoon-worthy bad boy and happily ever afters.
She lives in the midwest with her husband and two daughters. When she's not writing, you can find her riding her horses, hiking, reading, or drinking wine with friends.
Emily is represented by Julie Gwinn of the Seymour Agency.
www.emilygoodwinbooks.com
[email protected]
The Pool Boy
By Nikki Sloane
Erika
When Clark’s phone rang, his gaze flicked to mine. It was loud in the trendy restaurant, and his phone was on silent, but it rested face down on the table, so I could feel the vibration of it through my elbows planted on the tabletop.
He flipped it over and glanced at the screen, and he didn’t have to say anything for me to know who was calling. His hesitant expression announced it was his boss, Derrick, and the software upgrade his company was rolling out was not going well.
I pressed my lips together to hold in my disappointment. We’d known for weeks going out tonight would be risky. Clark had been a programmer for Hale Banking and Holding Company long before we’d met and gotten married, and never once had an upgrade gone off without a hitch.
“It’s okay,” I said, pushing out a smile. “At least we made it through most of dinner.”
He shot me an apologetic look as he stood and snatched up his phone. It was too loud in here, so he’d take the call outside. “Maybe they just have a question.”
I quirked my eyebrow and tilted my head to let him know I thought he was dreaming. It seemed like the Nashville branch of HBHC couldn’t run without him. I’d joked more than once that Derrick was his work husband and saw Clark far more often than I did. Processing servers were always going down, or a single error in a line of code would cause a massive issue, requiring him at all hours of the day.
Even on special nights like this one.
He wasn’t outside long, and when he came back to the table, he didn’t sit. “They, uh . . . need me to come in.”
Of course they do, I wanted to snap.
My husband was an attractive man. He worked out three times a week with a trainer, had a handsome face, and took pride in his appearance. But I couldn’t look at him, too frustrated with the situation. Instead, I stared at the remainder of the steak I’d ordered for dinner.
“Hopefully it won’t take long,” he added. “But I’m really sorry.”
“It’s okay,” I lied, and forced brightness into my voice. “I’ll take an Uber and see you at home. Good luck with the system.”
“Thanks.” He leaned down and dropped a quick kiss on my forehead. “Happy birthday, Erika.”
That was what he left me with. No I love you or a kiss containing a speck of passion. I shouldn’t have been surprised. My husband had never been affectionate, and over the last few years, his sex drive had faded to nothing—right as mine had ramped up to the max. Once the desire for me had gone, it seemed unlikely it’d ever come back.
Not unless I did something drastic.
I stared across the long, narrow dining room, wrapped with exposed brick, and considered my options. It meant I was deep in thought when the waiter appeared at the tableside and gestured to Clark’s plate.
“Do you know if he’s finished? Should I get these plates out of the way?”
“Yes, he’s done,” I said. “He had to go.”
The man slowed as he collected the dish. “Oh. The gentleman said it was your birthday and ordered dessert. We were going to sing.” He delivered an amused smile. “You still want that? Our voices aren’t great, but our chocolate cake is.”
I shook my head. “Oh, no, thank you.”
He gathered the silverware and stacked it on the plates, resting in the crook of his arm. “You sure? You only turn twenty-one once.”
When he winked, it was playful and harmless, and I couldn’t help but chuckle. “Oh? And what about forty-two?”
He blinked in surprise, then looked at me dubiously. “No way.” He shook his head. “Wow. No lie. I would have guessed early thirties at the most.”
Warmth bloomed inside me. It was nice to hear, and he’d seemed genuine. “Thank you.”
I’d been blessed with both good genes and a mother who believed her children weren’t allowed to see the sun until she’d applied sunscreen to every inch of them. I looked young. My boss, Ardy, referred to me as “kid,” even though he was just ten years older than I was.
But he also called nearly everyone “kid.”
It also helped that over the last year, I’d gotten in the best shape of my life. I’d been focused to hit my goal by my next birthday, and this morning in the gym, I’d stepped up to the pullup bar and knocked out ten chin-ups without assistance.
So, tonight wasn’t about turning a year older so much as it was a celebration of a year of hard work and determination.
The waiter brought me the chocolate cake anyway, but he was smart enough to put it in a take-home box. “In case you change your mind. Happy birthday.”
I hadn’t had sweets in forever, and as I stared at the white box, I was suddenly grateful. Clark probably wouldn’t be home until the middle of the night, and a slice of cake would be a nice consolation prize.
It was around eleven o’clock that night when I got the idea. I’d been sitting on the covered back patio, holding a glass of cabernet sauvignon, and staring at my pool. It was lit by the underwater lamp in the deep end, and the shimmering water was enticing.
My first thought was to go for a swim. It was hot out, even by August’s standards. I could leave my swimsuit in the house and skinny dip. It was something I’d never done before, partly because I’d spent a lot of my adult life not feeling comfortable with how I looked. Our backyard backed up to a forest and was large, putting distance between my neighbors on both sides. But it sloped down toward Dr. Lowe’s house, meaning it was possible he could see over the top of our shared fence.
He didn’t let it bother him.
A smile teased my lips. I’d never actually seen them because his hot tub was up against the house and hidden from view, but I’d heard Dr. Lowe and his girlfriend enjoying each other. The girl was half his age and quite vocal.
It’d given me a dull pang of jealousy. Not over Dr. Lowe, but young Cassidy Shepard. Apparently, she’d been lucky enough to find a partner whose sexual appetite matched the one inside me, and from the sound of it . . . the good doctor could keep her satisfied.
I stared at the pool, watching the pretty pattern of the pool liner bend and distort as the subtle ripples caused by the pump moved through the water. Dr. Lowe wasn’t home right now. His house was dark, and I’d seen his car leaving the subdivision when the Uber brought me home a few hours ago.
If I went for a swim, perhaps Clark would come home, find me naked in the pool, and the sight of my bare, wet skin would be enough to entice him into joining me.
But it was also likely he’d be trapped at the office for hours, and by the time he walked through the door, I’d be pruney and cold, and he’d be cranky and tired. I had no control over when he’d be done.
I picked up the takeout container and carried both it and my wine glass inside the house, depositing them in the kitchen, before moving into my bedroom. My birthday present—the one I’d bought myself—was still in the box it’d been delivered in and tucked away in the back of my closet.
The deep red mesh and lace bodysuit cost more than I typically paid for an outfit, and this was something only Clark and I would ever see. If I were honest with myself, it was more for me than him. Sure, I wanted him to take one look at me packaged in the sexy lingerie and hopefully he’d remember I was a sexual being. That he’d used to find me attractive and now I looked better than ever.
But it was also a frivolous present to celebrate my success.<
br />
I stripped off my clothes and pulled the delicate fabric up over my curves, hooking the clasp in the back closed, then stood in front of the mirror to evaluate. My long, straight hair was a light auburn. The hue was so warm, I could pass as a redhead some days. I had blue eyes and fair skin, and last week at a launch party, a guy told me I reminded him of Amy Adams. He was drunk and maybe nearsighted, but I took the compliment anyway.
For the first time in forever, a pleased thrill shot down through me as I stared at my reflection. The crimson band belted across my natural waist was tight, but not unflattering. My arms had tone to them, and my thighs were proportional to the rest of me. I looked . . .
Hot.
Unexpected tears pricked my eyes, and I rapidly blinked them back, while sucking in a deep breath. I wasn’t about to start crying over my excitement at how I looked. I mean, how fucking narcissistic would that be? And it wasn’t even excitement, it was more like relief.
I set a hand on my hip and shifted on my black heels, tilting my head. For being so expensive, the lingerie wasn’t exactly comfortable. The seams were kind of itchy. I slipped a hand into one of the cups and lifted my breast up, trying to fill the fabric better. The worst part about the weight loss was I’d lost a full cup-size in my bra. I’d never had big breasts, but now they were tiny.
Maybe I’d give myself another birthday present and get my boobs done. I’d been thinking about it a lot recently. Between my job at Warbler Talent and Clark’s at HBHC, we could easily afford what we wanted. It also helped that we were debt-free.
I raked my hand through my hair, shaking a tangle loose, and pressed my lips together. The red bodysuit concealed my nipples and the cleft between my legs, but it didn’t leave much to the imagination. God, it made me feel sexy. I wanted to be a smoldering temptress Clark couldn’t refuse.
The makeup I’d worn to dinner was too subtle for what I had in mind now. As I leaned over the sink to get closer to the mirror, applying the darkest eyeshadow I had in my palette, I plotted my idea. I still had Clark’s passcode to get into the building from last week, when I’d run dinner over to him.
It was ridiculous to wear my trench coat in August, but the lingerie was empowering, and the coat was part of the fantasy. I’d strut into Clark’s office, drop it from my shoulders, and then have my way with him right there. It’d be almost midnight by the time I got into the building, and it was likely to be just him and Derrick still working on the problem. They were usually the last to leave after a crisis.
Plus, it was my birthday.
Clark was close friends with Derrick, and he probably wouldn’t blink an eye when I showed up and asked to borrow my husband for a few minutes. Really, it was the least the company could do. Clark basically gave them all his nights and weekends. They could give me twenty minutes.
My bare thighs squeezed together beneath my coat as I drove to the HBHC office and parked in the parking garage beside the building. My sex-starved body tingled with excitement. It quickened my steps on my heels as I darted to the elevator and hurried to press the button.
Like me, Clark had been transforming over the last year. He’d always been attractive, but when I made my commitment to the gym, he matched it. He’d lost inches in his waist and gained them in his chest, filling out the sleeves of his dress shirts. I certainly wasn’t going to complain about how he looked.
Maybe just how sore and tired he always was.
I had not missed the way a woman gazed at him tonight when we’d first come into the restaurant for dinner. She’d glanced up with a lifted eyebrow and parted lips, like he’d taken her breath. Six months ago, it might have filled me with pride that my husband caused strangers to lust after him. I would have grinned to myself that I was the one he chose to be with.
But . . . it didn’t feel true anymore. Clark and I shared a bed most nights, but he hadn’t shared himself with me in ages.
I rode the stifling, dingy elevator car down to the ground floor and was determined to change that. He wouldn’t refuse me tonight, and once we reconnected, I’d get us back on course.
It was a short stroll down the sidewalk to the lobby doors, and once I was in the dark atrium, I went to the elevator bank and typed in Clark’s code. The dull chime rang out, and the doors slid back to reveal a brightly lit and, thankfully, empty elevator car.
His office was near the top of the building, and the floor was shrouded in shadows. Out the windows, the city winked back at me. Most of the surrounding buildings were dark on the inside, but their roofs were lit, sketching the Nashville skyline.
I stood in the receptionist area and tweaked my head, listening for signs of life, but the floor was utterly silent. If the rest of Clark’s team were still here, they must all be gathered in the server room several floors down.
My coat swished softly as my anxious hands tightened the sash at my waist. I was technically more covered than I’d been at dinner, but I felt naked anyway. The seams of my lingerie brushed and shifted against my skin, sensitizing me. I swallowed thickly as I approached Clark’s closed office door, fighting back the urge to hurry. No one was around or going to catch me as I—
“Oh, fuck,” a deep male voice groaned softly from behind the door.
I paused, my hand on the doorknob. Maybe if I hadn’t been caught off guard, I might have been able to identify the speaker. Or, perhaps if I’d heard the sound of pleasure in my husband’s voice sometime within the last four months, I would have known it was his.
But it was unrecognizable tonight.
Quiet gasps and sighs seeped from beneath the door, coupled with steady, rhythmic thumping, and it made my heart race inside my chest. My breathing went so shallow, thoughts stopped processing in my brain.
On some level, I knew what I was going to find, and although I didn’t want to see it, my hand moved anyway. It turned the doorknob and pushed the door open, forcing me to look inside the office. My muscles tensed so fiercely; I couldn’t move.
Clark’s pants and boxers were pooled around his ankles, exposing his toned legs, and his shirt was hitched up out of the way. I stared at him in confusion, unable to understand the pair of hands latched onto his hips.
For a long moment, I struggled to interpret anything, but mostly, why my husband was bent over his desk, and why his boss Derrick was behind him, his pants also puddled at his feet.
Erika
- Ten Months Later -
Sweat trickled down my back, making my sleeveless silk blouse stick to my skin. Okay, this was getting ridiculous. The air conditioning at the office had never been great, and it had barely been working this morning, but now? It wasn’t at all.
The once historic house had been converted into a commercial office back in the eighties, and the June heatwave gripping the city right now was too much for its ancient air system. The antique blue building was full of southern charm and had a great location beside Music Row, but the house came with drawbacks. The last hour at my desk, after I’d come back from lunch, had been unbearable.
If it were this hot on the main floor, I could only imagine how bad it was upstairs in the recording studio. I couldn’t get any work done today. I was too busy melting. I picked up my phone and thumbed out a text to the owner of the agency.
Me: It’s 85 degrees in here and still climbing.
Ardy: You’re in the office?
I blinked. It was three o’clock on a Tuesday.
Me: Am I supposed to be somewhere else?
Ardy: The air is broken. Maintenance said the earliest they can fix it is tomorrow. I thought Charlotte told you.
Since he couldn’t see me, I made a face. I loved Ardy, but I tolerated his daughter, Charlotte. She was nineteen and supposed to be the office manager, but I was as hazy as she was on what her job responsibilities were. There were a lot of days she came and went as she pleased, or never materialized at all.
Her daddy was the boss, and she was the apple of his eye, and so she could solve any issue he had with her
by flashing a simple smile.
Me: No, she didn’t tell me.
Ardy: Sorry about that. Cut out early and lock up. I’ve got a meeting with Stella’s team.
Me: You got it.
He was referring to Stella Mills, who was such a huge star, she was his only client. Like Taylor Swift, Stella had started in country music before crossing over to pop, and now, she had two Grammys tucked beneath her rhinestone belt. Ardy rarely came into the office and never when she was in town. He was focused only on her.
I stood, rolled my chair into my desk, and grabbed my purse. I didn’t have any work I couldn’t do outside the office and was relieved to get out of the sweltering space.
It felt like everything was going my way on the drive home. By leaving work early, I beat the traffic, and my commute took half the time it usually did. The demos I listened to on the drive weren’t half bad either. Most didn’t have a sound I was looking for, but at least none of them had me racing to skip to the next recording on my phone.
But my good luck ran out after I’d parked in my garage and then strolled down the driveway to grab the mail. There was a thick envelope waiting for me and the return address was my divorce attorney’s letterhead.
“What now?” I groaned, collecting the mail and slamming the box closed.
During the divorce, Clark had fought me on everything. I gazed up at the house as I walked toward it and ground my teeth. At least I’d gotten to keep my home. It was one of only two things I really wanted anyway. He’d argued it was too much house just for me, but I countered that I’d been alone in that house for nearly a year before we separated because he was never home.
He’d been having an affair with Derrick all that time.
It’d been ten months since I’d walked into my husband’s office and found him getting fucked by his boss, but I remembered the scene like it had happened an hour ago. How Clark was bent over, his hands splayed out on the desktop. How Derrick loomed behind him, his pelvis fitted tightly against Clark’s bare ass. How their faces were flushed and shiny with sweat, and both of their mouths hung open in pleasure.
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